Gwenna scoffed, throwing up her hands. “I was here. You could have gotten me!” She shot to her feet, pacing in tight, angry strides across the small room. “This is a disaster. He could be on his way here right now with an army at his back. We need to leave, Cedric. Now, before it’s too late.”
Leave? Cedric’s pulse stuttered. A cold, creeping fear crawled up his spine, desperation clawing at his throat.
What if Finn came back?
What if he wanted answers? What if—against all reason—he still wanted Cedric?
“We can’t just run,” Cedric said, his voice rough. “This is our home. And Finn…he might not tell anyone.”
Gwenna whirled to face him, eyes flashing with disbelief. “Are you mad? Of course he’ll tell someone! It’s his duty, Cedric. You can’t honestly believe he’d choose you over his loyalty to the kingdom?”
Cedric recoiled. Because he did believe it. Or at least…he wanted to.
“You didn’t see his face, Gwenna.” His voice cracked on the words. “Before he saw me change…there was something there between us. Something real.”
A muscle ticked in Gwenna’s jaw. Her anger bled out, replaced by something softer—something infinitely worse. Pity.
“Oh, Cedric,” she whispered. She knelt before him, taking his hands in hers. “I know you care for him. But you have to face reality. He’s a knight of Lunareth. His entire purpose for coming here was to slay you. One night of passion doesn’t change that.”
Cedric wanted to argue. He wanted to believe—believe that Finn was different, that the man who had kissed him wasn’t the same knight who had set out to slay a dragon.
But doubt plagued him. What if Gwenna was right?
What if he’d been fooling himself all along, seeing what he wanted to see in Finn’s eyes?
“I don’t know what to do,” Cedric admitted, his voice breaking under the weight of it all. His shoulders curled inward, as if trying to make himself smaller. “I’ve ruined everything.”
Gwenna squeezed his hands. “No, you haven’t. We’re still here, we’re still free. That’s what matters.” She sighed, her grip tightening as if she could anchor him with just that touch. “Look, we don’t have to leave immediately. But we need to be prepared. I’ll start packing essentials, just in case.”
Cedric couldn’t bring himself to respond.
“You should rest,” Gwenna continued. Her voice had softened, the anger fading into something quieter, more resolute. “You look like you haven’t slept.”
Cedric nodded, too drained to argue, too wrung out to do anything but accept Gwenna’s words. She was right—of course she was. He should have slept during the day, should have given his body the reprieve it so desperately needed, but he hadn’t been able to. The weight of it all—the grief, the self-loathing, the loss—had become a smoldering ache that sleep couldn’t fix. So he had stayed awake, let exhaustion punish him in the only way he could control.
As Gwenna moved through the tower, gathering supplies, Cedric let his mind wander. He thought of Finn, somewhere out in the world beyond this tower. Was he already back in Mirathen, kneeling before the king, speaking Cedric’s fate into existence? Had he told them everything? Had they mobilized an army? Or was Finn still out there, riding alone, as torn and uncertain as Cedric himself?
The memory of their night together drifted through Cedric’s mind like a specter. He remembered the warmth of Finn’s skin, the strength of his hands, the way he had held Cedric as if he were something precious. The way their bodies had fit together, moving in time like they had been made for it. It had felt so real, so terrifyingly right.
“You’re mine tonight,” Finn had whispered, his voice a possessive growl.
“No,” Cedric murmured aloud to himself, “I’m not.” His eyes burned with tears that wouldn’t fall.
Eventually, exhaustion dragged him under, pulling him into a restless sleep where his body sagged into the chair, arms crossed tightly as if to hold himself together. But even in sleep, there was no peace.
He dreamed of a knight riding a grey warhorse, his dark hair whipping in the wind as he rode away, never looking back.
In the middle of the night, Cedric stirred, his skin prickling with awareness at the lightest touch against his forehead. His breath hitched. For one fractured second, his sleep-fogged mind thought it was Finn. But when he forced his eyes open, it was Gwenna kneeling beside him, her face drawn tight with worry.
“You should sleep,” he grated, his voice like gravel.
Gwenna exhaled sharply and waved a hand. “I can’t. Not when I’m worried about you.”
Cedric blinked blearily at her. “Why are you worried about me?”
Her face contorted in the lantern light, her exasperation plain as day. “I would think that’s painfully obvious. You just had your heart broken, and your life is in danger.”
He frowned at that, looking away. He didn’t want to think about either of those things. Didn’t want his sister to worry about him, not when she had already given up so much for him. But what was there to say? He couldn’t reassure her—not when he couldn’t even reassure himself.
