Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Consciousness hauled Finnian back by the collar. His skull pulsed like iron struck by a blacksmith’s hammer. The sour taste of bile coated his tongue.
When he finally cracked his eyelids, the room bucked beneath him. Finn gritted his teeth against the vertigo, fingers digging into sweat-damp sheets. Rough linen chafed his palms.
The air smelled of yarrow poultices and wood smoke, undercut by the metallic tang of blood—his own, he guessed, from the crusted stiffness at his temple.
His probing touch found a bandage, the lump beneath it throbbing in time with his heartbeat.
Rynvath’s teeth. Whatever the princess had clobbered him with, she’d put her royal spine into the swing.
He lay in a narrow bed. Sunlight spilled through a single shuttered window on the far wall.
The modest room was sparsely furnished—just a small table, a creaky wooden chair, and a footlocker near the door.
Better than a dungeon cell, Finn thought, though the distance between him and his armor—he spotted it on a table across the room—felt like a mile.
His sword, his dagger, even his boots were well beyond reach. So much for a quick escape.
Slowly, he swung his legs over the side of the bed.
The instant he moved, a lance of pain shot through his skull.
The room tilted sickeningly, shadows sliding in his periphery like waterlogged ink.
Finn clenched his jaw, gripping the edge of the mattress in a white-knuckled grip until the nausea faded to a bearable churn.
Each breath sent dull reverberations through his skull. Even so, he forced himself upright, jaw locked against the wave of dizziness that turned the floor into a rolling ship deck. The window. Focus on the window.
The jagged ache receded enough for him to see outside: an expanse of lush forest spread out below—green treetops swaying in a gentle breeze. A pang of disquiet clenched his gut. The golden dragon could be anywhere out there, free to roam.
The door’s screech nearly sent him crashing. Finn braced against the wall, knuckles whitening on cold stone as the world lurched sideways. Pain lanced through his skull—a hot poker behind the eyes. He’d pay good coin to never hear another hinge creak again.
“You shouldn’t be up.”
He knew that voice. Honeyed steel, sharp enough to draw blood.
Gwenna stood framed in the doorway, sunlight catching the silver threads in her woolen overdress.
No damsel’s silks here—this was practical garb, sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms. She carried a tray like a soldier bearing a shield, steam curling from a clay bowl.
Finn’s stomach rolled at the smell of stew.
“You hit me.” Finn glared, though the effect was undercut by the fact he had to lean against the wall for support. “With a rock.”
Her lips twitched. Not a smile—a dagger being drawn an inch from its sheath. “You were trying to kill my…pet. What did you expect me to do, curtsy?”
He opened his mouth to retort, only to realize she’s right.
He’d come here expecting a helpless victim.
Instead, he found a woman who had decked him with a rock and now regarded him with a mix of annoyance and genuine concern.
Gwenna might wear no crown, no fancy attire, yet she carried herself with more authority than some nobles he’d encountered.
“But…the dragon,” he started, voice faltering under her pointed stare.
“Is not the topic of discussion at the moment,” she replied, finality ringing in her tone. Her gaze flicked to the bed. “Sit down. You can hardly stand, and I’d rather not haul you off the floor a second time.”
Pride flared in Finn’s chest, warring with the throbbing in his skull.
Part of him wanted to argue, but his vision still blurred at the edges, and he feared losing what little dignity he had left.
Reluctantly, he sank onto the bed. A faint wave of relief washed over him as the room stopped spinning.
Gwenna settled onto a nearby chair, angling it so she could keep a close eye on him. She shoved a bowl of stew toward him. “Eat,” she commanded, voice brisk. “We’ll deal with your bandage after you’ve got something in your stomach.”
Finn stared at the murky broth. His stomach growled despite his suspicion, but paranoia still whispered in his ear. Could she have poisoned it? He shot her a wary glance.
Gwenna’s eyes flashed with annoyance. “If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t have bothered patching you up. Now eat.”
She had a point. Finn’s stomach clenched hard enough to grind stone, a hollow ache radiating up his ribs.
