Chapter 6 #3
Finn grinned. “No? I don’t know, you’ve got that air about you—mysterious, good with your hands, probably skittish if startled.”
Cedric let out a slow, unimpressed sigh. “I assure you, I do not startle easily.”
“Good to know,” Finn mused, enjoying the way Cedric’s lips twitched like he was fighting back either a smirk or a sigh of exasperation.
“Meat’s fine,” Cedric allowed, finally letting that smirk slip free—just a ghost of one, but enough to make Finn’s heart feel a little lighter. Or warmer. Something.
Then, without another word, Cedric turned and wove through the crowd. Finn found his eyes lingering longer than they should, watching the way Cedric carried himself with a confidence that wasn’t forced, but natural, like he belonged in every space he walked into.
Finn exhaled softly. He’s…interesting. Not just because of the way he moved, though there was something oddly captivating about it. No, it was something else.
He had faced warlords and assassins, had looked a dragon in the eye without flinching. And yet here he was, thrown off-kilter by a damn woodcarver.
Gods, he needed to keep his head clear. There was a princess to save—or figure out—and a dragon to slay, or at least neutralize. And this Cedric? He was likely an enemy. Stay focused, Finn.
But as he made his way to purchase the skewers, his mind kept returning to those gold-flecked eyes. A memory of how Cedric had looked at him—assessing, guarded, but warm at the edges—left Finn’s pulse a fraction quicker than before.
Answers first. He forced his attention back to the vendor and ordered two hearty servings of roasted vegetables, lean cuts of meat, and the vendor’s seasoned sauce.
The savory aroma set his mouth watering.
If nothing else, the promise of a shared meal might open a door to more information—about Gwen, the outpost, and the dragon carvings.
And that was the only reason he was looking forward to this conversation.
Definitely the only reason.
Absolutely, unequivocally, not at all related to Cedric’s eyes or the way his voice made Finn want to curl up and purr like a cat.
Balancing the skewers in hand, Finn navigated back through the swirl of color and torchlight.
He spotted Cedric seated on a simple wooden bench at the square’s perimeter, lanterns shimmering above like a cluster of fallen stars.
A faint breeze stirred, carrying the scents of spiced wine and sweet pastries.
From a distance, Cedric’s profile was all sharp lines and quiet tension, his posture betraying the caution Finn recognized in seasoned soldiers. Why is he so on edge?
Steeling his nerves, Finn approached, struggling to ignore the low flutter in his stomach. He told himself it was only the prospect of answers that made his pulse thrash—not the calm intensity of Cedric’s gaze or the faint smile that teased the corners of his mouth.
“Dinner,” Finn announced, extending one skewer. “And, maybe, a conversation worth our while.”
Cedric accepted the skewer with a slight tilt of his head, his fingers brushing Finn’s for the briefest moment—just long enough to be annoyingly noticeable.
Finn sat beside him, a respectable distance apart. But between the warmth of the lantern light, the scent of sizzling meat, and the easy way Cedric had settled into their impromptu meal, that respectable distance suddenly felt like a chasm.
Finn bit into his food, the heady mix of smoke and seasoning momentarily distracting him from the questions swirling in his mind. Or at least, that was what he told himself. Because somehow, all he truly registered was the quiet presence of this frustratingly charming woodcarver.
Stop it, Finn. You need answers, not the growing, deeply irritating realization that you find this man attractive. But his pulse wouldn’t settle, and he found himself acutely aware of every small sound Cedric made as he ate.
At last, the silence became too charged to endure. “So, Cedric,” Finn ventured, trying to keep his tone conversational, “how long have you lived in this village?”
Cedric took a sip of the cider he’d brought, his gaze thoughtful.
“I don’t live in the village, but near enough.
It’s been a few years now. Duskridge is a peaceful place, for the most part.
Though we do get the occasional excitement.
” His lips curved slightly, as if at a private joke.
“Like battered knights stumbling in asking about dragons.”
Finn groaned, letting his head tip back against the bench. “Ah. You heard about that.”
“Word travels fast in a small village,” Cedric said, far too pleased with himself. He popped a piece of meat into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully before adding, “Though I have to say, ‘knight wanders into town ranting about dragons’ isn’t the usual fare for local gossip.”
“I was not ranting,” Finn muttered into his skewer, glaring at it like it had betrayed him.
Cedric scoffed, entirely unconvinced. “Oh, of course not. Just making an impassioned speech in the middle of the tavern, voice raised, perhaps a dramatic gesture or two—”
Finn shot him a look. “You weren’t even there.”
“I didn’t have to be.” Cedric’s grin was bright with good humor. “I have a vivid imagination.”
Finn huffed, trying (and failing) not to find Cedric’s amusement ridiculously distracting. He was supposed to be getting information, not charmed out of his wits.
“I hope you won’t take offense,” Cedric continued, his gaze colored with something just on the edge of serious, “but may I ask why you’re so interested in dragons?”
The question, asked so politely, set an uneasy tremor through Finn.
Just how much does he already know? He swallowed a chunk of roasted pepper and wrestled with how much truth to reveal.
Something about Cedric—his calm confidence, his quietly intense gaze—made Finn want to confess more than he intended.
Which was ridiculous. He hardly knew this man.
