Chapter 9 #2
The final step was freeing the chest piece fully, lifting it away from Finn’s torso.
A purple bruise bloomed on the knight’s torso, but it was the pale scars that drew Cedric’s attention.
His fingers hovered, a sudden awareness of how close they were—how exposed Finn seemed, and how easily Cedric could trace those scars with a touch.
He pulled back, shaking off the thought. Gods, this is going to be a problem.
Soft footsteps in the hallway announced Gwenna’s return. She stepped into the room, a small clay jar in one hand and a bowl of water and cloth in the other. Without ceremony, she thrust them at Cedric. “Here,” she said, curtly. “This is all you. I need to go find…something.”
Cedric took the proffered items, but raised a brow. “What?”
She crossed her arms, eyeing Finn with a mix of exasperation and guarded concern. “I need to find where he got the audacity,” she grumbled under her breath, as though it were a serious errand.
A startled laugh escaped Cedric. The sound of his amusement seemed to thaw some of Gwenna’s tension, though she maintained a tight-lipped scowl for show. Instead of leaving, she stepped back, leaning against the wall where she could watch but remain out of the way.
Cedric sat at the edge of the cot. He dipped the cloth into the bowl of water Gwenna had brought and wrung it out, then carefully blotted the crusted wound on the knight’s forehead. Finn didn’t stir, but the crease between his brows deepened.
“Relax,” Cedric murmured, though he suspected Finn couldn’t hear him. “Just cleaning you up.” He gently wiped away the worst of the grime.
The cloth came away tinged with dried blood and dirt. Cedric set it aside and popped open the jar of salve. A pungent, earthy aroma wafted up, reminding him of the times Gwenna’s homemade remedies had soothed him after a day spent hauling timber or scouring the forest for fresh game.
“Let’s hope this helps,” he muttered, dabbing his fingers into the salve and spreading it along the swelling.
Cedric’s gaze settled on Finn’s face, where unconsciousness had done little to soften the strong planes and defined angles. The lantern light skimmed over his features—the proud cut of his jaw, the high cheekbones, the faint crease between his brows, as if even now, he resisted surrender.
Dark lashes rested against sun-bronzed skin, their depth accentuating the symmetry of his face. A thin scar marked his jawline, a remnant of past battles. It suited him, somehow, adding to the undeniable presence he carried, even now, stripped of his armor and vulnerability laid bare.
Gods, he’s exquisite.
The thought hit like a stray ember, burning at the edges of his restraint. It wasn’t some startling revelation—he’d noticed Finn’s handsomeness the moment they met. But here, in the quiet, with his guard lowered and his life quite literally in Cedric’s hands, it felt…different.
Not the time, he scolded himself, jaw tightening.
He forced himself to concentrate on his task, smoothing the salve gently around the base of Finn’s skull and across the cut. The knight let out a faint groan but didn’t stir further.
Gwenna stepped over to assess the knight, no longer glowering quite so fiercely. “Those are some nasty bruises on his chest.”
Cedric’s shoulders tensed. I put them there.
His gut clenched at the memory of his tail connecting with the knight, sending him spinning into the underbrush.
Cedric bit down on his lower lip. He’d seen bruises before—hell, he’d had similar bruises like this himself from not paying attention around horses in the royal stables. This was no different.
Only it was.
“Ced?” Gwenna prompted. “Something wrong?”
He swallowed. “Nothing.”
She frowned, disbelieving. “You have that look about you.”
Gwenna didn’t need to expand what she meant. He knew. They both knew his tendency to go too deeply into his own head, to let his own regrets and guilt overshadow everything.
Cedric cleared his throat. He would think about something else, then. “Really, I’m fine.” He dipped his fingers into the salve, returning to his original task.
His gaze fell on Finn, and suddenly, all his dour thoughts fell away as he took in the knight’s contours beneath the mottled bruising. Right. I can do this. You’re just taking care of someone who needs help, Ced. That’s all.
He worked carefully, spreading the salve over the worst of the bruising. His fingertips traced the map of old scars and the firm muscles beneath. Finn let out a quiet sigh, his body shifting under Cedric’s touch.
Cedric froze, momentary panic flaring. He yanked his hand away.
But after a beat, Finn went slack again. Cedric relaxed. His hands lingered longer than they should have, fingertips ghosting over the deep purple blooming along Finn’s ribs.
Cedric exhaled sharply, trying to shake the feeling creeping under his skin. This was ridiculous. He was ridiculous. Why was he so damn aware of this man? I’m supposed to be tending an injury, not cataloging the angles of a knight’s collarbones like some love-struck fool.
He needed a distraction—anything that wasn’t Finn or the treacherous pull of his own thoughts.
His mind grasped for an escape, reaching frantically, like a drowning man lunging for a rope.
Something else. Anything else. He dredged up old memories, latching onto one before Gwenna could notice his reaction.
“Do you remember,” he asked, “that summer when Father took us to the seaside? You were determined to catch a mermaid with your bare hands.”
“You told me they only appeared at night, so I snuck out of our rooms. I was convinced I’d lure one ashore with leftover bread crusts.” Gwenna let out a small laugh, the tension draining from her posture.
Cedric managed a small smile. “Father nearly had a heart attack when he discovered you were missing at dawn. And Darius and I—” He stopped short, the name catching in his throat like a hot coal at the mention of his former friend. His sister’s betrothed.