He snatched the spoon, wolfing down stew so fast the heat scorched his tongue—greasy rabbit, overcooked carrots turning his mouth to glue.
He didn’t care. His hands shook as he scraped the bowl clean, the scrape-scrape-scrape of metal on clay echoing louder than his pride.
While he ate, Gwenna shifted her attention to the makeshift medical station she’d set up on the small side table.
Clean bandages, a jar of pungent salve, and an assortment of cloth scraps were neatly laid out.
Finn pretended not to watch too closely, but in truth, he couldn’t help comparing this confident, no-nonsense woman to the fairy-tale vision of a captive princess he’d carried in his head.
“Why are you here?” he blurted at last, setting aside the now-empty bowl. His stomach felt less hollow, but his mind still churned with questions. “If you’re not a prisoner, why stay in this tower?”
Gwenna’s hands froze, but then she resumed reorganizing the bandages. “It’s complicated,” she said softly, eyes downcast. “This place…it’s home now. It’s safe.”
Safe. The word rang oddly in Finn’s ears. He frowned. “Safe from what?”
Her eyes flicked up. For a split second, he saw it: pupils dilating like a spooked mare’s. Then gone. ”There are worse things in this world than dragons, Sir Finnian.”
He blinked. Sir Finnian. She used his name—and title—like she’d known it all along. “How do you—”
“You talk in your sleep.” Gwenna cut in. “Now relax.”
He stiffened as her fingers brushed his scalp. The salve burned icy, then numbed. A strand of hair slipped over her shoulder, tickling his cheek. His jaw locked. Relaxing was a surrender.
“It’s healing well,” she observed, more to herself than to him. “The swelling’s gone down considerably.”
He scarcely heard her, lost in the rush of confusion swirling in his head.
This woman—this princess? Tending my wounds?
Nothing about this situation makes sense.
His memories of the previous day blurred together—the dragon’s reluctance to fully fight, the unexpected care he’d received while half-conscious, and the presence of another figure…
A face. Golden-brown eyes. Cedric. The name fell from his lips before he realized he’d spoken it aloud.
Gwenna’s thumb pressed too hard on the bandage and Finn hissed. She offered no apology. “My brother,” she explained. “He’s the one who looked after you last night.”
Brother. Finn’s brow knit. A fleeting memory tugged at the edges of his mind: someone with concern etched into his expression, a soothing voice amid Finn’s pain. “I…I think I remember him.”
Gwenna nodded, stepping back once she’d finished re-bandaging his head. “You woke up for a moment,” she said, placing the salve aside. “He was worried the knock to your skull did more than just bruise you.”
Finn tried to recall more details—the quiet of night, the dance of lantern light, the gentle but firm touch of hands on his skin. His thoughts kept snagging on the idea that none of them acted like the villains—or victims—he’d expected. “Where is he now?”
“Out,” Gwenna answered, her tone vague. “He’s often away during the day.”
Finn couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something felt guarded in her voice. A memory nudged him—there was a Prince Cedric once, rumored dead at the claws of the golden dragon. Could it really be…?
“Your brother,” he drawled, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. “He wouldn’t happen to be Prince Cedric Cleburne, would he? The one who was supposedly killed by the dragon?”
Gwenna’s expression shifted—a crack in the cool confidence she wore like armor. But then it was gone, smoothed into neutrality. “My brother is Cedric,” she said, too carefully. “As for whether he’s a prince…titles don’t mean much out here in the forest.”
Finn narrowed his eyes. “That’s not a no.”
She huffed, shoving a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. “It’s not a yes, either.”
The reality she refused to confirm left him reeling. If Prince Cedric was alive, and Gwenna too, that meant so much of what he’d been told back in Mirathen was wrong—or twisted. Protected by a dragon?
“What really happened?” he asked, voice dropping to a low intensity. “Why are you both here? What are you hiding from?”
Gwenna’s expression hardened. “That’s not a story I’m willing to share with someone who came here to kill my friend and drag me back to a life I left behind.”
Finn winced, the accusation lancing through him.
His jaw tightened, teeth grinding against the sour tang of guilt on his tongue.