“It’s…complicated,” he said finally, lowering his voice as though the details might be overheard. “I was sent here on a mission.” A lump rose in his throat when he thought of Princess Gwenna scowling at him from the outpost. “To slay a dragon.”
Cedric turned, fixing him with a look that was far too intense for someone who carved wood for a living. “Why do you want to slay this dragon?”
It was a simple question, but there was something off about the way he asked it. Too careful. Too calm. And was that…a hint of irritation?
Finn shifted on the bench, suddenly feeling as if he was the one under scrutiny. “The dragon is holding the person I’m here to rescue hostage. It’s a monster,” he said, almost like he was convincing himself. It took my father.
For a long moment, Cedric was silent. He ran a fingertip through the condensation on his mug, drawing aimless patterns.
When he finally spoke, his voice was subdued, laced with a hint of sorrow.
“Perhaps the real monsters are not the ones we expect to find in dark caves, but the ones hiding behind polite smiles and noble causes.”
Finn stiffened, a spark of indignation flaring in his chest. Does he mean me? He pinned Cedric with a sharp look. “What exactly are you implying?”
Cedric met his gaze head-on, and damn him, he didn’t flinch—not even a little. The intensity in those molten-gold eyes made Finn’s breath catch, which only annoyed him further.
“Good and evil, heroes and monsters…these are comforting labels, but they often fall short of the truth.” He took a slow sip of cider, as if he hadn’t just upended everything Finn had been taught about right and wrong.
“In my experience, most beings—human or otherwise—are capable of both great kindness and terrible cruelty. It’s our choices that define us, not our nature. ”
Finn stared at him, stomach tightening. There was a weight behind those words, a personal knowledge that Finn couldn’t quite place—but felt.
And worse? It left him at a loss for a good retort. So instead, he scoffed, chewing another piece of meat with unnecessary force. “You talk like a philosopher.”
Cedric’s mouth twitched. “And you argue like a man who thinks he already has all the answers.”
Finn shot him a narrow look. “I get the feeling that was an insult.”
Cedric took another bite from his skewer, chewing with an infuriating slowness. “Was it?”
Oh, this man was going to drive him insane.
Finn exhaled sharply, rubbing at a sore spot on his wrist. “I’m doing what duty dictates,” he said at last. The words felt flimsy.
“Duty,” Cedric echoed softly, as though tasting the word. He let out a humorless laugh. “I know a thing or two about duty.”
Intrigued despite himself, Finn leaned back, bracing his arms on the bench. “And what has duty taught you?”
Cedric’s lips curled in something that wasn’t quite a smile.
“That it can be both a shield and a cage. It can protect us from our darkest impulses, but it can also blind us to greater truths.” His gaze flicked to Finn, eyes simmering with what could only be described as righteousness.
“Tell me, Sir Knight, have you ever questioned the orders you’ve been given? ”
Finn stiffened, indignation flaring. Of course he’d questioned orders before—hadn’t he? But it wasn’t his place to—No. He pushed the thought aside. That wasn’t the point. “My orders come from those wiser than myself. It’s not my place to question them.”
Cedric huffed a quiet breath, somewhere between amusement and pity.
“Isn’t it?” He leaned in, and Finn caught the faint scent of pine and something wilder, something that sent his pulse careening off course.
His voice was a murmur, dark velvet over steel.
“If you’re the one swinging the sword, doesn’t that make you responsible for the consequences?
Otherwise, you’re just a very well-dressed weapon. ”
Finn opened his mouth—whether to argue or say something scathing, he wasn’t sure—but his thoughts locked up.
Because they were too close now. Close enough that he could see the fine freckles across Cedric’s nose, the way the torchlight reflected in his gold-flecked irises, the twist of his mouth like he already knew exactly how much he was getting under Finn’s skin.
Finn’s heart slammed against his ribs, a bewildering mix of anger and something far more dangerous prickling beneath his skin. Kavros, help me keep it together.
“You speak as if you know more about my mission than you’re letting on,” Finn accused, his voice rough.
Cedric’s eyes flicked briefly to Finn’s mouth.
Then he pulled back, just enough to seem like a deliberate retreat, and Finn hated how it left him feeling oddly bereft.
“Perhaps I do,” Cedric murmured. “Or perhaps I simply know what it’s like to be trapped by expectations.” A trace of something—grief? Regret?—shadowed his features. “Be careful, Sir Knight. The path you’re on may lead you places you never intended to go.”
Finn’s hand instinctively dropped toward his hip, where Sunwrath should have been. He’d left it in his room above the tavern, but the motion was reflexive. “Is that a threat?” He wasn’t entirely sure if he meant it—or if he just needed something to fill the charged silence.
Cedric stood, and there was no triumph in his expression, only a deep, aching sadness.
“No,” he said, voice soft as velvet. “It’s a warning.
For your sake, as much as anyone else’s.
” His gaze flicked across the crowd, then back to Finn.
“I should be going. It’s late, and I have a good distance to travel. ”
Then, just like that, he turned on his heel and slipped away, weaving through the villagers like mist dissolving in the morning sun. Finn sat there, stunned, the taste of roasted meat still lingering on his tongue, his pulse refusing to settle.
What the hell just happened?