The unrelenting silence stretched between them. Finally, unable to sit still, Cedric rose from the chair on trembling legs. Gwenna sucked in a breath, likely preparing to scold him, but he ignored her and walked to the nearest window. He pressed his palms against the sill, bracing himself as he stared out at the darkened forest below.
The trees were still, their branches unmoving in the crisp night air. And yet Cedric couldn’t shake the feeling that something was coming. He half-expected to see the glow of torches between the trunks, soldiers emerging like specters to drag him from this fragile life he had built.
But there was only darkness.
“Gwenna.” He hated how broken his voice sounded. “What if…what if I’m wrong about him?”
She scoffed, but moved to stand beside him, anyway. “I know you want to believe the best of him.” Her tone was softer now, edged with something that might have been sympathy. “But we can’t take that risk. Our safety has to come first. Your safety most of all.”
Cedric nodded absently, still gazing into the woods, searching for something he wasn’t even sure was there. But… “I just wish I could explain,” he admitted, his voice nearly lost to the night. “Make him understand.”
Gwenna didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she wrapped an arm around his shoulders, drawing him close.
“I know,” she murmured, her breath warm against his temple. “But sometimes, there are no explanations that can bridge the gap between what people expect and what is.”
They stood there for a long time, staring into the inky blackness of the forest, listening to the quiet hum of the night. Even Clarence was quiet, his usual mischief absent.
Cedric’s mind raced with possibilities, with all the things he wished he had said to Finn. How could he have explained? How do you tell someone that the thing they have spent their life hating is the very thing you are?
The curse. The years of isolation. The fear that had settled so deeply in his bones it had become a part of him, as real as his scales. How could Finn ever understand?
As exhaustion overtook him, Cedric allowed Gwenna to guide him to bed. But even as he lay down, he knew sleep would be elusive. Every time he closed his eyes, Finn was there.
In the night’s quiet, as the embers in the hearth dimmed, Cedric made a decision. He wouldn’t run. Not yet.
He would give Finn a chance to return. To seek answers. And if he did…
Cedric would tell him everything. The whole truth, no matter how painful.
It was a small hope, perhaps a foolish one. But it was all Cedric had left to cling to as he drifted into an uneasy sleep, dreams of raven-haired knights and golden dragons chasing each other through his mind.
Chapter Eighteen
It should have felt like a homecoming.
The banners of Mirathen snapped high above the streets, crimson and gold against a sky edged with the last warmth of afternoon. Sunlight caught on the stone walls, glinting off the regal architecture, the winding streets thrumming with life. Merchants called their wares, children wove through the crowd, laughter bubbling as they chased one another in the dust.
Finn rode through the gates, back among his people. But relief did not come.
He kept his head high, his expression composed, his bearing that of a knight of the realm. The children at the roadside beamed at him, wide-eyed with admiration, whispering his name like a legend. He gave them a small wave, as was expected. But inside, there was nothing.
Madness. This was madness.
Finn gritted his teeth, his jaw locked tight as he fixed his gaze on the road ahead. He couldn’t afford to stumble now. Couldn’t let thoughts of him—of golden eyes shadowed with pain, of warmth that still lingered on his skin—hobble him when duty remained unfinished.
He had a report to give. A kingdom to answer to.
And then, maybe, he could step away. Breathe. Figure out what to do with the feral prince and princess he had left behind. Figure out what to do with himself.
Ghost needed no direction. She carried Finn through the city’s familiar streets, her gait sure even as his mind wandered. The bustling market square blurred past—the bright chatter of merchants, the scent of fresh bread wafting from a bakery’s hearth, the glint of the palace spires lancing the sky. It all felt unreal, as if he were riding through a dream.
He hardly registered when Ghost slowed of her own accord. Only the sudden lack of movement told him they had arrived.
Tom the stable hand darted forward, his excitement barely contained as he seized Ghost’s reins. “You’re back! And without a scratch!” His gaze swept over Finn, eager—until it wasn’t. His smile faltered. “But…you didn’t bring back the dragon’s head.”
Finn’s breath hitched. The dragon’s head.
The words crashed over him like a breaking wave, dragging behind them a vision that threatened to gut him: a golden skull mounted on a stake, Cedric’s eyes vacant, his body broken and still. Bile rose and he swallowed hard, forcing it down.