“I came here to rescue you,” he protested, the words rougher than he intended, his calloused palm flattening against the sweat-damp linen on his thigh.
“To fulfill my duty as a knight of the realm.”
“And who gave you that duty?” Gwenna challenged, her voice sharp enough to carve stone. ”Who sent you on this noble quest?”
“King Darius,” Finn answered automatically. He stilled, tracking the blood draining from Gwenna’s face, the faint tremor in her throat as she swallowed. Fear. Anger.
“Darius,” Gwenna spat, the name curdling the air between them. ”Of course it was Darius.”
A nervous chill crept along Finn’s spine. The king had ordered him to come, but he hadn’t given many details about Princess Gwenna’s condition—only that she was a captive of a monstrous dragon. Now, seeing Gwenna stand here unshackled and fiercely protective of the beast… Were we all lied to?
“What does King Darius have to do with this?” he asked, and he couldn’t keep the edge from his voice. A faint part of him cringed at the disrespect—King Darius wasn’t known for forgiveness when it came to slights.
Gwenna shook her head, her silhouette a blade of shadow against the window. “That’s none of your business.”
Finn exhaled slowly. No matter how vital it might be to me.
Clearly, she wasn’t going to volunteer the truth.
He forced himself to stand, ignoring the swirl of dizziness that made the walls tilt.
Pain surged in protest, but he refused to let it show.
“Then let me speak to Prince Cedric,” he demanded.
“Let me understand what’s going on here—why you’d choose to stay in an abandoned tower with a dragon for company. ”
Gwenna glanced at the window, sunlight gilding the tension in her shoulders.
“He’ll be back soon. When night falls.” Her nose wrinkled, a hint of defiance.
“And he’s just Cedric.” Something in her tone suggested this was more than a matter of practicality—she was determined to shed the burden of royalty.
Finn nodded slowly, mulling that over. He was starting to grasp how important secrecy was to them, though the full reason still eluded him.
So Prince Cedric is alive. The revelation battered at Finn’s sense of duty—if Prince Cedric and Princess Gwenna truly lived, that meant the line of succession hadn’t ended the way King Darius had always implied.
Finn’s pulse thudded in his ears, a war drum drowning out the lie. He flexed his fingers, wishing he had Sunwrath close at hand. “What do you plan to do with me?”
The erstwhile princess arched a brow. “We’re still deciding.”
A leaden weight settled in Finn’s stomach at those words. They could dispose of me any time. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to keep eye contact. “Can I make a request?”
Gwenna cocked her head, sunlight catching the steel in her gaze. “Sure. Whether I’ll grant it is another thing.”
“It’s about my horse.” The words loosened something in his chest. Finn inhaled, the memory of Ghost’s warm leather-and-hay scent momentarily overriding the room’s mustiness.
“I have her stabled in town, but only left enough coin to cover two days of boarding.” He paused, not missing the way her shoulders relaxed.
“Some livery stables are quick to sell off steeds whose riders haven’t paid for their keep. And Ghost is special to me.”
He saw the brief conflict in her expression—reluctance warred with a genuine softness he hadn’t seen before. She let out a sigh. “I don’t think you’ll be in shape to hike down there anytime soon. But I can go myself in the morning, bring her back here.”
A surge of relief flooded Finn’s chest, and he smiled for the first time since he woke in this tower.
“Thank you,” he murmured. It was a small concession, but it felt like a lifeline.
At least Ghost will be safe. The mare’s comforting presence already braced him—a phantom nudge against his shoulder.
Then, a dull thump from somewhere below made them both tense, followed by the bleat of a goat. It was either a door—maybe the barn door—or the goats were up to no good.
“And that would be Cedric,” Gwenna said, heading for the door. “We’ll have dinner, and then no doubt he’ll want to come up to check on you himself.”
Finn nodded, a fresh jolt of nerves sparking.
So I’m finally going to meet him—Prince Cedric, or just Cedric, as she insists.
He eased himself back onto the bed, the day’s exertion stealing what remained of his energy.
Everything still throbbed—his head, his pride—but at least he could rest a little before facing the tower’s other occupant.