“Finn knows. And now Darius will do anything to get that knowledge from him.” Cedric stared up at the darkening sky as if it held answers.
Darius didn’t bluff. He didn’t make empty threats. And he would break Finn. He would rip that knowledge from him piece by piece, no matter what it took. Once he had what he wanted...
Gwenna refused to let that thought fully form.
Cedric whispered, “We can’t abandon him.”
She sighed. A large, very loud part of her wished they could. This was Finn’s mess, after all. He had played both sides. The knight had chosen to betray his duty. He had chosen to kiss Cedric, to break his heart, to leave.
But for a moment, Cedric had been happy. Or as close to happy as he could get. If Finn died because of this, because of them, Cedric would never forgive himself. And that kind of guilt—the deep kind that rooted itself in the marrow of your bones—was the sort that destroyed people.
Gwenna rubbed the bridge of her nose. “You’d have to go home.”
Cedric flinched. Home. The place where everything had gone wrong. Where he had lost himself. Where his life had changed forever.
A sad, knowing smile pulled at his lips. “But I won’t be alone.”
“No, big brother,” Gwenna murmured, voice quieter now. “You won’t.” She sucked in a breath. “And maybe it’s time for things to change. We’ve been hiding for so long. Maybe it’s time we faced our past and took control of our future.”
Cedric’s eyes burned with new determination. “Sounds like we have some packing to do,” he said.
Clarence let out a bleat of agreement.
Chapter Twenty
Finn’s world shrank to the walls of his stifling cell. Time blurred, the endless dark broken only by the taunting glow of torchlight bleeding in from the corridor.
He no longer knew how long he had been here—days, maybe weeks.
The stone beneath him was unforgiving, digging into his muscles until even the smallest shift sent pain lancing through his stiff limbs. Hunger plagued him constantly, a dull ache that only deepened with each passing hour. The meager rations they tossed at him were hardly enough to keep him breathing.
At first, he had tried to mark the hours, counting the footsteps that echoed through the corridors. Now, he simply existed.
The silence was unrelenting. It sank into his bones, turned his own thoughts against him. He combed through every second of his confrontation with King Darius, every word exchanged, searching for some other path he could have taken. Some way he could have won.
But there was none.
He had made the only choice he could live with.
And then…Cedric. Always Cedric. His memories cut through the dark like a shaft of moonlight on a starless night.
Cedric’s warm chuckle when Finn had fumbled with a carving knife. The warmth of his fingers over Finn’s own, guiding him. The way his voice had cracked when he’d said he needed time.
And then there were the memories Cedric hadn’t meant to leave behind. The quiet, unguarded moments. The way his body had trembled against Finn’s that night—breath hitching, fingers curling into him, like he wasn’t sure how to hold on but couldn’t bear to let go. And the soft, pleased sound he’d made when Finn had pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth.
Finn clenched his jaw, dragging the memories closer, holding onto them with everything he had. Because if he let go—if he let the darkness swallow him whole—he didn’t know if he’d find his way back.
Because if Cedric was out there, alive, then Finn had to survive. Somewhere beyond these walls, Cedric was waiting for him.
And Finn refused to let this dungeon become his grave.
A grating scrape jolted him from his haze. The cell door.
Finn forced himself upright, every muscle screaming in protest. His head spun, and the world lurched around him.
A guard stepped inside, carrying a battered tray with a chunk of stale bread and a tin cup of water that sloshed dangerously with every step.
“Here’s your feast, traitor,” the man sneered, shoving the tray forward. It hit the ground hard. The cup toppled, spilling most of its precious contents across the filthy stone.
