Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Two days. Two agonizing days had passed since that moment on the tower roof.
Finn paced the narrow length of his small room, his mind replaying the events for what felt like the thousandth time.
Cedric’s breath hitching against his lips, the faint tremor in the prince’s fingers where they’d brushed Finn’s collarbone.
The memory of Cedric’s hair slipping through his grip haunted him, silken strands dissolving into empty air.
Finn dragged a hand through his own tangled hair.
His frustration twisted tighter with each passing moment.
He’d hardly seen Cedric since that night.
The other man had become a ghost, appearing only for brief moments at mealtimes before vanishing again, as elusive as mist in the morning sun.
Even when they occupied the same space, Cedric refused to meet his gaze, responding to Finn’s attempts at conversation with clipped, one-word answers.
It was maddening.
Even now, the ghost of that kiss burned.
There’s so much you don’t know. Cedric’s voice echoed, hoarse and frayed at the edges, as it had that night.
Finn’s gut twisted. What was he hiding? A past lover?
A forced vow? A debt owed in blood? His mind chased possibilities, each one more ridiculous than the last. An illness?
A threat hanging over his head? Gods, was he a spy, playing some long game Finn hadn’t even begun to understand?
Finn scoffed at himself. That last thought was ridiculous, but the frustration remained. He couldn’t keep going in circles, trapped in this limbo of uncertainty and unspoken feelings. He needed answers, and he was going to get them, even if he had to drag them out of Cedric himself.
With renewed determination, Finn strode out of his room.
He checked the main living area first, where he found only Gwenna, bent over an odd contraption of brass and glass that looked suspiciously like the telescope Cedric had shown him.
Tools and bits of parchment cluttered the table in front of her, gears and tiny mechanisms scattered like puzzle pieces.
She looked up as he entered, her sharp gaze assessing him immediately.
“Have you seen Cedric?” Finn asked, forgoing pleasantries entirely.
Gwenna sighed, setting aside a tool that looked like it belonged in a blacksmith’s forge rather than a former princess’s hands. “Finn, I don’t think—”
“For the love of the gods, Gwenna, just let me talk to him,” Finn interrupted.
She straightened, crossing her arms, and something about the way she studied him set Finn on edge. “What happened?” she asked.
Finn stiffened. Too perceptive. “Nothing.”
Gwenna’s lips pressed into a thin line. “You’re a terrible liar.”
Finn grimaced, dragging a hand through his hair. “Tell me something I don’t already know,” he muttered, more to himself than her. He didn’t meet her gaze, focusing instead on the scuffed floor. “Look, it doesn’t matter. I just need to find him.”
She studied him, clearly debating her response. Then she set her tool aside with a clank against the table. “He’s in his workshop. But Finn…” She hesitated, something shadowed behind her eyes. “There are things you don’t understand.”
“Then maybe someone should start explaining,” he snapped, unable to curb his frustration.
Gwenna’s expression didn’t change, but she sighed, shaking her head. “If Cedric hasn’t told you, then it’s not my place.”
Finn’s jaw clenched. Another wall. Another locked door. “Thanks for the help,” he said, not quite meaning it.
“Finn,” Gwenna called after him.
He stopped, exhaling sharply before glancing back.
She held his gaze, her arms still crossed. Still wary. “Be careful with him,” she said finally. “If you hurt my brother…”
He raised his brows. “You’ll hit me in the head with another rock?”
Gwenna aimed a pleasant smile at him. “I’ll make that feel like a love tap.” She winked, then went back to her tinkering.
“Understood.” Though hurting Cedric…that was the last thing he wanted to do.
The walk to Cedric’s workshop felt both interminable and far too short.
With every step, his thoughts raced ahead of him.
What if Cedric refuses to talk? What if the answers I get aren’t the ones I want?
A part of him feared what lay at the heart of all this secrecy, but fear wasn’t enough to stop him.
Before he could second-guess himself, Finn reached the workshop door. He took a fortifying breath, clenching his fists at his sides for a moment before knocking.
A pause. Then Cedric’s voice, soft through the thick wooden door: “Go away, Finn.”
Finn swallowed and squared his shoulders. Not the answer he wanted, but it was a start. “How did you know it was me?”
“Because Gwenna and Clarence don’t knock,” came the muffled response.
