Gone to the village to fetch your horse. Should be back before midday. Help yourself to breakfast.
-Gwenna
He exhaled, the knot of tension in his chest loosening. She’s bringing Ghost. Relief warred with the uneasy reminder that he was still a guest—perhaps even a prisoner—amid uncertain allies. A quick glance out the window confirmed the sun had only just cleared the treetops. Gwenna, it seemed, was an early riser. His gaze drifted back to the spread on the table, and his stomach reminded him that healing knights required sustenance.
“Right,” he murmured, setting the note aside. “No point starving.”
He settled into a chair, grabbing a hunk of bread and a slice of cheese. The flavors were fresh, comfortingly simple. As he ate, his mind roiled with the events of the past day. He couldn’t stop replaying that conversation with Cedric in the dead of night. The man’s revelations—a once-prince, a faked death, a dragon-guardian—were the stuff of half-remembered legends, not something to be encountered in a modest tower hidden in a remote forest.
And yet, none of it felt contrived. Cedric’s quiet resolve and the skittishness in his eyes suggested hard truths. Finn found himself uncomfortably drawn to the lost prince’s aura of calm strength. Calm, until he touched me.
A flush warmed Finn’s cheeks at the memory—the spark that leapt when Cedric laid a gentle hand on his wound, the soft intensity in those golden-brown eyes.
Gods, I’m in trouble. As a knight, duty should trump all else. But his usual clarity was muddied by the intrigue swirling around Cedric and Gwenna. Finn grimaced. Stay focused. He forced himself to finish the last piece of fruit, though each bite felt overshadowed by the question of what he was supposed to do now. The so-called missing princess isn’t missing at all, and I can’t just force her to return. Not unless I want to end up with another lump on my head.
Finished with his breakfast, he stood, crossing the main room in slow steps. With Gwenna gone, he could snoop around. But would Cedric see that as a betrayal? A pang of guilt tightened his gut. The recollection of Cedric’s guarded expression made him pause. He’s not a threat, so long as I don’t threaten him. That, at least, was how Finn felt. So far, neither Cedric nor Gwenna had truly harmed him, aside from that singular rock to the skull.
Still, curiosity tugged, and he gave in. He drifted toward an alcove in the corner, where shelves crammed with books and scrolls lined the stone walls. The place smelled of old parchment and a faint whiff of herb satchels—maybe to keep pests away. He traced his fingertips along the spines, lips moving as he silently read the titles: herbal compendiums, bestiaries, and—surprisingly—a row of fairy-tale collections. He plucked one of the latter off the shelf, the leather binding cracked from heavy use, the pages yellowed and dog-eared.
Knights and dragons. Princes and princesses. The faintly colored illustrations showed valiant warriors in shining armor, triumphant over monstrous beasts. Something about these stories felt closer to reality now—like stepping into a reflection of his own predicament. He frowned, flipping to a well-worn page depicting a proud prince standing beside a dragon.
His gaze rested on the prince—the sharp cut of his features, the grace in his stance, the way he held himself with quiet authority even in the presence of a beast. The orange dragon loomed beside him, but Finn didn’t spare it a glance. It was the prince who held his attention.
Is that so different from Cedric? The thought sent a shiver through him. He swallowed hard, then forced himself to snap the book shut. Sliding it back into place, he stepped away, as if that could put distance between himself and the prince who occupied far too much of his mind.
A rhythmic clip-clop of hooves outside jolted his attention away from the shelves. Horse. His heart leapt—Ghost. Without hesitation, Finn hurried to the window. Sure enough, Gwenna emerged from the tree line astride his beloved grey mare. Relief surged in him like a warm tide, and before he quite registered the motion, he was dashing to the tower door.
“Ghost!” he called, grinning ear to ear as he pushed the door open. His horse nickered in response, ears pricking at the sight of Finn. “Gods, I’ve missed you,” he murmured, resting a hand against the mare’s neck. He inhaled the familiar scent of horse sweat and hay.
The princess—though she’d deny the title, apparently—slid down from the saddle and gave him a small, tired smile. “Good morning, Finn. I see you’re up and about.”
“Thanks to you and your brother,” he said, stroking Ghost’s velvety nose. The mare snorted, nudging him in greeting. Her welcome felt like a heartening reminder that some things, at least, were straightforward. “It’s good to see you too, Ghost.”
Gwenna’s smile widened, traces of fatigue lingering at its corners. “She’s a good horse,” she said fondly. “Came from quality stock, I can tell.” She patted Ghost’s shoulder. “Didn’t even spook when a rabbit bolted in front of us. I knew I was in good hands...or I guess, hooves.” A teasing gleam lit her eye.
It was a simple remark, but Finn frowned all the same. She really went alone? What if something had happened—bandits, or worse? He kept his voice casual, feigning mere curiosity. “Did Cedric not come with you?”
Gwenna’s posture stiffened. “No,” she said after a beat. “He was up late wrangling a rogue goat.”
Finn blinked. “I…see.” He cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly. “But thanks again for bringing Ghost. I hope it wasn’t too much trouble.”
Waving off his gratitude, Gwenna turned toward the stable door. “Not at all. Let’s get her settled, shall we?”
Finn nodded, leading Ghost alongside Gwenna. The heavy wooden door groaned in protest as Gwenna pushed it open, allowing bright shafts of morning sunlight to fall across the stable’s straw-strewn floor. The stable was tidy—but with a curious emptiness to it, as though some of the stalls had been removed. Why?
His gaze snagged on a pallet in the far corner—a makeshift bed of straw with a pillow and a folded blanket. A simple shirt and trousers lay neatly beside it. Confusion rippled through him.
“Is someone sleeping in the stables?” he blurted, glancing at Gwenna.
She followed his line of sight, and a rueful smile tugged at her lips. “Ah, yes. Cedric. Sometimes he has trouble sleeping indoors. He prefers it out here.”
A prince sleeping in a barn? Finn’s brow furrowed, trying to reconcile this new image of the lost prince—sleeping on a bed of straw, like some farmhand. “Wouldn’t he be more comfortable in, you know, a real bed?” he asked carefully.
Gwenna just shrugged. “Cedric’s always been…unconventional.” But there was a flash of something in her eyes—fondness, perhaps, or gentle exasperation—that Finn couldn’t quite decipher. He recognized that look; it reminded him of the way siblings spoke of well-meaning but troublesome brothers.
He nodded, not pressing further. Part of him wanted to pry, to unravel the intricacies of Cedric’s life. Another part, the chivalrous knight in him, insisted he respect boundaries in this place, where he remained a trespasser. Gwenna showed him where to stable Ghost and fetch fresh water.
“I’m going to put together some lunch,” Gwenna said, once Ghost was munching contentedly. She dusted her hands off on her tunic. “I figure we could all use a meal after such an early morning.”
