Then—Cedric’s golden wings. His massive claws. His fanged maw.
Finn’s father crushed beneath rubble.
A broken sound escaping Finn’s lips as his entire world crumbled beneath him.
Betrayal. Confusion. Rage.
And worst of all, a deep, aching sorrow that he didn’t know what to do with. Because even now, even after all of it—he still wanted Cedric. And he hated himself for it.
Chapter Sixteen
Finn trembled as he saddled Ghost, his fingers clumsy, betraying the turmoil raging inside him. The stable, which had been a place of warmth and whispered confessions mere hours ago, now felt suffocating, its walls closing in around him. Every shadow in the dim morning light twisted into the shape of golden scales, every rustle of straw an echo of wings unfurling.
I have to get out of here.
His breath came unevenly as he tugged the girth tighter than necessary, and Ghost shifted beneath him with a disgruntled snort, ears flicking back in protest. Finn forced himself to pause, dragging in a shaky breath as he loosened the girth a notch. He couldn’t afford to fall apart now. He needed to leave—needed distance, space to think, to breathe.
But no matter how far he rode, the name tangled in his thoughts like roots too deep to tear free:
Cedric.
The thought of him sent another violent pang through Finn. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing it away, but the images came unbidden—the press of Cedric’s lips, the warmth of his body, the quiet, stolen moments between them. Moments Finn had thought were real.
And yet…
The same Cedric, wings spread wide in the morning sun, golden and terrible. The same Cedric, fleeing into the sky, leaving nothing behind but shattered trust.
A hollow ache spread through Finn, a weight settling in his chest that no amount of deep breathing could dislodge.
Ghost shifted again, sensing his unrest, and Finn forced his hands to still, smoothing a palm down the mare’s neck. “Easy, girl,” he murmured, though it was himself he was trying to soothe. “We just need to go.”
He had already retrieved his things from inside the tower—his pack slung over his shoulder, filled with what little he had brought on this mission. His enchanted armor, his coin purse, a few supplies. And most importantly, Sunwrath. The sword’s presence was reassuring against his back, but now Finn felt like a traitor, unable to wield the sword as he’d vowed. He imagined swinging the blade at Cedric-as-dragon. Would he dance away as before, parry the incoming attack? Or would he take the blow and end the agony between them?
Finn swallowed hard, shoving the thought away.
With a final check of the saddle, he led Ghost out into the courtyard.
The sun had fully risen now, casting long shadows across the ground, and the light—gods, the light—caught on the stones with a golden hue that mirrored Cedric’s scales too perfectly. Finn gritted his teeth and tore his gaze away, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand.
His muscles remembered the motions even as his mind spiraled.
As Ghost moved out, Finn couldn’t stop himself from glancing back at the tower, his gut twisting. The windows were dark, offering no sign of life. No Cedric waiting in the doorway with regret in his eyes. No Gwenna storming out, demanding answers.
Maybe she was still asleep.
Or maybe—maybe she knew.
Finn exhaled sharply, willing the thought away. It didn’t matter. He didn’t have time to face Gwenna, to ferret out her part in this tangled mess. Not now.
He nudged Ghost forward. As they passed through into the trees, Finn looked over his shoulder one last time. He wasn’t just leaving the tower behind. Finn was leaving behind every foolish, naïve part of himself that had dared to believe there could be something more.
The only sounds were the rhythmic thud of Ghost’s hooves against the dirt, the distant birdsong, and the occasional whisper of leaves shifting in the breeze. Finn should have found solace in the quiet. But his thoughts refused to settle. They looped back, again and again, forcing him to relive everything he believed—everything Cedric had shattered.
The first time he had seen Cedric, standing in the market, quiet and wary. Had he known then who Finn was? What he had come to do?
The tentative trust that had grown between them, now tainted beyond recognition.
How much of it had been real? And how much had been a carefully crafted deception?