Cocking his head, Finn considered barging in. But something about that didn’t feel right. He wanted Cedric to make that choice. “You know, I could take that as an invitation to stop knocking altogether.”
Another pause—longer this time. A beat of hesitation so thick Finn could feel it pressing against the door. Then, finally, the latch clicked, and the door creaked open.
Cedric stood silhouetted against the warm lamplight, the sharp planes of his face cast in soft shadow. Finn’s breath caught. He looked tired. Not just exhausted, but worn through, like fabric stretched too thin—dark circles under his golden-brown eyes, hair disheveled.
“Sir Finnian,” Cedric said, his voice crisp, the formality deliberate. Finn could hear the careful distance in it, the way Cedric wielded his title like a shield. “Now’s not a good time.”
Finn’s jaw clenched. “It’s never going to be a good time if you keep avoiding me,” he shot back, pushing past Cedric into the workshop.
The scent of sawdust and oil filled the space, mingling with something faintly smoky.
Finn turned to face him, arms crossing over his chest, determined to hold his ground. “We need to talk about what happened.”
Behind him, Cedric sighed, the sound heavy, edged with something dangerously close to defeat.
The door clicked shut, and when Finn glanced back, Cedric was leaning against it, arms braced as if physically holding himself in place.
Like if he let go, he might do something reckless.
Like if he let go, he might come closer.
After a moment, he retreated from the door, giving Finn a wide berth as he moved closer to his workbench.
“There’s nothing to talk about.” Cedric’s voice was flat, controlled—except for the tiniest waver, a hairline fracture in its icy composure.
“Nothing to talk about?” Finn repeated, incredulous. “Cedric, you kissed me. We kissed. And then you ran away like the place was on fire and have been avoiding me ever since. I think that warrants at least a conversation.”
Cedric turned away, silent, though Finn caught a tremor in his shoulders.
“Is it because you’re a prince and I’m just a knight?” Finn challenged.
Cedric’s head snapped up, startled. “What? No, of course not.”
“Then what is it?” Finn stepped closer. “What are you so afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid,” Cedric whispered, but his voice trembled, betraying the lie.
Finn seized on it, stepping into Cedric’s space. “Then why?” His voice softened, insistent but laced with something dangerously close to hope. “Why push me away if you’re not afraid?”
Something inside Cedric snapped. With a frustrated growl, he shoved past Finn, the sudden movement forcing Finn to catch himself against the workbench.
“Cedric—”
But Cedric was already storming out of the workshop, as if sheer distance might rid him of the conversation entirely.
Oh, no. Finn narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t about to let him go that easily.
Finn was on Cedric’s heels instantly. And gods, Cedric was fast when he wanted to be, even at a walk. Finn almost had to jog to keep up as the prince beat a retreat toward the stable. Cedric shoved the door open.
Finn followed without thinking, slipping inside just as Cedric spun to face him again. The lantern light caught in Cedric’s hair, turning it molten gold. His face was a storm of emotions.
“Can’t you take a hint?” Cedric ground out.
Finn exhaled sharply, then shrugged, his lips quirking just enough to be infuriating. “I did. That’s why I kissed you back.”
Cedric froze.
The air between them stilled.
For a moment, the only sounds were the sleepy shuffle of Ghost in her stall, the occasional creak of wood settling around them. Cedric’s chest rose and fell like a man who’d run for his life. His hands twitched into fists at his sides, tension coiling through every muscle.
Finn held his ground, resisting the urge to close the space between them. He had already pushed enough. This choice had to be Cedric’s.
For a heartbeat, he thought Cedric might run again.
Then…a single step. A hint of hesitation. And finally…a decision.
Cedric lunged forward, and Finn barely had time to suck in a breath before the prince’s mouth was on him, fierce and unrelenting.
Cedric’s hands fisted in Finn’s shirt, pushing him backward.
Finn’s back hit the stable wall, rough wood snagging his shirt as Cedric pressed against him, their bodies maddeningly close.
This kiss was nothing like the one atop the tower.
That had been hesitant, uncertain—a question neither of them had dared to answer.
But this? This was raw, undeniable. Cedric’s tongue swept into Finn’s mouth, hot and demanding, claiming him with a hunger that left Finn’s knees weak.
Finn’s hands found Cedric’s waist, fingers digging into the fabric of his tunic, pulling him closer.