Gwenna met his logic with stubborn silence, the same silence she wielded whenever she thought he was being willfully stupid. And maybe he was.
But her frustration wasn’t just about the knight—it was about him. Because in her eyes, Cedric had the luxury of believing things could change. That words could fix what swords had broken.
Gwenna was willing to kill a Lunarethen knight to keep them safe. And while Cedric understood her reasoning, he couldn’t let himself cross that line. Maybe he was too idealistic. Maybe talking to Finn was pointless. But gods, he was tired. Tired of hiding. Tired of killing when there was no other choice.
They ate in silence, each lost in troubled thoughts. The stew was as delicious as ever, but Cedric barely tasted it. Every spoonful felt like a countdown, reminding him that time was running out before Finn learned too much. When Gwenna finished, she stood to clear the bowls, but Cedric lifted his hand.
“I’ll handle them,” he said, standing. “You’ve had a long day.”
She eyed him doubtfully. “You hate doing the dishes.”
A tired laugh escaped him. “I still do, but it’s the least I can do after you spent the day shepherding a suspicious knight.” Heat pricked behind his eyes, guilt for all the ways Gwenna had carried burdens he couldn’t while trapped in dragon form each day. “You’ve earned a bit of rest.”
Gwenna’s lips parted, as if she might protest, but then she slumped a little. “All right,” she conceded. “I am bushed. Just…promise me you’ll be careful?”
Cedric snorted. He’d been groomed to rule a kingdom. And while that training was more than a decade old, he was no slouch with simple tasks at the outpost. “I’m fine. Everything is fine. Totally fine.”
“You realize that’s not at all convincing, right?” Gwenna asked cheerfully. But she came over and gave him a hug anyway. “If you need me, come wake me.”
“I won’t be doing that,” Cedric said immediately. Gwenna was never in a good mood when woken prematurely. If people thought he was scary as a dragon, they had never beheld a sleep-deprived Gwenna. His sister laughed, then headed for her room.
Cedric allowed himself a smile as she left, then returned to the task at hand. He washed and dried the dishes, then straightened the kitchen area. There wasn’t much to do, though, and Cedric was just delaying what he knew must come. Finn was here—was hurt—because of him.
He made his way back up the stairs, pausing outside Finn’s door. Taking a deep breath to bolster himself, he knocked softly before entering. There was no answer, so Cedric gently shoved the door open. Gwenna had fed their guest earlier, though he’d brought along a bowl of stew covered with a towel to keep it warm, just in case the knight was hungry again. Cedric moved to set the bowl on the small table, then placed the lantern he carried beside it.
The moment metal touched wood, Finn startled awake, eyes snapping open. Cedric’s pulse picked up, but he schooled his face into a calm expression.
“You,” Finn said, voice rough with residual pain or grogginess. There was no immediate hostility, just watchfulness.
“Me,” Cedric agreed, attempting a reassuring smile as he dragged a chair closer to the bed. The lantern illuminated the caution in Finn’s grey eyes. Not anger, at least. Small victories. “You’re looking much better than you were last night.”
Finn carefully pushed himself upright, wincing at the effort. His intense gaze stayed locked onto Cedric’s face, searching for…what, exactly? Answers? Reassurance? Weakness?
“I remember you,” Finn said softly. “From the market.”
Those words hit Cedric with a spike of relief and tension both. So he recalls. He forced a tight smile. “Yes, that was me.” A man living a lie, hoping the knight wouldn’t see through it. Life’s complicated.
“You didn’t mention you were a prince.” Finn’s tone was cautious, but there was no immediate accusation in it.
Cedric’s stomach twisted. Of course, that would come up first. He scoffed, jaw tightening. “I’m not,” he said curtly. “Not anymore.”
Finn’s eyes lit with something Cedric couldn’t quite figure out. “Right,” he said slowly. “Because you’re supposed to be dead.”
So that’s how it’s going to be. Cedric shook his head. This was not a conversation he intended to have. “You shouldn’t be moving around so quickly,” he deflected instead, eager to change the subject. “Nice and slow, or you’ll end up dizzy on the floor again.”
Finn’s expression shifted, becoming unbearably stubborn. “The knight’s physician would have me walking by now.”
Cedric snorted. “The knight’s physician isn’t here, is he?” He crossed his arms, leaning back just enough to be irritating. At least, that was Gwenna’s observation about this pose. “Unless you want to take it up with Gwenna, who—need I remind you—put you in this condition in the first place.”
Finn scowled, muttering something under his breath that Cedric was fairly certain wasn’t thank you for your concern.
Shaking his head and allowing himself a small chuckle, Cedric stood and moved closer, pulse quickening at the prospect of touching the knight again. “May I?” he asked, gesturing to Finn’s head.
Finn hesitated only a moment before nodding.
Cedric reached out, fingers skimming carefully around the bandage. “It looks much improved,” he murmured, half to himself, keeping his voice neutral. “How’s your vision? Any dizziness?”
Finn gingerly rubbed his forehead. “Better,” he admitted. “A bit fuzzy around the edges, but it’s not spinning like before.”
