Cedric stilled. The tension in his shoulders returned, subtle but noticeable. He didn’t say anything.
Finn swallowed. He could see it—feel it—how much that affected Cedric. That had been the wrong feint to make. Time to correct it.
He smirked, trying to lighten the mood. “Of course, I thought knights were all about grand battles and noble quests. Didn’t realize most of the job was standing guard at doors while nobles gossiped.”
Cedric raised his brows. “Disillusioned?”
“A bit.” Finn leaned against the post. “But lately, I’ve been realizing something. Knights are always needed. By the crown, by their kingdom. But being wanted...that’s different.”
“Aren’t those the same?” Cedric asked. “Fairly certain the crown wants to have an ample roster of knights.”
“Not the way I mean it,” Finn said, watching the prince intently.
Cedric held his gaze for a beat. Then he looked away, hammering in the last nail with more force than necessary. “There.” His voice was quieter now. “That should hold.”
They stood shoulder to shoulder, the warmth of Cedric’s body a whisper against Finn’s arm. The air between them felt charged, heavy with something invisible but undeniable.
Finn exhaled slowly, but it did nothing to steady him. His skin prickled, hyperaware of every breath Cedric took, of the faint scent of cedar and sawdust lingering on his clothes. As if drawn by an invisible force, they turned toward each other.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Finn’s pulse thundered in his ears. Cedric’s gaze dipped to his mouth. Finn’s fingers clenched the fencepost, his grip so tight the rough wood bit into his palm. He needed the anchor because every inch of him wanted to close the space between them.
To lean in. To find out if Cedric would stop him.
Or let it happen.
Then an obnoxious bleat rang out from the shadows. Clarence.
The spell shattered. Finn groaned, throwing his head back. “I swear, that goat is possessed.”
Cedric laughed—warm, unguarded, real. Finn would suffer a thousand Clarence-related humiliations to hear that sound again. “Come on.” Cedric bumped Finn’s shoulder lightly. “Let’s get inside before he claims another victim.”
Finn sighed, but followed him.
As they walked back toward the tower, Finn couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight had changed something. The distance between them was smaller now. The silences felt less like something to be afraid of.
He didn’t entirely mind getting humbled by a goat. Especially if it meant Cedric laughing like that again.
Chapter Fourteen
Cedric’s talons dug into the cliff face, rough granite yielding beneath their razor-edged curve. The stone radiated heat like a living thing, soaking into the golden plates of his underbelly. His tongue flicked out, tasting pine resin and distant rain on the wind. Below, the forest stretched in a rumpled green blanket; the river glinting like a dropped sword between the trees. His slit-pupiled eyes tracked a hawk’s spiraling descent. Then his focus returned to the outpost far below.
Finn was down there.
A soft puff of smoke drifted from his nostrils. He hadn’t meant to let his thoughts drift to the knight so easily, but it was becoming harder to stop himself. The memory of the previous night burned in his mind—Finn on the ground, winded from his encounter with Clarence, and Cedric reaching down to help him.
His tail lashed, sending a shower of pebbles clattering down the cliff side. Stupid. Reckless. His secondary eyelids slid shut, but it didn’t block the afterimage: Finn’s storm-cloud eyes widening, a lock of ebony hair falling across his brow as Cedric hauled him upright.
He exhaled sharply through flared nostrils. A brisk gust of wind rattled the leaves below, and Cedric finally tore his gaze from the outpost, forcing his thoughts back into order. The sun was sinking lower. It was nearly time.
The dying rays gilded the western peaks when he finally pushed off, wings snapping taut to catch the late afternoon thermals. The cool air rippled over his scales, carrying the scents of the land below as he dove toward his usual landing spot.
Cedric touched down in the meadow a mile from the tower, his claws sinking into the damp earth. The grass here was tall, golden from the waning season, and it rustled softly as he made his way toward the hollow tree where he kept his clothing. With Finn at the outpost, he could no longer safely transform there. But Cedric was adaptable.
The sun slipped lower.
The moment the last light of day faded, the transformation began.
