Heir to a Fallen Star

Chapter 12

You proudly sling the beautifully patterned quiver over your shoulder and grip the marbled bow, feeling a sudden, empowering surge of confidence. Turning your attention back to the bustling market, your sharp eyes begin scanning the crowded rows under the aqueducts, zeroing in on the pungent, earthy scents drifting from the apothecary and herbalist stalls.

You need to get to work. If you two are going to be on the run from a syndicate captain, you need to be prepared for anything. You mentally tally the ingredients needed for heavy-duty healing salves, stamina tonics, and antitoxins essential for long travel: honeysuckle to break sudden fevers, eucalyptus for respiratory strength, red chrysanthemum to reduce deep inflammation, and witch hazel to quickly stanch bleeding wounds.

"Come on," you say, naturally grabbing his sleeve this time—not out of panic, but with a purposeful tug. "We need to find a specialized apothecary stall. The common street vendors won't have the quality of witch hazel or red chrysanthemum I need for travel elixirs."

Kaelen instantly falls into step beside you, his hand dropping down to lightly rest against the small of your back, shielding you from a passing brute carrying a crate of iron daggers.

"Lead the way, boss," he says, a proud, soft smile still lingering on his face as he glances at your new bow. "Though I have to ask... are these elixirs going to taste like old swamp water, or do I get a hint of honey in my emergency medicine?"

A light, involuntary laugh escapes you at his comment. "You might not be entirely wrong," you admit, looking up at him with a knowing smirk. "The honeysuckle adds a delightful sweetness, but the others? Let's just say they are rather... pungent for someone who hasn't developed the palate of a healer. You'll just have to brave it."

As you guide him deeper through the covered market, the playful mood suddenly cools. Your eyes land on a dimly lit shop tucked away under a crumbling stone archway. You know exactly who runs it, and she is decidedly not your favourite person.

Moraina.

You’ve had dealings with her before out of sheer necessity, but your philosophies couldn't be more opposed. Where you heal out of a genuine desire to help, Moraina is entirely about wealth, leverage, and ulterior motives. She dabbles heavily in the darker arts, and she uses her striking looks as just another tool. She is undeniably attractive—golden olive skin, vibrant green eyes, and a mass of thick, black curls spilling from a braided updo to rest just above her exposed, tightly corseted breasts. Huge, chunky silver earrings catch the light as she moves.

You step into the dark store, the heavy, suffocating scent of burning ylang-ylang and exotic spices immediately filling your lungs. Walking straight up to the wooden counter, you don't waste time.

"Moraina," you greet her, your voice sharp, cutting through the hazy air. You immediately read off your list. "I need honeysuckle, eucalyptus, red chrysanthemum, and high-grade witch hazel. Now."

Moraina doesn't look at you. Not even once.

Instead, her predatory eyes instantly lock onto Kaelen. A slow, cat-like smile spreads across her lips. Leaning heavily over the counter, her bosom on full display, she completely ignores you and reaches her hand directly toward Kaelen’s face.

"Why, what do we have here?" Moraina purrs, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. She reaches out and touches his jaw, her long, sharp nail slowly tracing the line of his jagged scar. "Why are those pretty eyes decorated with this unseemly scar? I have a balm that can clear that up in a jiff, sugar."

Kaelen instantly tenses, his head jerking back slightly from her touch, his roguish charm completely vanishing into a cold, cautious glare.

Moraina just chuckles, her eyes flicking to you for a fraction of a second before locking right back onto him. "I'm surprised Iris here hasn't sorted you out. Not bothered, maybe? Don't worry, handsome... I'll take good care of you."

Your jaw stiffens so hard it aches. A hot, toxic flash of pure hatred flares up in your chest at the sight of Moraina’s long nail tracing Kaelen’s skin. You want nothing more than to slap her hand away and draw your beautiful new bow right here in her smoky little den.

But logic—the cold, calculating sense you thought you'd lost—forces its way back to the surface. You cannot create a scene. Moraina thrives on leverage, and the absolute last thing you need is her realizing how much Kaelen means to you, or worse, spreading the word to the Guard or the syndicate that the fugitive apothecary is shopping in the lower district.

Before Kaelen can slap her hand away himself, you step forward, your voice dropping into a low, icy, and entirely professional register.

"Please," you cut in, your grey eyes turning to absolute flint as you force her to look at you. "I just need the herbs. And I need your discretion. I was never here. What do you need in return?"

Moraina pauses, her nail lingering a fraction of a second longer on Kaelen’s jaw before she slowly, reluctantly draws her hand back. She straightens up, her amber eyes flashing with a wicked, amused satisfaction as she realizes she holds all the cards. She looks between your tense posture and Kaelen, who is currently glaring at her with a look of pure, unadulterated disgust.

"Discretion?" Moraina echoes, a low, smooth laugh escaping her throat as she leans back against her shelves of jars. "Well now, Iris... you know silence in this market doesn't come cheap. Especially when the Captain’s men were asking around about a certain ruined apothecary shop just yesterday."

Kaelen’s hand subtly drops to the hilt of his hidden dagger, his knuckles whitening, but he stays perfectly still, letting you handle the bartering.

Moraina taps her chin, her eyes sliding back to Kaelen with a predatory glint. "I don't want your coin, darling. I have plenty of that. I want a favour. A token of good faith from your pretty friend here. A man with skills like his could get me something I’ve been eyeing in the Upper District..."

