Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Cedric had always loved the thrill of flying—perhaps the only part of this cursed form he did not resent. The wind curled beneath his wings, lifting him higher.
As he banked low over the rolling treetops, the world below blurred into a vast expanse of green, the morning light setting the leaves aglow.
No walls, no expectations—just open sky and the rush of crisp air in his lungs.
Here, above it all, he felt almost…alive.
Or, at least, more alive than he ever did with his feet on the ground.
Back when he’d prayed to Aurenis, he used to imagine the god of the sky welcoming him into the endless blue. But that was before the transformation. Before he realized how hollow his old faith felt now that his wings were real and his prayers unanswered.
These days, he sent a silent word of thanks—or maybe defiance—to Thalos, the god of change and chaos, whose dominion seemed to resonate with the unpredictability of a man who occasionally became a massive gold-scaled dragon.
He adjusted his wings, mindful of the precious cargo clutched in his foreclaw: a small basket half-filled with freshly gathered strawberries.
Hunting for game had been the plan, but the sweet scent of ripened berries had lured him. They’d always been one of his favorites. It had taken exquisite control to pluck the fruit without crushing them under his talons. Another day’s small victory, he thought wryly.
Ahead, the canopy thinned just enough to reveal a lookout tower rising from the forest. Its top poked above the tall pines, marking the old outpost that he and Gwenna called home. Morning mist still clung to the mountains beyond, like pale veils draped across the peaks.
The outpost had once been a military station, but an avalanche sealed off the valley years ago, cutting it off from supply routes. Cedric found solace in its half-wild, half-domesticated sprawl—a place where a monster like him might hide from prying eyes.
He backwinged to slow his descent, slipping through the gap in the branches.
Landing jarred him, but he took pride in how deftly he managed it these days.
Only a few paces away, a brown and white goat bleated in greeting.
Clarence, Cedric thought with an inward sigh. Sent by Thalos to keep me humble.
It took mere heartbeats for the nimble goat to thrust its muzzle into the basket and steal a strawberry.
Cedric snorted a hot breath in protest, but Clarence bounded off, berry juice staining his white muzzle in triumph.
One day, that goat would push his luck too far.
Cedric gave a half-hearted thought to letting the forest predators solve his Clarence problem, but of course, none dared lurk with a dragon nearby.
Besides, the goat was a terror, but he and Gwenna had grown oddly fond of the beast. Despite himself, Cedric felt a faint tug of amusement.
Hobbling forward on three legs, he kept the basket clutched tight in his free claw.
His heightened dragon senses prickled with each step—he could hear Gwenna’s footsteps, the gentle clucking of the hens in their coop, the rush of a nearby stream winding through thick undergrowth.
When he turned the corner around the outpost’s storage shed, Gwenna was there, chestnut hair catching the morning sun.
“Strawberries again?” she teased, peering into his basket. “You said you were going hunting.”
He released a low huff and gave a roll of his golden eyes, pointedly glancing at the half-full basket.
If only he could say, It’s not as easy as it sounds.
But he was trapped in silence—a monstrous shape with no ability to speak, not unless he shifted back to his human form, which wasn’t possible until the sun vanished beyond the horizon.
Gwenna grinned as if she understood his unspoken complaint. “Yes, yes, I know—picking berries with talons is probably more challenging than actual hunting. I’ll stop teasing.” She gave his scaled shoulder a friendly bump of her fist.
Even after ten years, Cedric marveled at her casual closeness. She never looked afraid. She never hesitated to touch him, as if he were still her older brother in human form. Sometimes he could almost believe he was.
A sudden bleat from the bushes drew their attention. Clarence materialized for a second raid on the berries. Gwenna hissed in exasperation. “Clarence! You menace!” She rescued the basket just in time, though the goat managed to steal another berry. He trotted off, tail wagging in smug victory.
“You’re lucky we don’t roast you over a spit,” Gwenna muttered after him, only half-joking. Cedric rumbled deep in his chest, echoing the sentiment. With a wry shake of her head, Gwenna turned back to him. “How about I make some breakfast? I’ll bring it out when it’s ready.”
