Satisfied, Cedric stepped back, settling into the chair. He tried, and failed, to come up with a conversational topic. Finn, despite the blow to his head, was faster.
“You were a prince. The one who was supposedly killed by the dragon.” The knight’s gaze almost pinned him in place.
Great, back to my favorite topic again. Cedric drew a slow breath, schooling his features. “If I were dead, I wouldn’t be having this conversation, now would I?”
Finn’s brow lifted. “That’s not really an answer.”
Cedric narrowed his eyes. “If it soothes your conscience, then consider me a very convincing impostor.” He followed it up with a single-shoulder shrug, as if the whole thing had been a matter of theatrics and not a big, scaly curse.
Finn scoffed. “You’re being impossible. Why? Why fake your own death? Why hide away in this tower?”
Something in Cedric cracked. Fake. The word sat wrong, heavier than Finn probably meant it. If only it had been that simple. His bravado thinned, like fabric worn too threadbare to hold. “It’s… not like that.” He rubbed the back of his neck, debating how much to reveal. “There are things about that night—about everything—that you might not understand.”
Finn let out a slow exhale and, despite the obvious ache in his head, leaned forward. “You’d be surprised what I can understand.”
Cedric swallowed hard, torn between the instinct to protect himself (and Gwenna) and the bizarre, magnetic pull of this knight, who—gods help him—was just stubborn enough to make Cedric want to talk.
For a moment, Cedric sat there, mouth half-open, the urge to speak burning like a smoldering coal in his chest. The thought of finally sharing his secret with someone besides Gwenna was almost intoxicating.
But he couldn’t.
Not when the cost of that confession would be too high for them all.
His gaze dropped to Finn’s hand resting in his lap. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I can’t.”
Finn’s shoulders sagged, disappointment shadowing his eyes. “I understand.” He cleared his throat. “Can you at least tell me about the dragon? The one that’s supposed to be guarding this tower?”
Cedric’s heart clenched. Dangerous territory. No matter how carefully he stepped, he risked revealing more than he could afford. “What about it?”
Finn’s brow creased as he tried to order his thoughts. “Your sister called it a pet,” he said at last, voice edged with skepticism. “But it looked exactly like the one that attacked the royal family. This one was strange, though. It didn’t attack me. It seemed almost…reluctant.”
Cedric swallowed hard, remembering that moment. The way Finn had looked, standing there in his gleaming armor, sword raised. Righteous fury burning in his eyes, ready to skewer me without hesitation.
He should have fought back. Should have killed him. But he hadn’t. Not just because he liked Finn—not that he was ready to unpack that mess—but because if he had, if he’d let himself become the monster Finn already believed him to be…
Cedric feared that he’d never find his way back.
“The dragon is…” Cedric paused, searching for the least incriminating words. “Not what you think. It’s not a monster. It’s…a protector.”
Finn leaned forward, wincing a little. Cedric almost reached out to brace him, but stopped himself. A dangerous habit, this urge to touch Finn.
“A protector?” the knight repeated. “Of what?”
“Of us,” Cedric said simply, forcing himself to hold Finn’s gaze. “Of this place. Of our freedom.”
For a moment, Finn said nothing. Then confusion and some hint of realization warred in his expression. “You talk about it like it’s intelligent. Like it’s…”
Cedric’s pulse spiked. He’s putting it together.
But after a beat, Finn sighed, running a hand over his face. “Never mind. I must still be more addled than I thought.”
A soft, tremulous sigh escaped Cedric. Thank Nivara, Keeper of Secrets. “You should rest,” he advised, standing and putting some much-needed distance between them—both to hide the relief washing over his face and to stop himself from doing something reckless. Like letting this conversation continue. “Your body needs time to heal.”
He turned to leave, but before he could take a single step, Finn’s hand shot out, fingers curling around Cedric’s wrist in a firm grip. The warmth of that touch jolted Cedric more than any blow could have, and he froze, meeting Finn’s gaze.
“Thank you,” Finn said, voice hushed. “For helping me. For…not killing me when you had the chance.”
Cedric’s throat constricted at the gratitude in Finn’s eyes. If only he knew. If only he understood just how close he had come to dying in that clearing—how Cedric’s instincts had screamed for him to fight, to end the threat before it could end him. How much of a battle it had been, not just to spare Finn’s life, but to preserve the last scraps of his own humanity.
