Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
If you love me, don’t let me go back.
Finn’s words roared in Cedric’s mind as he shot away from the arena. He trembled, magic burning like cold iron beneath his scales. The beast inside him snarled for release, urging him to tighten his grip. To crush. To kill.
But the knight’s plea overpowered it all. Cedric remembered the horrifying condition of Finn in the dungeon. His protective rage battled Darius’s magic. No, he would not let Finn go back to that.
Ever.
Finn was a warm weight against his chest, curled into the cage of his foreclaws. Beneath his palm, Cedric felt the knight’s heartbeat—a frantic drum against his scales. So fragile. So precious. His other foreclaw held around Finn’s sword, wrested from the sand in his desperate escape.
But Darius’s magic still lingered. It coiled in the marrow of his bones, whispering, demanding. No. He would not give in.
He forced his mind elsewhere. To Finn’s broken voice in the arena. I love you. And I forgive you. Gods, why? Why had Finn forgiven him? And more importantly, how?
His grip on the knight tightened imperceptibly.
Below, the city churned in chaos. The metallic glint of guards scrambling, torches flaring along the streets, the distant clang of alarm bells. Cedric knew they would be pursued soon. His escape was not an end—only a stolen moment.
But it was a moment, nonetheless.
He angled his wings, catching an updraft, lifting them higher. Finn was silent in his grasp, but his breath was uneven. Pain or fear, Cedric couldn’t tell. Maybe both.
The city fell away behind them. The buildings blurred into nothing but a smudge on the horizon, replaced by the vast sprawl of the countryside—fields a patchwork quilt under the late afternoon sun, winding rivers like veins of quicksilver, the dark line of forest curling toward the mountains.
Ahead, a lone tower loomed in the distance.
The outpost. The only place that offered any hope of safety, even if just for tonight.
But safety was a fragile thing. Gwenna was still in Darius’s grasp. His sister, the one person who had never abandoned him, the one person he had failed time and again. The guilt choked him, thick as smoke.
He would save her. He swore it. But first, he had to make sure Finn survived this night.
As they neared the small valley, Cedric began his descent, the air whistling past his scaled hide.
He circled the tower once, scanning the perimeter.
The wind ruffled his spines, his nostrils flaring to catch any scent of danger, before landing with a soft thud in the small clearing before the outpost.
Gently, so gently, Cedric set Finn down in the clearing. The knight swayed as his feet met the earth, his balance faltering. He reached out, catching himself against Cedric’s side. The dragon went utterly still.
Finn was touching him.
He braced for the recoil—for the disgust, for the moment Finn would remember, would see the monster he had been, the monster he still was. Any second now, Finn would pull away.
He would look up with horror, with betrayal.
But he didn’t.
Instead, when Finn finally lifted his gaze, relief shone in his bloodshot eyes.
Relief. Not fear. Not hatred.
How? How could Finn still look at him like that, after everything?
A tremor ran through Cedric, his breath rattling out with a shudder.
He wanted to say something, but his voice was locked away, trapped behind fangs and scales.
He lowered his massive head, drawing as close to Finn as he dared.
A soft, keening sound slipped past his lips—apology, plea, all the words he couldn’t form.
Finn didn’t move at first. His hand hovered, fingers shaking, hesitation hanging like a thin barrier between them.
But then, with a deep breath, he closed the distance.
His palm pressed against Cedric’s snout.
The knight’s fingers traced the rough edges of his scales, the warmth of his touch searing through Cedric’s skin like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.
“It’s okay,” Finn murmured, voice hoarse. “I mean, not okay-okay, considering you just tried to flatten me, but—” he exhaled, shoulders sagging. “I know it wasn’t your fault.”
Cedric shut his eyes. I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you.
But gods, he would take it. He would hold on to it with everything he had.
The sun sank lower, the sky painted in hues of amber and crimson. A prickle ran through Cedric’s body. The warning of his shift approaching. Pain was coming.
He let out a slow, breathy sigh, nudging Finn with his snout before turning toward the stable. Cedric heard the distant bleat of a goat as he paused at the stable entrance.
He didn’t want to be alone. Not tonight.
When he turned, Finn was already there, watching him. No hesitation, no questions—just a quiet understanding in his gaze.
Without a word, Finn followed him inside, shutting the door behind them.
The last light faded, and the pain began.
Finn watched, jaw tight, as Cedric’s transformation began.
