Cedric’s shoulders tensed. I put them there. His gut clenched at the memory of his tail connecting with the knight, sending him spinning into the underbrush. Cedric bit down on his lower lip. He’d seen bruises before—hell, he’d had similar bruises like this himself from not paying attention around horses in the royal stables. This was no different.
Only it was.
“Ced?” Gwenna prompted. “Something wrong?”
He swallowed. “Nothing.”
She frowned, disbelieving. “You have that look about you.”
Gwenna didn’t need to expand what she meant. He knew. They both knew his tendency to go too deeply into his own head, to let his own regrets and guilt overshadow everything.
Cedric cleared his throat. He would think about something else, then. “Really, I’m fine.” He dipped his fingers into the salve, returning to his original task.
His gaze fell on Finn, and suddenly, all his dour thoughts fell away as he took in the knight’s contours beneath the mottled bruising. Right. I can do this. You’re just taking care of someone who needs help, Ced. That’s all.
He worked carefully, spreading the salve over the worst of the bruising. His fingertips traced the map of old scars and the firm muscles beneath. Finn let out a quiet sigh, his body shifting under Cedric’s touch.
Cedric froze, momentary panic flaring. He yanked his hand away.
But after a beat, Finn went slack again. Cedric relaxed. His hands lingered longer than they should have, fingertips ghosting over the deep purple blooming along Finn’s ribs.
Cedric exhaled sharply, trying to shake the feeling creeping under his skin. This was ridiculous. He was ridiculous. Why was he so damn aware of this man? I’m supposed to be tending an injury, not cataloging the angles of a knight’s collarbones like some love-struck fool.
He needed a distraction—anything that wasn’t Finn or the treacherous pull of his own thoughts. His mind grasped for an escape, reaching frantically, like a drowning man lunging for a rope. Something else. Anything else. He dredged up old memories, latching onto one before Gwenna could notice his reaction.
“Do you remember,” he asked, “that summer when Father took us to the seaside? You were determined to catch a mermaid with your bare hands.”
“You told me they only appeared at night, so I snuck out of our rooms. I was convinced I’d lure one ashore with leftover bread crusts.” Gwenna let out a small laugh, the tension draining from her posture.
Cedric managed a small smile. “Father nearly had a heart attack when he discovered you were missing at dawn. And Darius and I—” He stopped short, the name catching in his throat like a hot coal at the mention of his former friend. His sister’s betrothed.
Gwenna’s lips pursed, and she shook her head, as if to banish Darius’s name. “If only the mermaids had dragged him under. He was a bad influence, anyway.”
Cedric nodded. She wasn’t wrong, but now he couldn’t dismiss his old friend so easily. Not when Darius had stepped forward after Cedric’s supposed death, claiming the crown and announcing a secret betrothal to Gwenna.
He tried to shake away the anger and suspicion, but it refused to fade. Cedric picked up the cloth he’d used to clean Finn, wiping the salve from his hands.
Finnian’s eyes fluttered open, unfocused and confused. He blinked sluggishly, as if struggling to piece together where he was. His brow furrowed, a flicker of recognition in his grey depths—but before he could speak, a faint grimace twisted his face. His eyelids fluttered, his body tensed slightly as if bracing against nausea, and then he slipped into unconsciousness once more.
Gwenna folded her arms, her expression grim. “Cedric, we can’t keep him here. Even if we don’t…dispose of him, we can’t risk him waking up and seeing you. What if he puts it together? What if he realizes you’re the dragon?”
Cedric pressed his lips into a thin line, pacing from one corner of the small room to the other. The lantern light flickered, illuminating cracks in the walls, the worn tapestries from the outpost’s military era.
“I know,” he muttered, pushing aside an old wooden stool with one foot to make more space. “But we can’t just let him go, either. He’ll run straight to Mirathen, bring an army to our doorstep.” He let out a shaky breath.
“What do you intend to do? Keep him as a pet?” Gwenna asked, eyebrows raised.
“As much fun as dragon keeping a knight as a pet sounds, we’re probably better off with our goats and chickens.” Satisfaction shot through Cedric at the amused snort that Gwenna made. “Maybe we...we tell him the truth. Or part of it, anyway. He’s not a brute. Maybe he’ll leave us alone if he realizes we’re just living our lives, not hurting anyone.” He took a deep breath. “I’ll talk to him—like this, as a man. We’ll make sure he never even sees the dragon side of me.”
“But he already saw the dragon,” Gwenna pointed out, eyes narrowing. “Twice. You’re not exactly forgettable.”
Cedric winced, recalling how Finnian had lunged at him in the clearing, sword flashing like a brand of righteous fury. “We’ll just say…the dragon’s a pet. It’s gone hunting or something.” He grimaced at the feeble lie. Thalos, how gullible must we hope he is? Still, it was better than murdering a knight of Lunareth. “I’m sure his memory of it is hazy anyway, especially after that knock to the head.”
“You always were the optimist in the family,” she said, voice dry. Then, after a beat, she frowned. “But you’re putting a lot of faith in someone who just tried to kill you.”
Cedric gave her a rueful smile. “I know.”
Gwenna’s arms tightened over her chest. “And if you’re wrong?” she challenged. “If he wakes up, realizes you’re the dragon, and we have to fight him all over again?”