Your voice drops an octave, turning so lethal and cold that the ambient warmth of the shop feels like it evaporates instantly. You step fully between her and Kaelen, your grey eyes narrowing into slits as you stare her down.

"He is not on the table," you say, each word hit with the precision of a dropped blade. "This is between you and me. And I think you know quite well you don't want to make an enemy of me, Moraina."

Moraina’s smug smile falters for a fraction of a second. The ambient flickering of her shop's candles catches the fierce, unforgiving line of your jaw. She might deal in the dark arts, but she knows exactly who you are—and more importantly, she knows what you know. You know which of her expensive poisons leave traceable signatures, which of her "miracle cures" are just laced with addictive nightshade, and exactly how many powerful figures in the lower district would turn on her if those secrets leaked.

An enemy who can cure a plague is one thing; an apothecary who knows exactly how you kill is another entirely.

Kaelen watches you from just behind your shoulder, a look of profound, quiet awe washing over his face. The protective, dangerous aura radiating off you completely eclipses his own rogue instinct. He keeps his hand on his dagger, but he stands perfectly still, letting you command the room.

Moraina swallows subtly, her amber eyes flicking down to your hand, which is resting dangerously close to the grip of your new, marbled black-and-ivory bow. She lets out a tense, forced laugh, raising her hands in a mock gesture of surrender as she backs away from the counter.

"Alright, alright, keep your hair on, Iris," she mutters, her predatory confidence twisting into a bitter, calculating pout. "No need to get dramatic. Business is business."

She turns around, her silk skirts swishing as she begins pulling jars aggressively from her shelves—scooping out dried red chrysanthemum, bundled eucalyptus, dark jars of witch hazel, and tightly wrapped honeysuckle. She slams them onto the counter in a neat linen wrap.

"There," Moraina snaps, refusing to look you in the eye now. "Your herbs. Consider them a gift for old times' sake. And as for the Captain? I haven't seen you. I don't know you. Now take your pretty pet and get out of my shop."

With a swift, fluid motion, you yank your own heavy coin purse from your belt and slam it hard onto the wooden counter. The heavy clink of silver and copper rings out, cutting through the thick scent of ylang-ylang.

"I don't do gifts. Payment," you say, your voice dripping with ice as you snatch the linen-wrapped bundle of herbs from her desk. You stare her down one last time, your grey eyes blazing with absolute authority. "You'll find there's more than enough to cover my costs. Pleasure doing business with you."

You don't wait for her to count it. You turn on your heel, your charcoal cloak flaring behind you as you march toward the heavy curtain of the exit.

Kaelen doesn't say a word to her. He just gives Moraina one final, cold, warning glare over his shoulder, his hand still resting casually on his dagger, before stepping out right behind you into the lashing rain of the market alleyway.

The moment the cool, damp air hits your face, the suffocating tension in your chest begins to loosen. You take a sharp, deep breath of the rainy air, clutching the precious herbs to your side.

Kaelen catches up to your fast-paced stride in two long steps, falling in right alongside you. He looks down at you under your hood, a massive, incredibly proud grin spreading across his face.

"Remind me never, ever to get on your bad side, Red," he murmurs, his voice filled with genuine amusement and a deep sense of respect. He bumps his shoulder playfully against yours as you weave back into the crowd. "That was spectacular. The way you handled her? You looked like a queen commanding a peasant. 'He is not on the table.' I have to admit, hearing you claim me like that... it did things to my ego."

You stop dead in your tracks right there in the middle of the crowded, rain-slicked alleyway. The bustling market traffic of thieves, merchants, and mercenaries’ parts around you like a river around a stone, but you don't care.

You look up at Kaelen, the playful atmosphere instantly evaporating as a raw, profound pain fills your grey eyes. Slowly, deliberately, you lift your hand. Your fingers find the jagged line of his jaw, tracing the exact path Moraina’s nail had taken—but where her touch was predatory and cheap, yours is a tender, reverent caress. Your skin is warm against his cool, rain-dampened face.

"That balm... it would work," you whisper, your voice thick with an emotion so intense it aches. "But I love this scar."

Kaelen freezes completely under your hand. His teasing smile fades, his breath catching in his throat as his moss-green eyes lock onto yours, suddenly wide and completely vulnerable to you.

"It tells a story of who you are," you continue softly, your thumb gently brushing over the rough tissue near his eye. "And how even though you were hurt for having a good heart, you continue to be that person, no matter how much they tried to break it out of you. It shows who you are, Kaelen. It's a reflection of all the goodness in you. I would never want to get rid of it."

The heavy downpour drums violently against the canvas awnings above, splashing around your boots, but the space between the two of you feels completely silent.

A tremor passes through Kaelen’s jaw beneath your fingertips. For a man who survives on masks, lies, and quick wit, your utter sincerity leaves him entirely defenceless. The wall of roguish Armor he wears every single day completely crumbles. He looks down at you with an expression of such intense devotion and raw ache that it's almost dizzying.

Slowly, as if afraid he might scare you away, he lifts his large hand and places it gently over yours, pressing your palm firmly against his cheek, leaning into your touch.

"Iris..." he breathes, his voice rough and uneven. He swallows hard, his eyes shimmering in the dim light of the alleyway. "No one has ever... no one has ever looked at me and seen anything good. Let alone a story worth keeping."

He steps a fraction closer, completely shielding you from the rain with his heavy cloak, his gaze searching yours with a fierce, quiet intensity. "You keep looking at me like that, Red, and I’m going to start believing I actually deserve you."

The tender warmth of the moment evaporates into absolute ice in less than a heartbeat.