Chapter 27 #2
Finn smirked. “It’s gotten me this far.” Then he shook his head. “King Dickhead couldn’t have a half-dead man fighting a dragon. Wouldn’t be sporting.” He let sarcasm coat the words, covering them like armor. “He had a healer tend to me beforehand.”
Cedric blinked, then huffed out a derisive snort. “Well, that’s a small kindness I hadn’t expected. Twisted, but kind.” He paused, eyes narrowing. “King Dickhead? You called him that in the arena…I remember.”
“Oh, yes. I came up with many, many creative names for the current ruler of Lunareth while I was enjoying my stay in the dungeon.” Finn smiled, though even his face hurt.
Amusement danced in Cedric’s eyes. “I’d love to hear more of those in time.” Then he cleared his throat and shifted. “Give me a moment. I’m underdressed.” He disentangled from Finn, pushing to his feet as he strode the short distance to a peg holding a set of clothing.
Battered and bruised as he was, Finn couldn’t help himself. “That’s a pity. I was enjoying the view.”
Cedric froze, turning to stare at him. His face went utterly blank. “You...what?”
Finn laughed, the sound unexpected, scraping up from somewhere deep inside him. Gods, he needed that laugh.
“You heard me,” he said, grinning at the gaping prince. Which Finn regretted, because smiling hurt.
Cedric’s shoulders stiffened as he tugged the clothing off the peg. He faced away from Finn as he dressed, as if he feared what he’d discover in Finn’s expression. “I don’t understand.” His voice was small, almost lost. “Not after what you said before.”
Said before? Finn cocked his head, brow creasing. A pang of confusion rippled through him. “What in Kavros’s name are you talking about?”
Cedric turned back to him, something painful in the way his fingers clutched at his half-buttoned shirt. “When...when you found out what I was.” His voice was almost inaudible. He stood there, hesitant and vulnerable.
Oh.
The shock, the fury, the betrayal he had felt in that moment—when he had thought Cedric was just another monster to slay. When he thought everything between them had been a lie.
Finn exhaled slowly. What I said then doesn’t matter, he wanted to say. But it did, and they both knew it. He had thrown those words like stones, and Cedric had felt every strike.
With a soft grunt, he rose and limped closer, buttoning the rest of Cedric’s shirt with clumsy fingers. “I didn’t know then what I know now.”
If Cedric had trusted him sooner, would things have been different? Finn didn’t know. He couldn’t know. He wanted to believe he would have handled it better. That he wouldn’t have drawn his sword, wouldn’t have recoiled. But what if he had?
Maybe Cedric had been right not to tell him. Maybe Finn had never given him a reason to.
“Finn?” Cedric’s voice was soft, hesitant, like a plea.
Finn stepped back, taking him in. Cedric looked hollowed-out, his exhaustion evident in the way his hands trembled.
And yet, somehow, he was still infuriatingly, impossibly beautiful.
It wasn’t fair. “Yes, Your Highness?” The title came out lighter than he meant—teasing, but weary, a half-hearted shield against everything that still ached.
The prince hesitated, as if thrown by Finn’s response. But Cedric’s shoulders relaxed, which Finn took as a victory. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Cedric’s soft words were so heartfelt that for a moment, Finn forgot his pain. “Me, too. Let’s go to the tower,” he suggested, forcing himself to focus, to push past the exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm him. “We can tend to our wounds and…and talk.”
Cedric nodded, and they made their way out of the stables. The climb to the tower was slow, every bruise and ache making itself known, but Finn welcomed the pain. It reminded him that he was alive. That they both were.
Inside the familiar confines of the tower, Finn let out a soft breath. Here, at least for the moment, they were safe. The knowledge didn’t halt the bone-deep ache in his body, but it settled something deeper.
They reached the small room where Finn had convalesced. It looked the same. But Finn wasn’t the same man who had rested here last.
He watched as Cedric went through a cabinet, pulling out supplies. Clean cloths for bandages, a basin for water, a jar of the healing salve from Finn’s Gwenna-related injury.
