Chapter 26 #2
The dragon huffed, a great exhale that stirred Finn’s hair. His wings twitched, tail curling—not in a strike, but in something almost thoughtful. Finn swallowed hard, hope rising like a tide. Gods, was this working?
Cedric’s muscles coiled, talons flexing against the sand.
The thread between them stretched. One more pull and it would snap.
Finn swallowed hard, his voice little more than a whisper. “So, you know. If you could not roast me alive right now, that’d be a good start.”
And just like that, it was gone.
The dragon’s pupils narrowed to slits. His fangs bared. A sound—not quite a growl, not quite a snarl—rumbled through his chest, and then he moved.
Finn had just enough time to suck in a breath before the world came crashing down. With a rumbling bellow that shook the arena, Cedric lunged.
Finn braced himself, every muscle in his body taut.
He snatched up his shield and raised it to absorb another impact.
The collision was cataclysmic—scales against steel, raw power against fragile flesh.
The force sent Finn hurtling backward, his body weightless for half a second before crashing into the sand.
The enchantments woven into his armor flared to life, softening the worst of the impact. Even so, pain erupted everywhere at once, blooming sharp and hot as he skidded across the arena floor. His armor scraped against the coarse grit, metal screeching, bones jarring.
Blood filled his mouth, a nauseating warmth against his tongue. His whole body screamed stay down, but Finn had never been great at listening to advice—even from himself.
Get up. Move. Or you’re dead.
With a groan that was equal parts agony and defiance, he forced himself upright. His legs shook, his lungs burned, his breath came in short gasps, but he was still standing.
“I know you’re in there, Cedric,” he panted, swiping a shaking hand across his mouth, smearing blood at the corner of his lips. His body felt like a warhorse had stomped on him. Or, more accurately, a very large, very pissed-off dragon.
Another step. Another breath. He had to keep talking. Had to keep pulling Cedric back.
“I know you can hear me,” he rasped, wincing as the effort sent another stab of pain through his chest. “Any chance we could go five minutes without you knocking the breath out of me? I know you don’t enjoy talking about your big, bad secret, but I think we’re past that.”
Every word scraped like glass in his throat, but he pushed through it. He had to.
Cedric snorted, another gust of hot breath washing over Finn.
Finn let out a wheezing laugh, barely holding himself upright. “See? You do hear me.” His vision swam, the world tilting, but he held firm. “Please,” his voice cracked, “come back to me.”
The dragon froze.
For one agonizing heartbeat, Finn thought he might have won.
The world was red. Hunger and fury and fire.
The rich scent of blood filled the dragon’s lungs, calling him forward. The prey stood before him, chittering like a squirrel. He prowled closer, savoring the scent of sweat, the way his quarry trembled, the way its pulse beat a frantic rhythm—weak, erratic.
Mine.
The fire deep in his throat burned. It was time to finish this.
“You don’t want to do this, Cedric. And I sure as hell don’t want to fight you.” The prey stared up at him, still bleeding. And somehow, defiant.
The name cracked through the dragon’s mind like a hammer striking glass. He reared back with wings flared, shaking his head as if to dislodge something burrowing inside his skull.
Cedric.
More than just a name. A truth. His truth. But the beast did not understand truths. Only hunger. For a moment, the dragon faltered. Huffed a confused, uneasy breath.
“Cedric!” Another voice, this one sharp and commanding. The beast snapped his head around to peer at the crowd, focusing on a single creature.
The female.
The dragon’s pupils narrowed. Females were prey. But…no. He knew her. Not prey. Not nameless.
Gwenna. The knowledge sent a bolt of lightning through him, shredding the veil of magic that bound him.
The dragon spun back to his prey. No, the knight. His knight. Finn. Mine.
His gaze locked onto the human standing before him, sword lowered, breath ragged, staring up at him not with terror, but something worse.
Trust.
The dragon did not understand. Shaking his head, he huffed out another too-hot breath. The dragon was driven by instinct, but he was not mindless. And he would figure this out.
No, I am not a dragon. I’m…a man. A prince. A brother. A lover. I am Cedric.
The knowledge struck with the force of a thunderclap. I am Cedric. I know this man. I love this man.
The dragon staggered back a step, claws flexing in the sand. The magic twisted inside him, resisting, snarling. But for the first time, he was fighting it. Truly fighting it.
“Please come back to me,” the knight whispered. Finn—gods, Finn—he wasn’t running. Even when he should be.
Stupid Finn. Stupid, wonderful Finn.
To hold on to hope in the face of certain death. To look upon a beast and believe there was still something worth saving.