The dragon’s form convulsed, scales rippling like water, melting into sweat-slicked skin. Bones snapped and groaned, twisting, realigning, a grotesque symphony of suffering.
Finn had seen gruesome battlefield wounds, had held dying men in his arms, but this? This was something else.
This was slow. This was agony stretched thin.
Cedric panted, muscles seizing and trembling as his body fought itself. His claws dug into the dirt, talons shrinking into fingers, his wings crumpling in on themselves like paper crushed in a fist. Each shattered breath was a sound Finn never wanted to hear again.
He wanted to do something. To reach out. To stop it.
But he couldn’t.
Finn stood there, helpless, bearing witness to Cedric’s torment—a torment he never should have had to endure.
Darius had made him into this. Had twisted and broken him, piece by piece, until Cedric’s own body had become his cage.
And Cedric had hidden it. Not out of malice. Not out of deceit. But to survive.
Finn had hated him for that lie once—had burned with betrayal at the thought of it.
Now?
Now he would burn Darius’s entire kingdom to the ground before letting anyone put chains on Cedric again. Finn’s jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached.
At last, after what felt like a lifetime, Cedric collapsed. Where a dragon had been moments before, a man lay curled on the stable floor. His chest rose and fell in unsteady gasps, his skin damp with sweat, trembling.
Finn moved before he could think—too fast, too reckless. Pain lanced through him, a visceral reminder of everything his body had endured. His breath hitched, but he forced himself to his knees, biting back a groan as he braced his still-healing hand against the ground for balance.
Grit scraped his skin as he lowered himself beside Cedric, not gracefully, but with sheer stubborn determination.
His hand found Cedric’s forehead, brushing damp strands of hair from his flushed skin. “Cedric?”
“Finn.” The word was little more than breath. Then Cedric’s eyes squeezed shut, tears sliding from the corners.
Finn’s heart ached. Pain? Exhaustion? Or…everything?
“You saved me.” Finn’s fingers traced over Cedric’s wrist, over the pulse still beating there, searching for wounds, for any sign that the magic had left damage deeper than what he could see.
Finn had fought back against the dragon, though he’d done what he could to minimize the blows. Had he hurt Cedric?
The prince shook his head, his voice cracked. “No. I almost killed you.”
“Shh.” Finn pulled him close, wrapping his arms around him. Holding him together. Holding them both together. “But you didn’t. You fought it. You broke free. That’s what matters.”
Cedric buried his face against Finn’s chest, his body shaking with silent sobs. Finn held him tight, a safe harbor. Whispering quiet reassurances, fingers combing through damp hair, until the trembling finally eased.
And then Finn moved—just a little shift, just a slight adjustment—and pain shot through his ribs like a red-hot dagger. His breath hitched. His arms locked tighter around Cedric, more out of reflex than comfort, and a low groan slipped through his teeth.
Cedric stiffened immediately. Pulled back. Too fast, too sharp. His red-rimmed eyes darted over Finn, realization dawning. “Finn, you’re—”
“Shhh,” Finn exhaled through gritted teeth, still half-wincing. “We were having a moment. Let me suffer in peace.”
Cedric did not look amused.
Finn sighed. “Fine. Yes. I am in horrible, agonizing pain. But that’s beside the point.” He waved a lazy hand, as if dismissing his own battered state.
A strangled sound slipped from Cedric, something between a disbelieving laugh and a sob. His shoulders sagged and the crease between his brows deepened. “Finn…”
Finn smirked. “I can’t have you thinking you’re the only one who’s suffering here.”
Cedric huffed out a breath—half-exasperation, half something else. But the guilt still lingered in his expression.
“Hey.” Finn reached up, thumbing away a stray tear on Cedric’s cheek. “I’d say we’re even now. You tried to kill me. I tried to talk you into killing me. Frankly, I think I was the bigger idiot.”
Cedric closed his eyes, his lips pressing into a thin line. Then, quietly, “Thank you.”
Finn didn’t ask for what. He just pulled Cedric back in, ignoring every screaming ache in his body, and held him.
After a moment, Cedric pulled back. He still looked like an emotional wreck, but his voice was stronger when he said, “We should…tend to our wounds.” He swallowed. “Especially yours. I don’t know how you even walked in the arena after…” He trailed off, lips pressing into a frown.
Finn huffed out a tired laugh. “Pure spite, mostly.”
A dry, broken chuckle escaped Cedric. “That...actually explains a lot.”