Between the two of them, they hoisted Finn into a carry across Cedric’s shoulders. The knight wasn’t a lightweight—heavier than Cedric expected, but nothing he couldn’t handle. Sometimes I forget how my strength changed along with my curse, he thought, pushing back the guilt that always followed that realization.
“If you’re so determined to take care of him,” Gwenna said, the reluctance in her tone undeniable, “I’ll bring that yarrow salve I made last week.”
“That would be great,” Cedric replied, gripping Finn’s legs more securely. Part of him wanted to reassure her, to promise they’d handle this mess. But Gwenna’s set jaw warned him she wanted no more comforting words right now.
He ascended the narrow stone steps with care, mindful not to let Finn’s legs or arms—and especially his head—bump against the walls.
The spare bed was little more than a wooden cot with a thin straw mattress, tucked into a corner room that had once belonged to an outpost officer. But it would serve. Kneeling, Cedric carefully lowered Finn onto the cot, adjusting his limbs so they wouldn’t dangle off the edge. At least it’s better than the floor.
He frowned at the knight’s armor. It was scuffed and dented, straps caked with dirt. The pieces had clearly seen better days. Days that didn’t involve Gwenna and Cedric. He can’t heal properly wearing this, Cedric thought. And it can’t be comfortable.
Cedric leaned over the immobile man, hands hovering for a beat, as if asking permission the knight couldn’t grant. With a resigned sigh, he eased open the buckles running along Finn’s side. The straps creaked in protest as Cedric slid them free of their loops.
Calm down, Ced. You’re only doing this out of necessity.
Certainly not because it had been so long since he’d touched anyone else, much less someone as handsome as Finn.
When he lifted the first panel, a subtle glow clung to the armor, remnants of the enchantment that gave it steel-like resilience. Cedric marveled at the faint shimmer. It had been ages since he’d seen the magically enchanted armor worn by a knight of Lunareth. He shut his eyes for a moment, imagining happier times.
Standing on a balcony, peering down as a knight rode out on a mission, their armor gleaming as Lunareth’s crimson and gold flags fluttered overhead.
Cedric allowed himself a sad smile at the memory. The arm guards came next, buckled tight around Finn’s biceps. The straps gave under Cedric’s careful tug, revealing sweaty linen sleeves beneath. Cedric’s gaze caught on the flex of muscle, the warm skin underneath—too close, too intimate. He swallowed hard, forcing his focus back to the task at hand. Cedric moved on to the thigh guards, which didn’t really help the whole proximity issue he was currently battling.
For Aurenis’s sake. One handsome knight ends up in front of you, and he’s all you can think about. Your brain is not below the belt, Ced.
The final step was freeing the chest piece fully, lifting it away from Finn’s torso. A purple bruise bloomed on the knight’s torso, but it was the pale scars that drew Cedric’s attention. His fingers hovered, a sudden awareness of how close they were—how exposed Finn seemed, and how easily Cedric could trace those scars with a touch.
He pulled back, shaking off the thought. Gods, this is going to be a problem.
Soft footsteps in the hallway announced Gwenna’s return. She stepped into the room, a small clay jar in one hand and a bowl of water and cloth in the other. Without ceremony, she thrust them at Cedric. “Here,” she said, curtly. “This is all you. I need to go find…something.”
Cedric took the proffered items, but raised a brow. “What?”
She crossed her arms, eyeing Finn with a mix of exasperation and guarded concern. “I need to find where he got the audacity,” she grumbled under her breath, as though it were a serious errand.
A startled laugh escaped Cedric. The sound of his amusement seemed to thaw some of Gwenna’s tension, though she maintained a tight-lipped scowl for show. Instead of leaving, she stepped back, leaning against the wall where she could watch but remain out of the way.
Cedric sat at the edge of the cot. He dipped the cloth into the bowl of water Gwenna had brought and wrung it out, then carefully blotted the crusted wound on the knight’s forehead. Finn didn’t stir, but the crease between his brows deepened.
“Relax,” Cedric murmured, though he suspected Finn couldn’t hear him. “Just cleaning you up.” He gently wiped away the worst of the grime.
The cloth came away tinged with dried blood and dirt. Cedric set it aside and popped open the jar of salve. A pungent, earthy aroma wafted up, reminding him of the times Gwenna’s homemade remedies had soothed him after a day spent hauling timber or scouring the forest for fresh game.
“Let’s hope this helps,” he muttered, dabbing his fingers into the salve and spreading it along the swelling.
Cedric’s gaze settled on Finn’s face, where unconsciousness had done little to soften the strong planes and defined angles. The lantern light skimmed over his features—the proud cut of his jaw, the high cheekbones, the faint crease between his brows, as if even now, he resisted surrender.
Dark lashes rested against sun-bronzed skin, their depth accentuating the symmetry of his face. A thin scar marked his jawline, a remnant of past battles. It suited him, somehow, adding to the undeniable presence he carried, even now, stripped of his armor and vulnerability laid bare.
Gods, he’s exquisite.
The thought hit like a stray ember, burning at the edges of his restraint. It wasn’t some startling revelation—he’d noticed Finn’s handsomeness the moment they met. But here, in the quiet, with his guard lowered and his life quite literally in Cedric’s hands, it felt…different.
Not the time, he scolded himself, jaw tightening.
He forced himself to concentrate on his task, smoothing the salve gently around the base of Finn’s skull and across the cut. The knight let out a faint groan but didn’t stir further.
Gwenna stepped over to assess the knight, no longer glowering quite so fiercely. “Those are some nasty bruises on his chest.”
