Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Finn was not about to let a goat have the last word.
Clarence had bested him once today, but Finn still had his dignity. (Well, some of it.) Which was why, after dinner, he pushed back from the table and stretched, giving Cedric a pointed look. “I’ll help you fix the fence.”
Cedric quirked a brow, clearly amused. “Will you?”
“Yes,” Finn said, already standing. “Consider it a matter of knightly honor.”
From across the table, Gwenna snorted. “You mean your wounded pride.”
“Same thing.” Finn waved a hand dismissively. “Either way, that fence needs fixing, and I’m not letting Cedric do it alone.”
Cedric heaved a put-upon sigh, but didn’t argue. “All right, if you’re so determined.” He stood, pushing his chair in neatly, and gestured for Finn to follow.
The evening air was crisp, carrying the scent of hay and damp earth. Finn rolled his shoulders, trying to shake off the stiffness still lingering from the pre-dinner incident. Clarence, thankfully, was nowhere in sight. He was probably lurking, waiting to strike again.
“Honestly,” Finn began as they approached the fence, “I don’t know that you and Gwenna even need a dragon for protection with that goat around.”
To his surprise, Cedric laughed. It was a sound that Finn hoped to hear much more frequently. The prince grinned. “Now that you mention it, I think you’re on to something.” Cedric led him to a small shed near the goat pen and retrieved a hammer and some nails.
“Speaking of protection…what did happen to all those adventurers who supposedly came looking for a dragon?” Finn raised an inquisitive brow.
Cedric didn’t even glance up as he selected a nail. “Clarence.”
Finn blinked. “…Come again?”
Now Cedric did look at him, utterly deadpan. “They crossed Clarence. They did not return.”
Finn stared. He was mostly sure Cedric was joking. Probably. Maybe. “…You’re messing with me.”
Cedric only smiled. “Am I?”
Finn squinted. “Yes?”
No answer. Just the faintest curve of Cedric’s lips as he turned back to work.
And now Finn was less sure.
“But really,” Finn said, tone shifting. “They all came after Gwenna and the dragon.” He spoke it as a fact, since King Darius had already confirmed as much. His lips pressed together as he mulled it over. None of them had made it back.
Which meant the king had a vague idea of where Cedric and Gwenna were. But not a precise location.
“They were mercenaries.” Cedric’s tone was even as he trudged toward the goat pen. “You’re a knight of Lunareth, but I assume you’ve encountered merc knights before?”
Finn nodded. “Their loyalty is bought by the highest bidder. Their honor is…transactional.”
The prince was tight-lipped, but nodded. “Yes. And if any of them had gotten through, who knows what they would have done to Gwenna before returning her to Mirathen?” When phrased that way, Finn couldn’t say he blamed their defensive approach.
Finn’s mind wandered back to the grisly display. So many insignias he didn’t recognize, except for the lone Avilisian one. Finn couldn’t put a finger on why that troubled him.
Cedric glanced over his shoulder. “Can you hold a board in place?” His question made Finn forget all about unusual mercenary trappings.
Finn scowled. “I can use my hands for things besides swinging a sword.”
Cedric grinned, handing him a plank of wood. “We’ll see.”
Finn took the board, gripping it with mock indignation. “What do you think I am, some kind of reckless brute who only knows how to solve problems with violence?”
Cedric just gave him a look.
Finn sighed. “Okay, sometimes. But I know how to hold a board, Cedric.”
“We’ll still see.”
Finn muttered under his breath, but held the board in place, anyway. “So, perhaps this isn’t a question I should pose as you wield a hammer, but why let me live?” He raised his brows. “Was it my good looks?”
Cedric didn’t even pause mid-swing. “And people say royalty have egos,” he commented, though a smile tugged at his lips. The hammer came down, driving the nail in with a satisfying thunk. He paused, meeting Finn’s gaze. “No, it’s because you’re one of ours. You’re of Lunareth.”
Finn blinked, thrown by the simple certainty in Cedric’s tone. You’re one of ours.
His fingers flexed against the board, gripping it a little tighter. It wasn’t what he’d expected.
“Right,” Finn said, slower this time. “I suppose that means I owe you, then.”
Cedric raised his brows, reaching for another nail. “If you’re offering…” His tone was light, but something in his eyes made Finn’s stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with nerves.
Finn smirked. “Depends on what you’re asking.” Then his expression shifted. “How did you learn how to do all this? You’re a prince. Not exactly the practical sort.”
“Hold the board straight.” Cedric shot him a look. “And just because border diplomacy seldom involves planks and nails doesn’t mean it’s something we can’t learn.”
Finn winced. He hadn’t meant to offend. “I just imagine…most nobles couldn’t do this. Wouldn’t do this.”
“We had no choice, Finn. Our options were die of exposure or figure out how to survive.” Cedric shrugged, driving another nail home. “You can see which we chose.”
Finn absorbed that, his smirk fading. He looked down at the rough wood beneath his hands.
Cedric wasn’t just good at this—he needed to be.
He hesitated, turning the next plank over in his hands.
“You and Gwenna have been out here for a decade.” The words felt strange now—too big, too real.
