Finn winced, the accusation lancing through him. His jaw tightened, teeth grinding against the sour tang of guilt on his tongue. “I came here to rescue you,” he protested, the words rougher than he intended, his calloused palm flattening against the sweat-damp linen on his thigh. “To fulfill my duty as a knight of the realm.”
“And who gave you that duty?” Gwenna challenged, her voice sharp enough to carve stone. ”Who sent you on this noble quest?”
“King Darius,” Finn answered automatically. He stilled, tracking the blood draining from Gwenna’s face, the faint tremor in her throat as she swallowed. Fear. Anger.
“Darius,” Gwenna spat, the name curdling the air between them. ”Of course it was Darius.”
A nervous chill crept along Finn’s spine. The king had ordered him to come, but he hadn’t given many details about Princess Gwenna’s condition—only that she was a captive of a monstrous dragon. Now, seeing Gwenna stand here unshackled and fiercely protective of the beast… Were we all lied to?
“What does King Darius have to do with this?” he asked, and he couldn’t keep the edge from his voice. A faint part of him cringed at the disrespect—King Darius wasn’t known for forgiveness when it came to slights.
Gwenna shook her head, her silhouette a blade of shadow against the window. “That’s none of your business.”
Finn exhaled slowly. No matter how vital it might be to me. Clearly, she wasn’t going to volunteer the truth. He forced himself to stand, ignoring the swirl of dizziness that made the walls tilt. Pain surged in protest, but he refused to let it show. “Then let me speak to Prince Cedric,” he demanded. “Let me understand what’s going on here—why you’d choose to stay in an abandoned tower with a dragon for company.”
Gwenna glanced at the window, sunlight gilding the tension in her shoulders. “He’ll be back soon. When night falls.” Her nose wrinkled, a hint of defiance. “And he’s just Cedric.” Something in her tone suggested this was more than a matter of practicality—she was determined to shed the burden of royalty.
Finn nodded slowly, mulling that over. He was starting to grasp how important secrecy was to them, though the full reason still eluded him. So Prince Cedric is alive. The revelation battered at Finn’s sense of duty—if Prince Cedric and Princess Gwenna truly lived, that meant the line of succession hadn’t ended the way King Darius had always implied.
Finn’s pulse thudded in his ears, a war drum drowning out the lie. He flexed his fingers, wishing he had Sunwrath close at hand. “What do you plan to do with me?”
The erstwhile princess arched a brow. “We’re still deciding.”
A leaden weight settled in Finn’s stomach at those words. They could dispose of me any time. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to keep eye contact. “Can I make a request?”
Gwenna cocked her head, sunlight catching the steel in her gaze. “Sure. Whether I’ll grant it is another thing.”
“It’s about my horse.” The words loosened something in his chest. Finn inhaled, the memory of Ghost’s warm leather-and-hay scent momentarily overriding the room’s mustiness. “I have her stabled in town, but only left enough coin to cover two days of boarding.” He paused, not missing the way her shoulders relaxed. “Some livery stables are quick to sell off steeds whose riders haven’t paid for their keep. And Ghost is special to me.”
He saw the brief conflict in her expression—reluctance warred with a genuine softness he hadn’t seen before. She let out a sigh. “I don’t think you’ll be in shape to hike down there anytime soon. But I can go myself in the morning, bring her back here.”
A surge of relief flooded Finn’s chest, and he smiled for the first time since he woke in this tower. “Thank you,” he murmured. It was a small concession, but it felt like a lifeline. At least Ghost will be safe. The mare’s comforting presence already braced him—a phantom nudge against his shoulder.
Then, a dull thump from somewhere below made them both tense, followed by the bleat of a goat. It was either a door—maybe the barn door—or the goats were up to no good.
“And that would be Cedric,” Gwenna said, heading for the door. “We’ll have dinner, and then no doubt he’ll want to come up to check on you himself.”
Finn nodded, a fresh jolt of nerves sparking. So I’m finally going to meet him—Prince Cedric, or just Cedric, as she insists. He eased himself back onto the bed, the day’s exertion stealing what remained of his energy. Everything still throbbed—his head, his pride—but at least he could rest a little before facing the tower’s other occupant.
Chapter Eleven
Cedric hissed against the molten pain of the transformation. His wings crumpled inward with a sound like tearing parchment, golden scales dissolving into sweat-damp flesh. He staggered as his talons shrank to toes, the stable’s hay prickling his newly human soles. Flexing his fingers—fingers, gods, the relief of joints that bent instead of hooked—he inhaled deeply.
A faint gust of night air curled into the stable, carrying the aroma of Gwenna’s cooking and reminding him of his very human hunger. Cedric ran a hand through his hair, still feeling the phantom weight of horns that were no longer there, and quickly dressed in his worn tunic and breeches. He tugged on his boots—scuffed from countless forays into the forest—then pushed open the stable door.
The goats in the adjacent pen stirred at the sound, shifting in the twilight. Lilac, the smallest of the herd, flicked her ears but remained curled in her favorite corner, unimpressed by the disruption. Clarence sprang over to the fence and greeted Cedric with a sharp, demanding bleat before unceremoniously dropping goat pellets in the hay. One of the younger goats skittered away from the mess with an offended snort.
“Goodnight to you too,” Cedric chuckled. At least Clarence was consistent, in his own mischievous way.
He made his way across the moonlit courtyard to the tower’s entrance, heart tightening a little at the thought of what awaited him within. Gwenna was at the hearth, stirring a pot that gave off the savory aroma of her signature rabbit stew. The small kitchen glowed in the firelight, and seeing his sister framed by that warmth made Cedric sigh in relief.
“There you are,” Gwenna said, her voice pointed but edged with relief. “I was beginning to think you’d flown off and left me to deal with our…guest all by myself.”
Cedric winced. He could hear the tension beneath her words, and he hated that she felt so on edge. “You know I wouldn’t do that,” he said softly. Stepping around to help set the table, he kept one ear tuned to her mood. “How is he?”
“Awake. Asking questions. Being entirely too perceptive for my liking.” Gwenna’s words bit like a winter wind.
An uneasy current rippled through Cedric. Of course Finn would be perceptive. That keen intelligence had sparked in every word the knight spoke during their brief interaction in the market square. “It’s only natural he’d have questions,” Cedric offered quietly. If I were in his position, I’d be brimming with them, too.