Cedric nodded, watching as she turned with her dual burden of strawberries and eggs, striding into the area of the outpost that served as living quarters and kitchen.
After all these years, he should be used to the barriers in his life, but they still stung.
Ten years since he had fled the only home he’d ever known, clad in the unfamiliar scales of a dragon.
Ten long years since he’d slain his own parents and lost everything in his world.
Everything except Gwenna.
He shook off the ache that threatened to sink its claws into him and ambled toward the enclosure where they tried to keep the goats corralled. Tried being the operative word. The fence had clearly been tested overnight—bent boards, gaps where curious muzzles might have pushed through.
Clarence, the head troublemaker, stood proudly on a small rock, as though daring Cedric to fix the boundary.
He eyed the dragon’s approach with a haughty bleat—just loud enough to be irritating, but not quite the full-throated shriek Cedric had learned to recognize as actual warning.
For all his faults, the beast had good instincts.
Cedric rumbled, lowering his head until their gazes were nearly level. He wished he could snarl an ultimatum: Steal one more thing, and it’s a spit for you. But the goat merely flicked an ear, unimpressed by the beast towering over him.
A resigned sigh of hot breath escaped Cedric’s throat.
He scanned the fence, making mental notes of what needed repairing.
Yes, in his human form he’d be able to patch it up—maybe with a bit more wood from that fallen oak near the eastern wall.
The knowledge that he could fix it gave him a glimmer of satisfaction.
He still had use, even in this cursed life.
“Being bested by goats again?” Gwenna called, hands on her hips as Cedric slunk away from goat pen.
Cedric lashed his tail once, partly in annoyance at the goat, partly in embarrassment. After a final, warning glare at the shaggy menace, he lumbered toward his sister. Gwenna laughed, clearly not impressed by his draconic scowl, either.
She jerked her thumb toward the old stables. “I’ve got breakfast ready, if you’re hungry.”
Hungry was an understatement. Cedric felt the roar of it deep in his gut, the morning shift always stirring a ravenous heat that gnawed at him from within.
In his earliest days of this curse, an almost bloodthirsty need for food had consumed him.
He’d since fought to wrestle control from the beast inside, careful never to let hunger turn to frenzy.
Gwenna complained he ate too little, that he should feed himself properly—but Cedric had grown wary of indulging anything that smacked of draconic instinct.
He ducked his head beneath the stable’s doorway, stepping inside with careful grace to avoid scraping the timbers.
Their makeshift “dragon quarters” were as homey as a barn could be, mostly because Gwenna insisted on it.
He cast a fond glance at the floral tapestry she’d hung on the far wall—a bright bit of color that always lifted his spirits.
Initially, he’d scoffed at her effort, but privately, he enjoyed having something pretty that was just… for him.
His sister had set a simple meal on a sturdy wooden table: a bowl of porridge and eggs for herself, and a generous plate of bacon and fried eggs for him.
He padded over, lowering his great head so he could reach.
The aroma of crisp bacon made his nostrils flare.
At once, his stomach snarled a demand, and he gratefully tore into the food.
“So,” Gwenna said around a spoonful of porridge, “any sign of trouble on your flight?”
Cedric shook his head, a quick side-to-side motion. He was careful to pick up a slice of bacon with his scaly dragon lips instead of snapping up the entire plate—an exercise in finesse he’d mastered over the years.
“Good,” Gwenna murmured, though there was a furrow between her brows. “That’s good.”
That slight hitch in her voice set Cedric on alert. Something bothered her. He huffed softly, dipping his head until they were at eye level. She seemed reluctant to speak, her gaze sliding away.
After a moment, she sighed. “Sorry. I’ve just been thinking a lot. Your birthday is coming up.” She paused, swirling her spoon in the porridge. “Hard to believe it’s been this long since…”
Since I transformed. Since I tore our lives apart. The bacon turned to ash on his tongue. Memories unspooled in his mind: the bright glare of dragonfire, the screams, the horrifying realization that his own body had caused such devastation.