Gwenna’s lips pursed, and she shook her head, as if to banish Darius’s name. “If only the mermaids had dragged him under. He was a bad influence, anyway.”
Cedric nodded. She wasn’t wrong, but now he couldn’t dismiss his old friend so easily. Not when Darius had stepped forward after Cedric’s supposed death, claiming the crown and announcing a secret betrothal to Gwenna.
He tried to shake away the anger and suspicion, but it refused to fade. Cedric picked up the cloth he’d used to clean Finn, wiping the salve from his hands.
Finnian’s eyes fluttered open, unfocused and confused.
He blinked sluggishly, as if struggling to piece together where he was.
His brow furrowed, a flicker of recognition in his grey depths—but before he could speak, a faint grimace twisted his face.
His eyelids fluttered, his body tensed slightly as if bracing against nausea, and then he slipped into unconsciousness once more.
Gwenna folded her arms, her expression grim. “Cedric, we can’t keep him here. Even if we don’t…dispose of him, we can’t risk him waking up and seeing you. What if he puts it together? What if he realizes you’re the dragon?”
Cedric pressed his lips into a thin line, pacing from one corner of the small room to the other. The lantern light flickered, illuminating cracks in the walls, the worn tapestries from the outpost’s military era.
“I know,” he muttered, pushing aside an old wooden stool with one foot to make more space. “But we can’t just let him go, either. He’ll run straight to Mirathen, bring an army to our doorstep.” He let out a shaky breath.
“What do you intend to do? Keep him as a pet?” Gwenna asked, eyebrows raised.
“As much fun as dragon keeping a knight as a pet sounds, we’re probably better off with our goats and chickens.
” Satisfaction shot through Cedric at the amused snort that Gwenna made.
“Maybe we...we tell him the truth. Or part of it, anyway. He’s not a brute.
Maybe he’ll leave us alone if he realizes we’re just living our lives, not hurting anyone.
” He took a deep breath. “I’ll talk to him—like this, as a man.
We’ll make sure he never even sees the dragon side of me. ”
“But he already saw the dragon,” Gwenna pointed out, eyes narrowing. “Twice. You’re not exactly forgettable.”
Cedric winced, recalling how Finnian had lunged at him in the clearing, sword flashing like a brand of righteous fury.
“We’ll just say…the dragon’s a pet. It’s gone hunting or something.
” He grimaced at the feeble lie. Thalos, how gullible must we hope he is?
Still, it was better than murdering a knight of Lunareth.
“I’m sure his memory of it is hazy anyway, especially after that knock to the head. ”
“You always were the optimist in the family,” she said, voice dry. Then, after a beat, she frowned. “But you’re putting a lot of faith in someone who just tried to kill you.”
Cedric gave her a rueful smile. “I know.”
Gwenna’s arms tightened over her chest. “And if you’re wrong?” she challenged. “If he wakes up, realizes you’re the dragon, and we have to fight him all over again?”
Cedric hesitated. That was a reality he hoped never happened. “Then I’ll handle it.”
That answer clearly didn’t satisfy Gwenna, but she sighed and raked a hand through her hair. “Fine. But I swear, if he so much as twitches wrong, I’m throwing another rock at his head.”
“Fair enough.” A weary smile tugged at Cedric’s lips. He glanced toward the narrow window—a half-broken shutter letting in a chilly breeze. Something to be repaired. The sky outside had deepened to inky black, dotted with scattered stars.
“You should sleep,” Cedric told Gwenna, forcing gentle authority into his voice. “I’ll keep watch tonight. You can relieve me in the morning.”
Her lips pressed into a tight line. “And when will you sleep, Ced?”
He shrugged, avoiding her gaze. My human hours are short enough; I can’t waste them asleep. “I’ll doze during the day…as a dragon,” he said, voice flat. “Just make sure he stays out of the stables, all right?”
She studied him for a moment, her expression wavering between concern and acquiescence. Then she nodded. “Fine. But wake me if anything changes.” With that, she moved to the door, pausing only to level him with a final, searching glance. Then she slipped out, leaving Cedric alone with Finnian.
Cedric exhaled, dragging the stool closer to the knight’s bedside. The small flame of the lantern danced across the walls, illuminating the soft contours of Finnian’s face. Gods, he looks young, Cedric thought, brushing aside the curtain of black hair from Finn’s forehead to check the bruise.
Cedric rested an elbow on one knee as he watched the slow rise and fall of Finnian’s chest. His mind drifted back to their brief conversation in the market: the fervor in the knight’s voice as he spoke of duty, the unwavering sense of purpose that Cedric had once admired in the men and women who served the crown.
In another life—if Darius hadn’t twisted everything, if Cedric hadn’t been cursed—things could have been different. Could we have been friends?
The idea made Cedric’s heart clench with longing. But the memory of Finn’s fervor refused to be dismissed.
He shivered, scolding himself for such pointless daydreams. “Stop it. He’s here to kill you, remember?”
Still, he caught himself wishing that he could trust Finn, that he could show the knight who he really was without fear.
But that path was littered with uncertainties—and the certain knowledge that if Finn recognized Cedric as the dragon, there would be steel in his hand before Cedric could utter a word.
Leaning back against the wall, Cedric folded his arms across his chest. Outside, the wind whispered around the tower’s crumbling stones, a lonely sound that echoed his own unease.
Finn’s arrival, he thought, has set something into motion—something we might not be able to stop.
Whether that meant redemption or ruin for him and Gwenna, he couldn’t begin to guess.