Finn nodded, offering a small smile. “I’ll be right in. I just want to give Ghost a good grooming and pick her hooves.”
With a confirming nod, Gwenna left. As soon as the stable door swung shut, silence settled again, broken only by the soothing munch of hay as Ghost ate. Finn exhaled, leaning into his task. With each stroke of the currycomb, his gaze strayed to that straw pallet in the corner. He couldn’t banish the image of Cedric curled up there, hair likely tousled with bits of hay clinging to it. Why on earth would he?—?
And why did he care so much? Was it simply because, after being missing for so long, the prince was an enigma? Or was it something deeper—like the quickening of his heart at Cedric’s touch, the soft hush of his voice, the way he looked with that haunted sorrow beneath the surface?
A sigh escaped him. I hardly know him.
Finn set the brush aside and pulled out the hoof pick, focusing on cleaning Ghost’s hooves. When Ghost was in pristine shape, he latched the stall door, gave her one last affectionate pat, and headed for the outpost’s kitchen. The aroma of simmering broth and herbs drew him in like a beacon.
“Smells incredible,” he said, voice echoing in the stone-walled room. Gwenna stirred a pot while humming a snatch of some tune. She turned at the sound of his voice.
“Thanks! It’s just a simple vegetable stew,” she replied. “We have some decent bread left over, too.”
“Reminds me of one my mother used to make,” Finn commented, inhaling the earthy scent of carrots, onions, and thyme. In truth, it sparked memories of simpler days before tragedy sank its claws into his life. “I haven’t seen your brother today. I wanted to thank him for letting me stay.”
Finn paused, arms folded across his chest, watching Gwenna’s hesitation on the carrot she was chopping. She looked up at him, her expression cautious, almost defensive.
“Cedric…works at night.” Gwenna’s voice was hesitant, her knife hovering over the cutting board. “He’s asleep right now.”
Finn arched a brow in curiosity. “Works? Doing what?” Then he paused. “Oh, do you mean the wood carving?”
“The wood carving,” she agreed with careful phrasing. “Among other things.”
Wood carving at night, in a tower with minimal light, struck him as peculiar. But then again, everything about this situation is strange. The prince sleeping in a barn, Gwenna’s refusal to dwell on the past, the protective dragon that roamed the forest.
Wait…sleeping in the barn? When he and Gwenna had stabled Ghost, the pallet had been empty. For a moment, Finn considered pressing her—why wasn’t Cedric on the pallet in the barn? Or was he sleeping in the outpost somewhere? The watchful look on Gwenna’s face cautioned him to tread lightly.
They settled into lunch. Gwenna steered the conversation toward safe topics—small anecdotes about the local wildlife, a passing reference to the village trade. Finn listened intently, occasionally asking polite questions. He gathered bits of insight into how they lived here: Gwenna’s tinkering, some garden harvests, and occasionally venturing to town. Yet that was the extent of what she’d share. She’s wary, he reminded himself. I’m still an outsider.
After lunch, Finn insisted on cleaning up. He felt restless, wanting to do something useful, so Gwenna relented with a teasing threat that he not overexert himself. Washing bowls and spoons provided a comforting rhythm, temporarily pushing aside the morass of larger questions—about Cedric’s midnight woodworking, Gwenna’s gentle suspicion, and the dragon that haunted his mission.
He spent much of the afternoon with Ghost. Gwenna suggested allowing Ghost a chance to graze, so he led the mare toward the goat pen.
The goats trotted over to investigate the newcomer in their midst, bleating curiously as Ghost snatched up a mouthful of grass. Most of the goats cautiously sniffed at the mare before losing interest. Clarence, however, was another matter entirely. The troublemaker eyed Ghost with clear suspicion before letting out a challenging bleat and attempting to headbutt her shoulder. Ghost flicked an ear, completely unbothered, and simply stepped aside, leaving Clarence to huff indignantly.
Finn chuckled, shaking his head at the goat’s antics. “You’re lucky she doesn’t see you as a threat.”
Eventually, the mare wandered to a shady corner of the pen, settling in with contented flicks of her tail. Finn remained by the fence for a few more minutes, watching the easy rhythm of the animals before his curiosity drew him back inside.
He drifted toward the library alcove again, scanning the spines of the books for one that might help pass the time. The day wore on, and he fell into a light doze in a chair by the bookshelf. By the time he stirred, the sunlight had shifted, painting the stone walls in long, golden beams. He could hear Gwenna moving about, the telltale sounds of clattering pots and pans signaling the start of the evening meal.
Finn descended to find Gwenna preparing yet another savory dish—something involving roasted meat that made his stomach rumble just from the smell. His mind flicked to Cedric again: He was resting, presumably. Will he finally make an appearance?
Gwenna filled two cups with water from a jug. They chatted as she continued the meal preparation, with Finn chipping in—mostly about Finn’s horse and the goats, interspersed with the occasional dry remark about how she hadn’t expected to be hosting a knight-errant in their tower. Finn tried to laugh it off, focusing on the casual banter, but his thoughts inevitably circled back to Cedric’s absence.
“Will Cedric be joining us?” he ventured at last, pitching his voice as evenly as he could manage. Something about the question felt loaded, like he was asking permission to see the man again.
Gwenna glanced at the window, likely checking the sun’s position. “Yes, he should be here shortly. He never misses dinner.”
Finn let out a quiet exhale. Good, he thought, forcing an untroubled nod. “I can’t say I’d blame him. This smells delicious.” He gestured to the haunch of meat Gwenna was fussing over, juices sizzling in a shallow pan. His mouth practically watered just at the sight.
Before they could continue, the patter of hooves and a sudden, high-pitched bleat from outside broke the moment. Gwenna froze, spoon still in hand, then groaned, rolling her eyes heavenward. “That has to be Clarence again! Gods above, that goat is insufferable.”
Finn laughed—an involuntary reaction to her exasperation. He pushed back from the table, ignoring the faint twinge in his healing injuries. “I’ll go check on him,” he said impulsively. Perhaps it was a chance to prove he wasn’t completely helpless.
Gwenna lifted an amused brow. “Sure you’re up for it? You might want a battalion of knights at your back.”
He smirked, heading for the door. “How bad can a single goat be? I’ll bring him back, just you wait.”