Cedric laid them out neatly, like he needed the structure to settle his mind. His hands rested atop the salve for a second longer than necessary, then he exhaled, rolling his shoulders as if shaking something off.
After a pause, he gestured to the cot. “Take off everything but your drawers and lie down.”
Finn smirked, seizing the opportunity. “I could take everything off, if you like.” He winked, letting the teasing settle between them, hoping it would keep Cedric from sinking too deep into his own head.
Cedric blinked. Stared. As if Finn had just suggested something as outrageous as declaring war in his underclothes. Then, slowly, his shoulders loosened again. “Perhaps another time, when we’re not half-dead.”
Finn chuckled, but immediately regretted it when pain shot through his ribs. He exhaled slowly and peeled away his shirt, wincing as sore muscles protested the stretch.
Cedric’s expression didn’t change. But Finn caught the way his gaze skimmed over his body, scanning every bruise, every scrape, every mark. Finn knew that look. It was becoming a frustratingly consistent part of the prince’s expressive repertoire.
Guilt.
As Cedric knelt beside him, fingers steady but tense, the silence stretched. The cool touch of the salve should have been a relief, but Cedric’s hesitation made it burn.
“I remember everything,” Cedric whispered as he worked. His voice was so quiet, so heavy, that Finn felt it more than heard it. “Every moment in the arena. I could see what was happening, but I couldn’t stop myself. It was like being trapped inside my own body, watching as I—”
His voice broke. He swallowed hard, staring at his hands as if they were blood-covered talons. “As I tried to kill you.”
Finn gritted his teeth as Cedric’s fingers brushed over a particularly tender bruise, but he forced himself to meet his gaze. “But you did stop,” he reminded him, his voice gentle. “You broke through Darius’s spell. You saved both of us.”
Cedric shook his head. Not a defiant motion, but a slow, weary refusal. His eyes, burning with unspoken torment, locked onto Finn’s. “Only because of you.”
His hands trembled as they hovered over Finn’s skin, as if afraid to touch.
“Your words…” A painful inhale before Cedric continued, “they reached me, even when nothing else could.” He hesitated, then whispered, “When you said you loved me, that you forgave me…”
Finn reached up, cupping Cedric’s face in his hands, feeling the softness of his skin beneath his fingertips, the warmth of his cheek against his palm.
“I meant every word,” he said firmly, his voice thick with emotion.
“I love you, Cedric. And I forgive you, not because I have to, but because there is nothing to forgive. Because I know you.” He stroked his thumb along Cedric’s cheek, feeling the way his jaw clenched, like he was holding back something painful.
“What happened wasn’t your fault. Unless you’re telling me you wanted to crush me like a bug. ”
Cedric huffed a tired, disbelieving breath. “Of course not.”
The prince’s breath hitched. His shoulders sagged, tension bleeding from his frame as his eyes slid shut. For a moment, he stayed there, pressing just a little closer, like he needed the contact to anchor himself. Like he was holding onto Finn to keep from breaking apart.
Then, slowly, his breath evened. His lashes fluttered, and his eyes opened again, still glassy, still tired. Still carrying that weight.
“I love you too,” he whispered. “More than I ever thought possible. And that’s the problem.
” He blew out a long breath, shaking his head.
“I—I can’t do this. I can’t risk this happening again.
I can’t—” His breath stuttered, his voice barely holding together.
“I almost lost you. And not just to Darius. To me.”
The anguish was so raw in his voice, Finn knew Cedric was one heartbeat from shutting him out again. Not allowed. Not after the hell they’d just been through.
“If you think I’m going to let you walk away now, you have another thing coming.” Finn paused. “Or fly away. Whatever.”
Cedric stared at him with a gaze that held the same fear as when he’d kept his secret from Finn. As if he was terrified their feelings would make the situation worse.
“And you’re afraid for me? Good. That means everything between us is real.” Finn didn’t rein in the possessive satisfaction lacing his tone. “I’m a knight, Ced. I don’t give up easily. I’ll chase you if I must, but gods, I’d rather just have you here.”
