Chapter 14 #2
Their shoulders brushed as he settled beside Finn, handing over the wood and carving knife.
“Hold it like this,” Cedric murmured, reaching to adjust Finn’s grip.
His fingers skimmed over rough, calloused hands—hands made for wielding a sword, not the small carving knife.
Finn let Cedric guide his hold without resistance.
Cedric cleared his throat. “The trick is control. You’re not hacking at it like a training dummy.”
Finn glanced at him, eyebrows lifted high. “That a dig at my technique?”
Cedric sucked in a breath, adjusting Finn’s fingers around the hilt of the knife. “No, this is a dig at your technique.” He gave Finn’s wrist a light slap. “Relax. You’re gripping it like you’re about to duel the wood.”
Finn huffed, loosening his hold just a little. “Better?”
Cedric tilted his head in assessment. “Marginally.”
He demonstrated, angling the blade against the grain, letting the knife whisper over the wood.
“You start with the basic shape. You don’t need to press too hard—just enough to get the first layers off.
” He turned the block in his hands, showing Finn how the blade should glide through the grain, not fight against it.
Then, after only a moment of hesitation, he covered Finn’s hand with his own. Bad idea. Terrible idea. But necessary.
“The pressure has to be firm, but controlled,” Cedric continued, his voice coming out steadier than he felt.
He guided Finn’s hand, directing his first cut.
The knife bit cleanly into the wood, releasing a fine curl of pale cedar that fluttered down onto Finn’s thigh.
“Not bad.” Cedric’s breath caught when Finn turned his head—far too close—grinning like a rogue.
“Look at that,” Finn mused, clearly enjoying himself. “I’m an artist.”
Cedric scoffed. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
Finn made another slow pass with the knife, his brow furrowing in concentration. The lantern light cast warm gold across his cheekbones, tracing the line of his jaw.
Cedric needed to stop noticing these things.
The knife’s rhythmic scritch-scritch filled the silence, but Cedric’s attention fractured—fixing on the sweat-damp hairs at Finn’s nape, the way his lower lip caught between his teeth in concentration.
Finn’s breathing was soft, unshaken, as if their closeness was nothing at all. But Cedric? He was unraveling.
Focus on the wood, Cedric commanded himself, even as his traitorous mind whispered how easily Finn’s hands could pin him against the workbench, how the knife might clatter forgotten to the floor. His blade slipped, nicking the cedar.
Finn glanced up, brows lifting. “Thought you said this was about control.”
Cedric forced himself to exhale, willing the warmth in his face to subside. “Even the best make mistakes.”
Finn leaned in, his grin teasing but not unkind. “Good to know you’re not too perfect.”
“Only mostly.” Cedric shot him a dry look. “Are you going to carve or talk all night?”
Finn chuckled, returning his attention to the wood. But Cedric had the distinct feeling he wasn’t the only one fighting distraction.
Finn turned his head slightly, catching Cedric’s gaze. Their faces were suddenly inches apart.
Time stalled.
Cedric’s pulse raced as Finn’s gaze flickered lower. To his mouth. He could see the way Finn’s pupils dilated, the silent pull between them like gravity shifting, dragging them closer.
Every instinct screamed at him to move, to break the moment before it swallowed him whole.
But he didn’t.
For a brief, breathless moment, Cedric thought Finn might close the distance. Might kiss him.
And worse—a reckless, aching part of him wanted it.
Then reason sliced through him. Dangerous. This was dangerous. He was getting in too deep.
Clearing his throat, he jerked back, breaking the spell. “So, uh, that’s the basics,” he said, voice rasping in his throat, utterly unconvincing. “With practice, you’ll get better at the details.”
Finn blinked, as if shaking off the same daze. He straightened, fingers closing around the knife, though he didn’t carve. “Right, yeah. Thanks for showing me.”
Silence pooled between them, thick as smoke, stretching like a taut rope between two points.
Cedric busied himself tidying the workspace. Ridiculous. It wasn’t as if Finn had actually—
No. Don’t even think it.
And yet, he could still feel it—the phantom warmth of their near-touch, the way Finn had looked at him.
Finn cleared his throat. “Cedric.”
Cedric tensed. “Mm?”
Finn hesitated, shifting his weight. “Can I ask you something?”
No. Absolutely not. “Of course,” Cedric said instead, already bracing for impact. Whatever Finn asked, Cedric already knew his answer would likely be a lie.
Finn hesitated, something thoughtful—or suspicious—in his gaze. “Why do you only work at night? And where do you go during the day?”
Cedric’s stomach dropped.
“I saw the pallet in the stables,” Finn added.
Shit.
