Heir to a Fallen Star

Chapter 20

You set your empty mug down, pushing yourself up from the bedroll with a burst of eager energy to tend to Marigold. You grab a crisp red apple from your pack and her grooming brush, walking over to where the horses are sheltered under the deep rock shelf. Marigold lets out a soft, low whinny at the sight of you, nuzzling your shoulder as you feed her the treat.

But as you run the stiff bristles of the brush through her coat, a sudden, tight knot forms in your stomach.

It hits you all at once. Every step forward brings you closer to your destination, closer to whatever dangerous reality is waiting for you. And with that looming uncertainty, Kaelen's words from moments ago suddenly twist in your mind. The image of him with other women—women who knew what they were doing, women who weren't frozen by fear or lost memories—flashes through your head.

A sharp, sudden burn of envy flares in your chest. It catches you entirely off guard. You know it’s ridiculous. He was honest with you, he was incredibly tender, and he chose you. Yet, the ugly green monster rears its head anyway, and you absolutely hate the way it makes you feel.

Your movements with the brush grow stiff and abrupt. Wanting to shake the feeling before he notices, you abruptly drop the brush back into your pack, tighten Marigold's girth with a sharp tug, and turn around. Your face is a masked, slightly tight slate.

"Right," you say, your voice clipping the air a bit too fast as you look over at him. "Are we ready to go?"

Kaelen, who was just finishing tying his own bedroll to his saddle, pauses. He stands up slowly, his moss-green eyes narrowing slightly as he studies your rigid posture and the sudden, sharp shift in your energy. He doesn't miss a thing.

Without waiting for him to reply, you place your boot in the stirrup and swing yourself smoothly up onto Marigold’s back. You pull the reins tight, adjusting your seat and staring straight ahead into the grey treeline. You just need a little space. You need a good, long stretch of silence to wrangle your own thoughts, even if a small, rational voice in the back of your mind warns you that stewing in your own head is probably the worst thing you could do right now.

Marigold shifts beneath you, sensing your tension, and you pat her neck to soothe her, keeping your eyes locked on the trail ahead.

Kaelen watches you ride past him toward the mouth of the rock shelf. He doesn't say a word, but the heavy, deliberate silence stretching between you is louder than any argument. He finishes securing his pack, mounts his stallion with an effortless, fluid motion, and guides the beast up alongside Marigold.

He doesn't push you. He doesn't demand to know what changed. But as you both start down the narrow, rocky path, he keeps his stallion perfectly parallel to your mare, his broad shoulder just inches from yours.

The quiet of the mountain settles over you both, broken only by the crunch of frozen earth beneath the horses' hooves. For the first mile, you stew in the bitter taste of that sudden envy, your mind running in exhausting circles.

But Kaelen’s presence beside you is steady, unmoving, and patient. Every time you glance sideways out of the corner of your eye, he isn't looking at the trail—he's looking at you, his moss-green eyes filled with a quiet, fierce attentiveness that gradually begins to chip away at the knot in your stomach.

Finally, after another twenty minutes of suffocating silence, Kaelen breaks it. He reaches over, his large, gloved hand gently resting over yours on Marigold's reins, forcing you to slow your mare to a halt.

"Alright, Red," he says softly, his gravelly voice entirely devoid of judgment, but completely unyielding. "You've been chewing on your own lip for three miles, and your knuckles are white. Talk to me. Did I say something to hurt you?"

"Nope."

The single, clipped word pops out of your mouth, flat and utterly unconvincing. You don't look at him, keeping your eyes pinned firmly on Marigold's ears, but your cheeks give you away, flushing a faint, betraying pink in the crisp morning air.

Kaelen doesn't let go of your hand. Instead, he lets out a low, incredibly patient sigh, his stallion shifting slightly closer until his knee is brushing against yours.

"Iris," he murmurs, his gravelly voice dropping into that quiet, grounding register that always seems to cut right through your defences. "You're a brilliant apothecary, a terrifyingly fast rider, and you can out-wit me ninety-nine percent of the time. But you are a terrible liar."

He squeezes your hand gently, his thumb rubbing across your knuckles.