It wasn’t bravery. It wasn’t even love.
It was madness.
The dragon’s tail lashed out. Not by will. Not by choice. Cedric screamed within himself, a soundless explosion of grief.
Finn’s body tumbled across the sand, limbs flailing, his sword spinning away in a glittering arc.
No, no, no! The word was a battering ram in Cedric’s skull, but it meant nothing. It changed nothing. The dragon advanced, a predator closing in on its quarry, its jaws parting to reveal the deadly promise of its maw.
Fire pooled in his throat. One breath, and his prey would be nothing but smoldering ruin.
No, not prey. Finn. Gods, Finn!
He saw it—the outcome, the destruction—his fire licking over pale skin, blackening it, burning away everything he loved.
Cedric hurled himself at the unyielding walls of his own mind, slamming against them like a caged animal. He fought with the ferocity of a dying thing, tearing at the threads of Darius’s enchantment, trying to claw his way back.
But it wasn’t enough. The beast did not falter. The beast did not weep. But deep inside, Cedric did.
Please. The word was nothing more than a breathless prayer, a desperate plea hurled into the void. Aurenis, gods, anyone—don’t let me be the end of him.
Time slowed.
Every heartbeat, every breath stretched thin. Finn lay there, motionless, staring up at the creature poised to end his life.
The roar of the crowd faded, reduced to a meaningless hum. Only one thing mattered.
Cedric.
He saw him—not just as a dragon, not just as a beast commanded to kill, but as everything Cedric had ever been.
The shimmer of his golden scales, more than just gold—streaked with amber and bronze, shifting in intricate patterns like veins in autumn leaves.
The delicate iridescence of his wing membranes, catching the sunlight like spun glass.
The power in every line of his body, magnificent and terrifying in equal measure.
And then there were his eyes.
Those beautiful, familiar amber-flecked eyes. The eyes Finn had lost himself in. The eyes that had once softened when Cedric smiled, when he laughed, when he looked at Finn like he mattered.
“Cedric,” Finn choked out, the sound little more than a whisper, devoured by the arena’s frenzied hunger. But he didn’t care about the thousands of voices baying for his death.
He only spoke to one.
“You are not what he’s made you.” Finn stared up at Cedric.
The dragon shuddered. A tremor that rippled from the very marrow of his being. His scales rattled, his claws flexing against the sand as if trying to root himself—as if resisting a command only his body obeyed.
And Finn saw it.
Another flicker of humanity in those tortured eyes, drowning beneath the weight of something that threatened to crush it entirely. A soul caught in a war it hadn’t asked for.
Ignoring the protest of his battered, screaming body, he pushed himself to his feet, vision spinning. “Come on, golden boy,” he urged, voice low. Gentle. As if speaking too loudly would shatter this fragile moment. “I’ve seen you fight harder against Clarence the goat. Don’t let King Dickhead win.”
Please, gods, let him listen.
Then, with agonizing slowness, Cedric stepped back. A single jerky movement. Then another.
Each step was stilted, like a marionette yanked against its will. But he was moving. Away from Finn. Away from the kill.
Finn’s breath caught. This was real. Cedric had fought it. Cedric had chosen him.
Finn stepped forward, close enough that he could have reached out and touched Cedric’s snout, had he dared. “Even like this, I trust you. Gods help me, I trust you.”
The sword in Finn’s grip trembled. Finn glanced down at it, swallowing as the memory rose of his first fight against the golden dragon at the tower. How Cedric had refused to fight, had only met each sword thrust with a parry of claws. The dragon could have killed him then, if he’d wanted to.
But he hadn’t.
Finn’s grip loosened. He let the sword fall. The crowd’s roar dampened the clang.
The surrender wasn’t for them. It was for Cedric. For everything they had been. For everything they still could be. He peered up at the dragon. At the prince he loved.
A chilling voice shattered the tenuous peace. “Obey.” Darius, the single word full of command. “You belong to me. Now do as you were made to do.”
The dragon let out a sound unlike anything Finn had ever heard. A keening cry that spoke of a soul being torn apart. It left Finn blinking against the sting of sudden tears.
“Rynvath’s fangs.” Finn’s breath hitched. “No.”
The dragon twitched. Claws flexed. His head gave the barest shake.
Please, Finn begged silently. Please fight it. He lifted a shaking hand, fingers ghosting against the tiny golden scales on Cedric’s snout. The dragon shuddered, and for a single heartbeat, he leaned into it. A press against Finn’s palm as fragile as a butterfly’s wings.