Finn wanted to believe in the moments that had felt unguarded—the way Cedric had looked at him, the way he had touched him. But then he remembered the attack on Solavere Palace. The fire, the screams.
A fresh wave of nausea surged through him. His grip tightened on the reins. How do I reconcile this?
Because the dragon that had killed his father, the dragon Finn had sworn to destroy, should not have been the same man who had kissed him with such aching tenderness. It didn’t make sense.
Finn couldn’t shake the image of Cedric’s dragon form in the stable, hunched and miserable, golden eyes filled with sorrow and something dangerously close to fear. That wasn’t the posture of a mindless, bloodthirsty beast.
Finn stared at Ghost’s wind-tousled mane. His mind was still churning when he looked up and realized the road ahead had split. To the left—the path back to Lunareth’s capital. To the right—the road curved back toward the village, toward the abandoned outpost, toward answers he wasn’t sure he was ready to face.
Finn hesitated, his heart urging him to turn back, to demand answers from Cedric. But what good would it do? The truth had been laid bare in the stable, gleaming in the morning light. Cedric had lied to him. Not just a small lie, not something forgivable—this had been a deception so vast, so unthinkable, that Finn could scarcely wrap his mind around it.
He blew out a soft breath, willing the shaking in his hands to subside. He needed to focus on his duty. That was all that mattered now. He was a knight of the realm, sworn to protect his people, sworn to serve the king. He had been given a task, and he had failed.
Finn had failed.
The depth of that failure squeezed the air from his lungs. He was going to have to face the consequences.
With a heavy heart, Finn guided Ghost to the left. The mare obeyed without hesitation, carrying him farther and farther from the place that had so briefly felt like something more than a mission.
As they continued down the path to the capital, Finn’s mind turned to the task ahead. He had to report to King Darius, to inform him that Princess Gwenna had been found, and that she was safe. But what of Cedric?
Finn’s stomach churned at the thought of revealing Cedric’s secret. The idea felt wrong, like a betrayal, but wasn’t it his duty? Hadn’t he sworn an oath to his kingdom? He had been sent to slay a dragon, and instead, he had…
Finn clenched his jaw.
He couldn’t even put it into words.
And if he told the king? If he dared to speak the truth aloud?
Finn could already picture the reaction. The king’s fury. The mobilization of an army. Hunters, wizards, knights—every resource thrown toward eradicating the golden beast.
A fresh wave of nausea swept over Finn.
No.
He couldn’t do it. Not yet. Not until he knew more. Not until he understood why Cedric had attacked Solavere Palace. He needed the truth—the real truth, not the stories traded in taverns or the fearful whispers of courtiers. And he would find it.
But first, he had to explain himself.
How was he supposed to justify returning empty-handed? How would he make the king understand Gwenna wasn’t some lost damsel in need of rescue? That she had carved out a life for herself, one she had no desire to leave behind? Finn wasn’t sure how he would frame the truth, but he knew one thing: King Darius would not be pleased.
These thoughts plagued him as he rode. The forest thinned, giving way to rolling hills and scattered farmsteads, but Finn barely registered the changing scenery. His thoughts remained a tangled mess.
By the time the sun dipped toward the horizon, exhaustion had settled deep in his bones. His limbs ached, his head throbbed, and the gnawing emptiness in his stomach had become impossible to ignore. When he spotted a small inn nestled at the foot of a hill, relief swept over him like a wave.
He guided Ghost toward it, dismounting with stiff limbs. The scent of roasting meat drifted to him. It should have been comforting. Instead, it made his stomach twist, dredging up memories of the last meal he’d shared with Cedric and Gwenna—the warmth of their laughter, the way Cedric’s eyes had lingered on him when he thought Finn wasn’t looking.
Finn swallowed hard and pushed the thought away.
The innkeeper, a broad-shouldered man with a bushy mustache and a well-worn apron, glanced up from wiping down the counter. His eyes flicked to Finn’s sword and enchanted armor, and his brows lifted with interest. “Well now, you’re a long way from the capital,” he said, setting the rag aside. “Not often we get knights passing through.”
Finn forced a weary smile. “I don’t need any fanfare, just a place to rest for the night. Do you have a room available?”
The innkeeper gave a knowing chuckle. “A bed and four walls? That I can do. The hayloft’s open, if you’re feeling nostalgic for hard travel. But I’m guessing a real mattress is more to your liking?”
Finn exhaled, the hint of amusement tugging at his exhaustion. “A mattress would be preferable.”
“Good choice,” the man said, already reaching under the counter for a key. “And your horse? We’ve got a sturdy stable out back, fresh hay, and my daughter’s been fussing over the animals all evening—your steed will be spoiled rotten before sunrise.” He slid the key across the counter. “Supper’s still hot if you’re hungry. Bread’s fresh, stew’s decent. Drink’s extra, unless you look pitiful enough, in which case my wife will probably take pity and pour you one anyway.”
