Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
The forest canopy blurred beneath Cedric as he soared, his golden wings catching the last dying rays of the setting sun.
The world below was a darkening sea of treetops, shifting in and out of focus as he pushed himself harder, faster, his wings carving through the cool air.
He’d been flying for hours, tracing the jagged spine of the mountains in reckless, aimless patterns, chasing an escape that refused to come.
It was useless. No matter how far or fast he flew, he couldn’t outrun the memory of Finn’s face—the raw betrayal that had shattered the quiet intimacy of the night before.
The shock, the hurt, the way Finn had stumbled back as though Cedric had struck him.
And, gods, maybe he had. Maybe the truth had been more of a wound than claws ever could be.
The wind roared past him, whipping along the membranes of his wings, howling in his ears like a taunt. You should have told him.
He had known this moment would come. Had tried to push Finn away, had thrown up every barrier he could to prevent the inevitable.
And yet, in that stable, with Finn’s warmth pressed against him, with the taste of his kiss still lingering like something sacred—Cedric had allowed himself to hope. To believe. To think that, just maybe, he could carve out something for himself in this life that wasn’t loneliness or regret.
How utterly foolish he had been.
As the sun dipped beyond the horizon, Cedric knew he couldn’t delay his return much longer. His naked human form would be too vulnerable at this altitude in the mountains.
Maybe he deserved it. He had misled Finn. Without a doubt, the knight would come back for his blood—no matter what whispered promises he’d made in the dark of night. Cedric glanced down at the snow-covered ridge. Maybe it would be a kindness to die of exposure.
But then Gwenna would be alone. And that knowledge, for all these years, had been the only thing that kept him clinging to this tortured life. His sister didn’t know how many times he’d considered his own end. How many times the singular thought of Gwenna’s hurt at his loss had stayed his hand.
He sucked in a rumbling breath. Gwenna was his anchor. If he returned for anyone, it was her.
With a heavy heart, Cedric angled downward, gliding toward a clearing close to the tower.
His landing was far from graceful—his back legs hit first, claws digging deep furrows into the soft earth before his momentum carried him forward.
His body pitched, wings flaring at the last moment to balance him.
He trembled. His chest heaved with the effort, and every muscle in his body screamed in protest.
Then, before he could second-guess himself, the transformation took him.
Pain. It struck like lightning through every fiber of his being.
Bones cracked and reformed, sinew pulling tight, limbs shrinking, reshaping.
His scales melted into flesh, tail wisping into little more than golden effervescence.
The shift never got easier. Cedric clenched his jaw, refusing to cry out, but his entire body convulsed as the last remnants of his dragon form vanished.
He deserved this pain.
When it was over, he lay curled on his side in the dirt, naked and shivering.
His breath came in ragged gasps, his lungs burning.
The cold surrounded him, but he made no effort to move.
For a long moment, he simply lay there, face half-buried in the damp earth, listening to the rustle of the wind through the trees.
Maybe it would be easier to just stay here. Let the forest claim him. Maybe the earth would swallow him whole, and the pain would finally stop.
“Cedric?” The sound of his sister’s voice shattered the quiet. Footsteps—running. “Oh, thank Rynvath’s hunters! I’ve been worried sick!”
He belatedly registered Gwenna dropping to her knees beside him, her hands warm as they pressed against his bare skin, checking for injuries. The concern in her voice cut deeper than he wanted to admit.
Cedric forced his eyes open. Gwenna’s face hovered above him, her expression a mixture of relief and frustration. She wasted no time in draping a cloak over his shaking shoulders.
“Can you stand?” she asked, her voice softer now, no less urgent. “I brought clothes.”
Cedric swallowed, forcing himself to nod. The movement alone made his head spin. His limbs felt like waterlogged planks as Gwenna helped him into a sitting position. The simple act of pulling the linen shirt over his head was an ordeal.
But Gwenna’s hands were sure as she guided him, her frustration a silent undercurrent beneath her movements. She’s angry.
She was right to be.
The moment he was dressed, she straightened, crossing her arms over her chest. “Where is he?” she asked, voice tight with restrained emotion.
Cedric exhaled shakily, barely more than a whisper. “Gone.”
Gwenna stiffened. “Gone?”
“He left at dawn.” The words tasted bitter.