This was his fault. He had gotten too comfortable. Of course Finn had noticed the gaps, the inconsistencies—a perceptive knight would see right through flimsy excuses. Cedric turned away, pretending to adjust some tools. Anything to hide his panic.
“I, uh…” He forced himself to sound casual, rolling his shoulders as if Finn’s questions were nothing more than idle curiosity.
“I’ve always been a bit of a night owl.” The words came out thin.
Weak. Even to his own ears. “And during the day, I…” He grabbed a chisel, flipping it absently in his palm.
“…Patrol the area. To make sure we’re safe. ”
Pathetic. He sounded like a child explaining the absence of a plate of cookies while crumbs covered their face.
Finn arched a brow. “Right,” he said slowly. Too slowly. “It’s just…I never see you leave or come back.”
Cedric gave a half-hearted shrug, still not meeting Finn’s gaze.
Finn tilted his head. “And when do you sleep?”
Cedric’s mind raced, scrambling for a plausible explanation. Of course, he should have considered that he’d need sleep as a part of his excuse. Amateur mistake. He could almost hear Gwenna’s voice in his head: You should’ve stuck to flirting.
Swallowing hard, he turned back around, keeping his expression carefully neutral. Think. Quickly.
“I sleep mostly during the day,” he said at last. True enough—for now. “And I’m quiet about it. Otherwise, Clarence would start screaming at me every time I moved.” He forced a small chuckle, hoping to steer the conversation somewhere lighter.
Finn didn’t laugh.
Instead, he studied Cedric with those sharp, stormy eyes, searching. The scrutiny made Cedric’s skin feel too tight. He needed to redirect this conversation now.
“Hey,” Cedric said suddenly, his voice overly bright, “it’s a clear night. I should show you something Gwenna and I have been working on.”
The knight’s eyebrows rose at the abrupt change in subject. “What?”
“Come on.” Cedric jerked his head toward the door. “We have to go to the roof of the tower, though.”
Finn hesitated, clearly weighing whether to let Cedric slip out of answering his questions. Then, with a sigh, he relented. “All right, but if this is an excuse to throw me off the roof, you’re going to have to try harder than Clarence.”
Cedric huffed a quiet laugh, relieved by the reprieve. “Tempting,” he quipped, “but no.”
He led Finn up the winding spiral staircase, the wooden steps creaking beneath their boots. The climb was steep, and Finn slowed halfway up, rolling his shoulders with a wince. Cedric immediately regretted bringing him up here so soon after his injury.
“Sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t drag you to the roof when you’re still recovering,” Cedric said apologetically.
“I’ll be fine. You can drag me anywhere.” Finn grinned at him as they reached another landing. “I’m not as fragile as that blow to the head would have you believe.”
Cedric blinked, trying and failing to shove down the ridiculous warmth rising in his chest.
He turned away quickly, pretending to focus on unlatching the final door. The last thing he needed was Finn saying things like that, looking at him like that, when Cedric’s mind was still tangled from their moment in the workshop.
When they reached the rooftop, the night stretched out endlessly. The stars burned against the velvet-dark sky, the moon casting a pale glow over the stone battlements.
But Cedric’s focus was elsewhere.
Near the edge of the roof, their telescope gleamed in the moonlight, crafted from polished brass and dark wood. Gwenna’s masterpiece. He had helped where he could, carving and assembling the wooden parts, but the real genius was hers.
Finn’s brow furrowed, though his eyes lit with interest.
“This is it,” Cedric said, resting his hand on the scope. He felt a swell of pride, not just in the craftsmanship but in the countless hours they had spent working on it. “Mostly Gwenna’s work. I helped with a few things, but she’s the brains behind it.”
Finn cocked his head. “What is it?”
Cedric blinked, momentarily caught in the way the moonlight traced over the sharp angles of Finn’s face.
Then he remembered—of course, Finn had no idea what he was looking at.
“It’s called a telescope,” Cedric explained, giving the polished wood a light tap.
“It lets you see the stars more clearly. We saw a shooting star a few weeks ago.”
The knight’s brows rose. “Really? Can I try it?”
A grin tugged at Cedric’s lips. Finn’s enthusiasm was surprisingly endearing. “Of course.”
He crouched beside the telescope, adjusting the small brass gears at the base, aligning it with the sky.
“Gwenna wanted a better way to study the stars. We’ve been working on it for months.
It’s not perfect yet, but…” He peered through the eyepiece, made a minor adjustment, then stepped back. “Go ahead. Take a look.”
Finn slipped past him, moving in close as he eased down to the eyepiece. A breath of silence—then an audible gasp. “Is that...the moon?”