"If I did something, or if my big mouth said something back there to upset you, I need you to tell me," he says softly, his moss-green eyes searching your face with nothing but genuine, protective concern. "Don't lock me out, Red. We're a team, remember?"

You stop trying to look at Marigold’s ears. Your piercing grey eyes finally snap over to his face, bright with a sudden, frustrating vulnerability.

"How many," you demand softly, your voice finally cracking through the stubborn wall you tried to build.

Kaelen blinks, his moss-green eyes widening slightly in genuine confusion. He opens his mouth, closes it, and then looks at you as he tries to piece together the sudden shift. "How many... what, Red?"

"Women, Kaelen," you say, the word slipping out before you can stop it. You look away immediately, your face burning with a mortified heat as you stare down at your gloved hands. "How many women? I know it's ridiculous. I know I have no right to ask, and I know you chose to be here with me. But... my mind just started spinning, and I hate it."

You let out a sharp, frustrated breath, hating how small you feel in this moment. "I’m out here with no experience, completely clueless about... everything, and the thought of you with people who actually knew what they were doing, who weren't a complete mess like me... it just bit me. Hard."

The heavy silence returns for a split second, and you brace yourself for him to laugh, or to call you childish, or to grow frustrated with your insecurity.

Instead, Kaelen lets out a low, breathy sound—not a laugh, but a soft, overwhelmed exhale. Before you can pull your hand away, he dismounts from his stallion in one smooth, reckless motion. He steps right into the space between your horses, his large hands coming up to firmly but gently cup your face, forcing you to look down at him.

His moss-green eyes are blazing with an intensity that completely halts the chaotic tailspin in your mind.

"Iris, listen to me," he says, his gravelly voice fiercely earnest, vibrating with absolute conviction. "I am not going to give you a number, because a number implies that any of them mattered enough to be counted against you. They don't exist. Not anymore."

He leans his forehead against your knee for a brief second before looking back up, his thumbs wiping away the tension from your cheekbones.

"You think they knew what they were doing? Maybe they did. But it was empty. It was just a way to forget the cold for a night," he whispers, his gaze locking onto yours with a reverence that makes your heart skip a beat. "With you, I don't want to forget anything. I am terrified of losing a single second. You aren't a 'mess,' Red. You are the most captivating, brilliant, real thing that has ever happened to me. I don't want a practiced performance. I want you. Exactly as you are, for as long as you'll have me."

He presses a deep, lingering kiss to the back of your hand, his eyes never leaving your grey ones. "Does that ugly monster in your head believe me now?"

"They kept you warm for the night, how romantic." I say looking away

A sharp, choked sound escapes Kaelen’s throat. He drops his head against your horse’s saddle blanket, his shoulders shaking as he tries—and utterly fails—to smother a laugh.

"Oh, sweet stars," he mutters into the leather, his voice muffled and thick with amusement. "The pure, unadulterated sarcasm. I missed you for a second there, Red."

He lifts his head, his moss-green eyes dancing with a wicked, deeply fond light. He doesn't let go of your hand, pulling himself up a little higher on his stirrup so he’s closer to your eye level, completely ignoring your attempt to look away.

"Romantic?" he echoes, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. "Iris, I was sleeping on tavern floors, dodging bounty hunters, and smelling like cheap ale and horse sweat. Trust me, there was absolutely nothing romantic about my life before I met you."

He reaches up, his gloved hand gently catching your chin and turning your face back to his. His smile softens, the teasing edge melting into something incredibly warm and steady.

"You want romance?" he whispers, his thumb tracing your jawline. "Romance is a rogue who never stayed in one place for more than two days suddenly planning a future. Romance is freezing on a mountain ledge just to make sure you're safe and warm under the blankets. I never gave a damn about anyone's comfort but my own until I met a stubborn, golden-haired apothecary who completely ruined my peace of mind."

He leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your cheek, right where the faint blush is still burning.

"So, let the monster be jealous if it has to," he murmurs against your skin, a faint smirk returning to his lips. "But just know you've won. Completely and entirely."

You finally look back down at him, your lips twisted into a tight, conflicted pout. Logically, every single word out of his mouth makes perfect sense. It’s wonderful, it's romantic, and it should completely cure the knot in your stomach.

But it doesn't. Not entirely.