“Meanwhile, things in Lunareth have…changed.”
“Things everywhere have changed,” Cedric corrected, though something akin to pain briefly crossed his face. “Revendar is a husk of what it once was, thanks to the Avilisian Empire and their schemes.”
“So the recluse prince keeps up with news?” Finn asked, unable to keep the note of challenge from his voice.
“Since knowledge of current events helps keep me alive, yes.” Then Cedric’s voice became little more than a whisper. “And I may be a ghost as far as Lunareth is concerned, but I still care.”
Finn’s gut lurched at that soft admission. Then why don’t you go back? Challenge King Darius the Glorious? But he sensed that was a question best left for another time. Maybe he could tease that out in a roundabout way.
“Being a knight the past few years hasn’t been easy,” Finn said as Cedric pulled another nail from the pouch at his belt. “I thought I was protecting my kingdom. That I was fighting for my people.”
His words drew Cedric’s interest. “But?”
Got you. Finn smiled. “But I’ve been wondering who I was meant to protect. Those within the kingdom, solely because they had the fortune to be born here? And use my sword to turn away those who come here to seek mercy?”
The prince went very, very still. “You would do as your king commands.” It was spoken in the most neutral manner as possible, but Finn still felt the tension thrumming below the surface.
“Someone once told me that makes me a well-dressed weapon.” Finn winked at him, hoping the flirty gesture might further throw Cedric off balance.
In response, Cedric snorted. “Sounds familiar, like I know this person.”
Finn chuckled. “Perhaps so. Anyway, those words made me think. Especially in Duskridge. Those people, those former refugees…they’re not the enemy, no matter what King Darius says.” Was it his imagination, or had Cedric nearly startled at the king’s name? Finn pretended he hadn’t noticed.
Cedric made a noncommittal sound. “We’re almost done. You holding that board or not?”
Finn squinted at Cedric as the prince focused a little too intently on hammering in the next board. Well, I’ve already poked at every other uncomfortable subject. What’s one more?
“You were friends with King Darius,” Finn observed.
Cedric’s hammer paused mid-swing. He let out a slow breath.
“What passes for friends, I suppose.” His tone was uncertain.
He sighed, finally driving the nail into place.
“Darius was one of those people where you never quite knew where you stood.” There was something unspoken in his voice, but before Finn could press, Cedric straightened. “What made you want to be a knight?”
Finn let the shift in topic slide. “You know, the usual. Heroic tales, a deep sense of duty, an innate desire to put myself in mortal peril for questionable leadership.”
Cedric chuckled. “So, not the cloaks and fancy armor, then?”
Finn grinned. “Oh, no, that was a factor. Have you seen how dashing we look?”
Cedric rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.
Finn hesitated, then gave the simplest truth. “My father was a knight.” He paused, then added, “We have a lot in common, you know. My father died the night of the dragon attack, like your parents.”
Cedric stilled. The tension in his shoulders returned, subtle but noticeable. He didn’t say anything.
Finn swallowed. He could see it—feel it—how much that affected Cedric. That had been the wrong feint to make. Time to correct it.
He smirked, trying to lighten the mood. “Of course, I thought knights were all about grand battles and noble quests. Didn’t realize most of the job was standing guard at doors while nobles gossiped.”
Cedric raised his brows. “Disillusioned?”
“A bit.” Finn leaned against the post. “But lately, I’ve been realizing something. Knights are always needed. By the crown, by their kingdom. But being wanted...that’s different.”
“Aren’t those the same?” Cedric asked. “Fairly certain the crown wants to have an ample roster of knights.”
“Not the way I mean it,” Finn said, watching the prince intently.
Cedric held his gaze for a beat. Then he looked away, hammering in the last nail with more force than necessary. “There.” His voice was quieter now. “That should hold.”
They stood shoulder to shoulder, the warmth of Cedric’s body a whisper against Finn’s arm. The air between them felt charged, heavy with something invisible but undeniable.
Finn exhaled slowly, but it did nothing to steady him. His skin prickled, hyperaware of every breath Cedric took, of the faint scent of cedar and sawdust lingering on his clothes. As if drawn by an invisible force, they turned toward each other.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Finn’s pulse thundered in his ears. Cedric’s gaze dipped to his mouth. Finn’s fingers clenched the fencepost, his grip so tight the rough wood bit into his palm. He needed the anchor because every inch of him wanted to close the space between them.
To lean in. To find out if Cedric would stop him.
Or let it happen.
Then an obnoxious bleat rang out from the shadows. Clarence.
The spell shattered. Finn groaned, throwing his head back. “I swear, that goat is possessed.”
Cedric laughed—warm, unguarded, real. Finn would suffer a thousand Clarence-related humiliations to hear that sound again. “Come on.” Cedric bumped Finn’s shoulder lightly. “Let’s get inside before he claims another victim.”
Finn sighed, but followed him.
As they walked back toward the tower, Finn couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight had changed something. The distance between them was smaller now. The silences felt less like something to be afraid of.
He didn’t entirely mind getting humbled by a goat. Especially if it meant Cedric laughing like that again.