That he had done those things.
Gwenna stood, coming around the table to place a warm hand on his shoulder. Her palm felt small against his scales, but no less comforting. “I don’t regret it,” she said fiercely, voice trembling with conviction. “None of it.”
But how could she not, when it was his own monstrous form that had brought about their parents’ deaths?
He blinked, lowering his gaze to the freshly swept floor.
He’d never forget the sight of blood on the palace marble or how it had felt to flee into the night, leaving everything behind. How was she so forgiving?
Gwenna’s hand slid in small circles over his scales. “Ced, we’ve been over this a thousand times. It’s not your fault.”
It wasn’t. The problem was, they didn’t know what had brought on his transformation. Maybe if they’d been back at Mirathen, they could have consulted the great library there. Consulted with scholars and wizards. But they didn’t have any of that, not here. They only had their wits and each other.
He exhaled a gusty, unhappy breath. She had sacrificed so much to be with him. To help her brother through the worst years of his life.
Gwenna pinned him with a familiar, exasperated look. “Enough. I can see those gears turning in that thick skull of yours.” She offered him a small smile. “I know you, Ced. You can’t keep blaming yourself for what happened.”
He gave a low rumble, something halfway between a sigh and a growl. If only letting go of guilt was as simple as Gwenna’s words. Still, he was grateful for her love; he’d have lost himself in despair long ago if she hadn’t been by his side.
They returned to their meal in relative silence until Gwenna cleared her throat. “We’re running low on supplies again: flour, thread…the usual. One of us will need to head to town soon.”
Cedric nodded, swallowing the last bite of egg. He reached out carefully with one foreclaw, pointing toward the door that led to his wood shop. Gwenna’s face brightened at once.
“You’ve finished some new carvings?” she guessed. “Wooden dragons, I presume?”
He huffed, nodding. It was ironic, making miniature versions of the creature he’d become. But the carvings sold well enough, and children adored them. If it helped them survive, he’d keep carving dragons, knights, even silly goats if it came to that.
“Perfect,” Gwenna said, her earlier somber mood lifting a fraction. “We’ll trade them in town for what we need.”
Cedric had delicately lipped up another piece of bacon when a commanding bleat broke their peace. He and Gwenna exchanged tense looks. Clarence might be a handful, but they’d only heard that particular tone on occasions when danger lurked in the woods.
And not just any danger. Knights on the hunt.
Gwenna set down her spoon, wetting her lips and appearing to be more composed than Cedric knew she was. “Well, it seems like we have visitors. Ced, you should probably stay put in here for now.”
Cedric snorted, shaking his head to show his disdain for her idea. Even though he knew it was the most logical, at least for now. If he tried to fly away, they’d see him. And if he flew off, Gwenna would be vulnerable.
She sighed, patting his shoulder. “I know. But I’ll stay hidden while I see what’s going on.” Gwenna cracked a grin. “Besides, this’ll be a good chance to see if my new defenses work. We agreed it’s better to scare them off rather than…well, you know.”
True enough. Cedric had enough blood on his claws. They’d gone a few blessed weeks without invaders, and Gwenna had put her very un-princesslike hobby of tinkering to good use. Wouldn’t it be worthwhile if it scared away their foes before Cedric and Gwenna had no choice?
Finally, he nodded, though he made a grumpy noise to make it clear he didn’t like it.
“Be back soon!” Gwenna headed out of the stable, shutting the door securely behind her.
How many times had she insisted on shielding him from danger? If things went sideways, she might be the one snared by danger. The thought turned his stomach.
Cedric forced a deep breath. He curled his tail around his hind legs, trying not to pace like a caged animal.
You are not merely a dragon, he told himself fiercely.
You are Cedric Cleburne, son of King William, rightful heir to the throne.
The Gilded Prince of Lunareth. You won’t let fear—or hunger—dictate your actions.