Her expression hardened, resolve flashing in her dark eyes. “I’m sure. Your knight isn’t the only one guided by duty and honor.”
Cedric’s stomach twisted at the words. Your knight. It was foolish, but something about the phrasing pleased him. Still, he shook his head. “He’s not my knight,” he muttered, though the words tasted false even to him.
Gwenna smirked but didn’t argue. Instead, she swung the lantern off its hook, illuminating the narrow path ahead. Cedric took the lead. The night stretched around them, but he had no trouble seeing. The shadows held no fear for him.
He was the monster lurking in the dark, after all.
As they walked, his mind drifted ahead to Mirathen. The city he had once called home. He tried to summon memories of Solavere Palace—the spires rising high against the sky, the streets alive with merchants and nobles alike. The court, with its whispered intrigues and forced smiles. But the memories felt wrong, blurred at the edges, like a dream half-forgotten upon waking.
Gwenna broke the silence, her voice softer than before. “What do you think it’ll be like? Going back, I mean.”
Cedric let out a slow breath. “I don’t know.” He hesitated before admitting, “Part of me is terrified. What if...what if people recognize me? What if?—”
“What if Darius recognizes you?” Gwenna finished, her tone grim.
Cedric didn’t answer. They both knew the truth. Gwenna might be the missing princess, but he was supposed to be dead. That was what had kept them safe all these years. One missing royal was an inconvenience. Two missing royals? That was a threat. And Darius didn’t tolerate threats.
Gwenna sighed, rolling her shoulders as if shaking off the weight of their shared past. “I think I’m the bigger problem. The one more likely to be recognized,” she muttered. “Those infernal flyers. I swear, as much as I love the printing press, right now it’s really working against me.”
Cedric couldn’t help it—he chuckled, a low, tired sound. It had been so long since he’d laughed that it startled even him. The moment was brief, but it was something. But as soon as it passed, the guilt set in. Finn. Cedric was here, free to laugh, to walk under the stars, while Finn was suffering—alone, imprisoned, possibly worse.
They continued on, weaving through the night, avoiding the well-worn roads where travelers might cross their path. The night was deep, and the forest held its usual sounds—the rustling of unseen creatures, the distant hoot of an owl—but to Cedric, it all felt different. Heavy. Like a storm was about to break.
Then, as the eastern sky lightened, the warning prickled along his spine.
“We need to find cover,” he said, his voice tight. “The sun will be up soon.”
Gwenna nodded, scanning the terrain. “Let’s get off the path. There’s got to be something nearby.” They pushed through the underbrush, the sharp branches clawing at their clothes and skin. Cedric almost wished for this tough scales—but he would have his scales soon enough, whether or not he wanted them.
Then Gwenna gasped. “There’s a cabin ahead!” Relief brightened her voice, but she hesitated. They had learned not to trust easy shelter. Still, they had no choice. She squared her shoulders and called out, loud enough to carry through the trees: “Hello to the house!”
They both froze, listening. The wind stirred the trees, rustling through the branches like whispered warnings. Cedric strained his ears, picking up the distant calls of birds and the skittering of squirrels. No voices. No footsteps. No sign of anyone nearby.
Good.
Before Gwenna could stop him, he strode forward and knocked once on the cabin door. The wood groaned under his touch, the hinges giving way with a long, aching creak. The place smelled of old wood and disuse, the scent of long-empty rooms left to decay.
“Abandoned,” he called over his shoulder.
Gwenna peered past him into the gloom. “Well, it needs work, but this will do.” Without hesitation, she swung her pack off her back and let it drop onto the warped wooden floor. Then she pinned him with a look. “What about you?”
Cedric shook his head. The clearing outside wasn’t large, but it would have to be enough. The familiar, insistent pull of the transformation clawed at his bones, growing stronger with each passing second. He swallowed hard. “I’ll—” But the words died in his throat. It was too late.
Gwenna flapped a hand at him. “Go.” She reached for the straps of his pack, helping him shrug it off as he staggered back out the door, his fingers already fumbling at the fastenings of his clothes.
The shift hit like a hammer, folding him in on himself. The world blurred, pain drowning out thought. Cedric gritted his teeth against it, against the instinct to fight, because that only made it worse. He had learned to endure, to let the agony wash over him like a tide until it passed.
And then, silence.
He exhaled, a long, shuddering breath, steam curling from his nostrils. His wings ached from the force of the change, his body stiff. He gave them a slow shake, stretching them to ease the soreness.
A shadow moved in the doorway. Gwenna stepped outside, arms crossed, her face soft with sympathy. “You okay?”
He nodded once.
She sighed. “I’ll bring you some food from our rations in a minute.”
The day passed in uneasy stillness. Gwenna slept inside while Cedric dozed in the clearing, his dragon senses ever alert. Even in sleep, he listened—to the rustle of creatures in the brush, the distant murmur of voices from the road beyond the trees. Travelers, perhaps. Or worse.
