He forced himself upright, wincing at the lingering stiffness in his limbs. The clothes he’d hung over the stall door that morning still waited for him—loose trousers and a simple linen shirt, well-worn boots that had seen too many miles. He pulled them on quickly, fingers clumsy in his rush. Each tug at the laces only reminded him of the knight’s steel-grey eyes, brimming with conviction and…hatred.
It was that hatred that had wounded Cedric the most. That look…as if he despises everything I am.
The wooden door to the stable creaked on its hinges as Cedric pushed it open. Outside, the night was calm—a faint breeze carried the scent of pine, mingled with the smoke and herbs drifting from the old tower’s kitchen. The outpost felt oddly tense in the cool moonlight, the usual sense of peace overshadowed by the knowledge that an armed knight lay inside.
Hopefully still alive.
He paused at the threshold, inhaling slowly, then stepped across the courtyard to the tower’s entrance. Gwenna stood in the far corner of the kitchen, arms crossed over her chest, fury sparking in her violet eyes.
“Well?” she demanded, voice edged with impatience. “What are we going to do with him?”
Cedric’s gaze followed hers, drawn to the prone figure on the kitchen floor. Even now, lying helpless, the knight seemed formidable. His dented armor reflected the lantern light in dull glints. The same Revendarian steel armor Cedric had seen every knight of Lunarath wear. His helmet had been pulled off and now rested on the table.
“You just left him here?” Cedric asked, unable to mask his surprise. He’d imagined she might have at least dragged him into an unused storeroom, if only for privacy’s sake.
Gwenna’s lips thinned. “What else did you expect? Besides, we can’t keep him here. It’s too dangerous. We should?—”
“Should what?” Cedric cut in, his voice sharp. “Kill him? Dump his body in the forest and hope no one comes looking?”
Gwenna’s jaw clenched, and her glare held firm. “If that’s what it takes to keep us safe, then yes.”
A chill rippled through Cedric. Once, the thought of taking a life had horrified Gwenna. But ten years of running and hiding, coupled with the inevitability of violence, had changed them both.
He knelt beside Finn, gingerly touching the knight’s shoulder. “No,” he said softly. “We can’t keep doing that, Gwen. Not anymore. He’s a knight of Lunareth.” Something in his chest twisted at the words. Wouldn’t he have been sworn to protect me under different circumstances? He cleared his throat, glancing up at Gwenna. “Besides, I spoke with him in the village. He’s misguided, but not evil.”
“You what?” Gwenna snapped, her eyes narrowing to annoyed slits. “When were you planning on sharing that little detail?”
He raked a hand through his disheveled golden-brown hair, wincing at the tangles from his recent shift. “I was going to tell you, but then…everything happened so fast.” He gestured at the unconscious knight. “I met him in the market. He was asking questions about dragons, and I wanted to know why he was so determined to kill me.”
Gwenna’s indignation wavered. “And?” she prompted, voice quieter now.
“And he truly believes he’s on some grand, righteous quest,” Cedric answered, a hollow pang forming in his chest. “He thinks I abducted you, that I’ve been holding you captive all this time. In his mind, he’s the hero—coming to rescue you from a monster.”
“He’s in for a rude awakening when he comes to,” Gwenna muttered, snorting in disbelief.
Despite the tension in the room, a weary, humorless smile tugged at Cedric’s lips. He stared at the knight’s face, smudged with dirt and blood. A shallow cut marred his forehead, the scrape already scabbing over. He recalled the flash of determination—and yes, hatred—written there only hours ago.
A pang shot through Cedric as he remembered the humor in the knight’s voice at the village, the curiosity in those steely eyes. He hates me because he thinks I’m a monster—and I can’t blame him.
Finnian stirred, and a low groan slipped from his lips. Cedric’s heart jolted—some mixture of relief and apprehension—at seeing the knight regain a semblance of consciousness. Cedric leaned in, mindful of the tender swelling behind Finn’s ear.
“He’s got a nasty bump,” Cedric muttered, probing delicately at the bruise. Good thing I came in now, he thought grimly. Another few hours without tending and the knight could have ended up with a worse injury than a sore head.
“What exactly did you hit him with?” he asked, glancing at Gwenna with mild incredulity.
She offered a tight shrug. “A rock. It was the first thing I could grab.”
Cedric shook his head, though a hint of amusement curled at the corners of his mouth. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”
His attention drifted back to Finn, who was seemingly oblivious to their discussion. The sharp determination that had defined him in battle was gone. His features were slack, breath ragged, dark lashes stark against too-pale skin. He looked impossibly young like this—too human, too breakable.
And Cedric hated how he noticed. Hated the way his gaze lingered a beat too long, the way unspoken emotion twisted in his heart. He couldn’t allow his mind to drift there. It was an impossibility.
“We should treat this before it gets worse,” he said, “and get him somewhere more comfortable than the kitchen floor.” His gaze slid to Gwenna.
She let out a dramatic sigh, rolling her eyes. “Sure, I could have dragged him up the stairs and bumped him against every step on the way. Didn’t seem wise.”
Cedric had to admit, she had a point. She might be strong, but carrying an armored knight up a narrow staircase was no small feat. “All right, fair enough.” He stooped, bracing one arm behind Finn’s shoulders. “Give me a hand?”