The intrusive, vivid thought of another woman holding him—of someone else being the recipient of that radiating heat, those strong arms, and that gravelly voice—spikes the ugly feeling all over again. It’s a foreign, invasive emotion, a sharp and messy possessiveness that you've never had to deal with before. Without experience, you don't have a blueprint for how to handle a heart that suddenly cares this much, and it leaves you feeling deeply annoyed at him, at the past, and mostly at yourself.

Kaelen watches the internal war raging behind your piercing grey eyes. He sees the frustration, the lingering pout, and the way you’re mentally kicking yourself for not just being completely happy with his perfect answer.

Instead of getting frustrated, his expression softens into something incredibly patient. He steps even closer into Marigold's side, wrapping one large, heavy arm around your waist to anchor you, while his other hand reaches up to gently cup the back of your neck.

"Hey," he murmurs, his voice a low, soothing vibration. "It’s okay to be annoyed. You don't have to understand it all right now, Red."

He applies a tiny bit of pressure, coaxing you to lean down from the saddle until your forehead rests against his broad shoulder.

"It's a scary thing, letting someone in this deep," Kaelen whispers into your wild golden hair, his fingers gently massaging the base of your neck to help you release the tension. "Especially when everything else in your head feels upside down. If you need to be a little mad at me for a few miles just to process it, then be mad. I can take it."

He pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes, a tiny, reassuring smirk playing on his lips. "But just remember... I'm right here. No one else. Just me, you, and a very judgmental mare."

A small, defensive huff escapes your lips, your loyalty to your horse immediately overriding your lingering pout.

"She’s not judgmental," you correct him flatly, looking down at his smirking face with a mock-stern glare. "She’s loyal."

As if on cue, Marigold lets out a sharp, perfectly timed snort, tossing her head and shifting her weight as if to say exactly.

Kaelen bursts into a bright, genuine laugh, the rich sound echoing off the rocky canyon walls. He raises his hands in mock surrender, stepping back toward his own stallion but keeping his warm, amused gaze locked on you.

"My mistake," he chuckles, swinging himself effortlessly back up into his saddle. He gathers his reins, his moss-green eyes crinkling at the corners. "Loyal and fiercely protective. Clearly, she takes after her rider."

He pulls his horse up alongside yours again, the heavy, suffocating tension from before completely gone, replaced by a much more comfortable, familiar warmth. He nudges his stallion forward, signalling it's time to get moving, but he keeps his shoulder close to yours.

"Come on, Red," he says softly, a tender smile still playing on his lips. "Let's put some miles behind us. You can glare at the back of my head all morning if it helps, but I'm not leaving your side."

The steep, rocky path finally begins to level out, grading down into a sweeping valley as you clear the final ridge of the mountain pass. Ahead, rising out of the mist like a welcome beacon, stands your first true milestone.

It’s an old, weathered town built of dark timber and heavy river stone. It doesn't look like much—just a scattering of quiet houses, a blacksmith’s forge with a cold chimney, a couple of cramped local stores, and a sprawling, multi-story local inn with a massive, warm-looking stable attached to the side.

You look over at Kaelen, the prospect of escaping the biting wind making you eager to leave the hard ground behind.

"Kaelen!" you call out over the steady clatter of hooves, gesturing toward the settlement below. "Do you think that might be an ideal stop for the night? The horses could get some proper shelter in the stables, and we could finally have a warm bed."

Kaelen pulls his stallion to a slow halt at the edge of the overlook, his moss-green eyes immediately scanning the perimeter of the town with a rogue's practiced caution. He studies the quiet streets, the layout of the inn, and the lack of any official guards at the entrance.

Slowly, the tension slips from his jaw, and a genuinely relieved smile breaks across his face. He turns his head to look at you, his gaze lingering on your dishevelled golden hair and your tired shoulders.

"A real mattress, a hot meal, and a roof that isn't made of solid granite?" he rumbles, his gravelly voice warm with anticipation. "You don't have to ask me twice, Red. Marigold and the big guy have earned a night out of the frost, and frankly, so have we."

He nudges his horse into a gentle trot down the incline toward the town gates. "Let's keep our hoods up just in case, but I think a quiet country inn is exactly what the apothecary ordered. Lead the way."