Gwenna’s jaw clenched, her eyes flashing. “I’ll kill him,” she muttered under her breath. “I told you we couldn’t trust him. I knew he’d—”
“No.” Cedric cut her off, shaking his head. The motion made him sway, and he had to grip her arm to keep himself upright as they began the slow walk back to the tower. “It’s not his fault.” His voice was hoarse, raw with self-loathing. “I…I should have told him sooner.”
Gwenna let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Told him what? That you’re the very creature he was sent to destroy so he could carry me off? Oh yes, I’m sure that would have gone over splendidly.”
Cedric flinched, but he had no strength left to argue. What was there to say?
They moved in silence after that, the short walk to the tower feeling endless. Cedric’s body ached with every step, but it was nothing compared to the gaping wound in his heart.
Inside, Gwenna guided him to a chair by the fire. His limbs felt boneless, heavy with exhaustion. He watched as Gwenna busied herself making a tincture, the clinking of cups and saucers filling the tense silence.
Cedric stared into the fire, his vision unfocused, the flames blurring into shapes that weren’t there.
Finn’s face flashed in his mind—his grey eyes wide with shock, his voice shaking with betrayal.
The warmth of his body, the way he had held Cedric close only hours before, like he belonged there.
A fresh wave of nausea rolled through him.
“Here.” Gwenna pressed a steaming cup into his hands. “Drink this. Then you’re going to tell me exactly what happened.”
Cedric wrapped his fingers around the drink, letting the heat seep into his frozen hands. He took a sip, but the warmth of the tincture didn’t reach the chill inside him. He swallowed hard, the words tangled in his throat.
“We were in the stables,” he began, his voice a ragged whisper. It felt foreign, like it belonged to someone else. “We…we were...” His jaw clenched, and he shut his eyes, as if that would block out the memory. “I let him into my heart and my arms.”
Gwenna’s eyebrows shot up, but, to her credit, she didn’t interrupt.
Cedric took another shuddering breath. “Afterward, I must have fallen asleep. When I woke, the sun was rising, and I—” He broke off, his grip tightening around the cup.
He didn’t need to say the rest. The horror of that moment, of feeling his body shifting against his will, the sickening realization that he was too late and there was no way to slip away without Finn noticing. “Finn saw me.”
“And then he ran,” Gwenna finished, her tone flat with ill-concealed bitterness.
Cedric shook his head, the motion sluggish, his entire body resisting the movement. “No. I did.” The confession was hardly audible. He exhaled shakily, his fingers white-knuckled around the cup. “I saw the look on his face and I…I couldn’t bear it. I flew away.”
He didn’t even mention the things Finn had said. You lied to me. I trusted you. The words had lodged in his mind, poisoning him from the inside out.
Silence stretched between them. Gwenna’s gaze was heavy on him, unyielding. Finally, she spoke. “So you slept with him, revealed your secret, and then left him to deal with the aftermath alone?”
Put like that, it sounded even worse. Because it was worse. Cedric flinched as if struck.
“I panicked,” he admitted. “I didn’t know what else to do. And I can’t—” His voice faltered. He swallowed the knot rising in his throat, staring down into the depths of his tincture. “I can’t speak as a dragon. I had no way to make him understand.”
Gwenna scoffed, throwing up her hands. “I was here. You could have gotten me!” She shot to her feet, pacing in tight, angry strides across the small room. “This is a disaster. He could be on his way here right now with an army at his back. We need to leave, Cedric. Now, before it’s too late.”
Leave? Cedric’s pulse stuttered. A cold, creeping fear crawled up his spine, desperation clawing at his throat.
What if Finn came back?
What if he wanted answers? What if—against all reason—he still wanted Cedric?
“We can’t just run,” Cedric said, his voice rough. “This is our home. And Finn…he might not tell anyone.”
Gwenna whirled to face him, eyes flashing with disbelief. “Are you mad? Of course he’ll tell someone! It’s his duty, Cedric. You can’t honestly believe he’d choose you over his loyalty to the kingdom?”
Cedric recoiled. Because he did believe it. Or at least…he wanted to.
“You didn’t see his face, Gwenna.” His voice cracked on the words. “Before he saw me change…there was something there between us. Something real.”
A muscle ticked in Gwenna’s jaw. Her anger bled out, replaced by something softer—something infinitely worse. Pity.
“Oh, Cedric,” she whispered. She knelt before him, taking his hands in hers. “I know you care for him. But you have to face reality. He’s a knight of Lunareth. His entire purpose for coming here was to slay you. One night of passion doesn’t change that.”