His words stirred something in Cedric. The prince snapped out of whatever darkness he’d fallen into. He drew in a long breath, then whispered, “Mine.”
“Damn right,” Finn muttered. He leaned in, eyes blazing with conviction. “I swore myself to you in front of Darius.”
A beat of silence as Cedric’s eyebrows shot up.
Finn let out a breath. “Which, in hindsight, was probably a bad survival strategy.”
Cedric blinked once. “Finn.”
Then something cracked in Cedric’s expression. He exhaled, shaky, like his body had just remembered how to breathe. “You’re an idiot.”
Finn huffed a soft laugh. “You’re calling me the idiot? That’s rich.”
“Of all the royals you could pledge yourself to,” Cedric went on, shaking his head, “you chose the supposedly-dead-but-really-a-monster prince.”
“I said what I said.” Finn ignored the fire in his ribs and leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Cedric’s lips. Not a kiss of passion, but a promise. A vow.
When they parted, Cedric smiled again. Soft, but real. Then his expression turned serious. “Darius has Gwenna.”
“With luck, he won’t live to regret that.” Finn nudged Cedric’s hand with his own.
Cedric’s brows flew up. “What do you mean?”
Finn grinned. “Your sister hit me with a rock to protect you. A woman like that won’t be the submissive wife someone like Darius wants.”
Cedric considered this for a moment, lips pursed, his brow furrowed in thought.
“You’re not wrong. And for any other woman stuck with someone like Darius, that might be dangerous for her.
” He paused, still thinking, his gaze unfocused.
“But Darius obviously wants or needs her for something. So Gwenna should be safe, at least for a while.”
Maybe long enough for Finn and Cedric to figure out a way to save her.
But Gwenna wasn’t the only one who needed saving. And Finn didn’t want to say what came next, but...
“Cedric, you have to take the crown.” The words felt like lead on his tongue.
Cedric stiffened. His eyes widened, and for a second, he just looked at Finn, as if he couldn’t quite believe he’d said it. “I don’t... I can’t...” He trailed off, shaking his head as panic brewed.
Finn swallowed. He should have waited for this conversation. Given Cedric time to breathe, to recover. But there wasn’t time. “You think being a dragon half the day disqualifies you?”
Cedric scrubbed a hand through his hair, collecting himself, then let out a humorless snort. “That does put a damper on kingly duties, yes. Among other things.”
Finn didn’t hesitate. “If we break this curse, will you reconsider?”
Cedric sucked in a breath. “If,” he echoed. He paused. “Finn, you think…it’s possible?”
Finn nodded. “I’m hopeful that the curse can be removed or broken, yes.”
Cedric’s throat bobbed. His eyes slid shut, his breath uneven. Then, finally, his eyes snapped open with determination. “Then yes.” A pause. “Yes, but it’s just the two of us. I don’t know how we stand a chance.”
Then something clattered downstairs.
Both men tensed. Their gazes met. Then, they moved.
Pain ignored. Exhaustion forgotten.
Finn hardly noticed the ache in his ribs as he surged to his feet. Adrenaline overrode it. He reached the bottom of the stairs first—and only then did it occur to him that charging into danger in nothing but his drawers was not a strategically sound move.
They reached the kitchen, skidding to a stop. There, standing in the middle of the room, was Clarence. The goat.
Clarence stared at them, chewing absently, his slitted pupils holding a strange intensity. Then magic rippled across his hide.
Finn froze.
Before his eyes, the goat shifted—legs stretching, fur vanishing, horns receding, form twisting until, where the goat had once stood, there was now a man.
A man dressed in leather, grinning at them.
“It’s not just the two of you now, is it?”
Cedric’s jaw dropped open. Finn thought he might have to help him close it for a moment, but then Cedric snapped it shut. “Clarence?”
The former goat tilted his head, eyes glinting with unmistakable mischief. “Who else would it be, Prince Cedric?” His grin widened. “It seems we have work to do.”