Heir to a Fallen Star

Chapter 19

The rhythmic, muted scrape-scrape of iron against stone is what gently pulls you out of a deep, dreamless sleep. You shift beneath the heavy layers of fur blankets, a low groan escaping your throat as you stretch out your limbs. Your entire body aches in protest—as cosy as Kaelen's arms were, a solid granite ledge is still a solid granite ledge, and your muscles feel stiff and bruised from the hard ground.

You slowly push yourself up into a sitting position, blinking away the heavy fog of sleep. Your piercing grey eyes are still half-closed against the dim morning light, your vision slightly blurry.

You are a complete, utter mess. Your cloak is twisted, your tunic is rumpled, and your hair—which had been loosely braided the night before—has completely exploded into a wild, dishevelled golden cloud of static and knots, framing your face like a lion's mane.

A few feet away, Kaelen is kneeling by the hearth fire, carefully stoking the embers back to life. He looks remarkably functional for someone who slept on the same rock, his dark hair messy but his jaw clean, a fresh pot of water already beginning to steam over the flames.

Hearing your groans, he turns his head. The moment his moss-green eyes land on you—sitting there squinting, completely rumpled, with your hair flying in every possible direction—he freezes.

A slow, highly amused smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. He lets out a low, breathless chuckle, leaning his forearms on his knees as he just takes you in.

"Well, good morning, sunshine," Kaelen teases, his gravelly morning voice rough and thick with affection. "I see the mountain air did wonders for your hair. You look like you fought a mountain lion and lost."

You groan loudly into your hands, the sound muffled by your palms as you wallow in the sheer injustice of waking up on a rock. Dropping your hands, you reach back to pull the leather tie from the end of your messy braid, letting the rest of the golden strands fall free. You wince slightly, raking your fingers through the thick, tangled locks to loosen the stubborn knots the mountain wind gifted you.

As you tug at a particularly fierce knot near your temple, you pause, looking over at Kaelen.

"The red has washed completely out," you note, gesturing vaguely to the purely golden-hued strands between your fingers. A slight edge of seriousness creeps into your groggy voice. "It shouldn't be a problem though, should it? We're no longer in the town."

Kaelen’s playful smirk softens, his gaze tracking the movement of your hands through your true hair colour. The morning sun catches the gold, making it shimmer against the grey backdrop of the stone cave. He sets the iron poker down and reaches for two tin mugs, pouring the steaming hot water over a blend of dried tea leaves.

"Out here? No," Kaelen says, his voice grounding and steady as he walks over to you, kneeling down on the edge of the bedroll. He hands you a mug, ensuring your fingers are securely wrapped around the warm metal before he lets go. "The mountain pass is empty, and anyone we run into up here is going to be looking for a rogue and a fugitive apothecary with bright red hair. Your natural colour is actually the best disguise we have right now."

He reaches out, his large hand gently catching a stray golden lock that’s standing completely on end, smoothing it down behind your ear with a soft chuckle.

"Besides, I like the gold," he murmurs, his moss-green eyes locked onto yours with a quiet warmth. "It suits you. Now drink your tea before your hands freeze off, and let me help you with those knots before you pull your own hair out."

You sink back against his broad chest, the solid, radiating heat of his body instantly chasing away the morning chill. Kaelen adjusts his position to support your weight, his large legs bracketing yours as his calloused fingers gently dive into the wild, golden tangle of your hair. He works with surprising patience, carefully parting the strands and loosening the stubborn knots one by one so he doesn't pull or hurt you.

You take a slow, comforting sip of the hot tea, watching the steam rise into the crisp mountain air. The quiet of the peaks surrounds you, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the gentle movement of his hands through your hair.

"Kaelen?" you murmur softly into the stillness.

His fingers pause for a brief second against your scalp before resuming their rhythmic, soothing motion.

"Yeah, Red?" he answers, his gravelly morning voice right by your ear, rumbling gently against your back.

“How many women have you been with? Be honest.”

Kaelen’s fingers freeze instantly, completely tangled in a thick golden knot right at the back of your head.

The quiet cave goes dead silent, save for the crackle of the fire. You can feel the exact moment his chest hitches against your back. He lets out a low, strangled cough, entirely caught off guard by the bluntness of the question.

"Iris," he groans, his voice dropping an octave into a thoroughly embarrassed, rough register. He slowly withdraws his hands from your hair, rubbing the back of his neck as a faint, dark flush creeps up from his collar, colouring his jawline. "You really know how to ruin a peaceful morning, don't you?"

You take a slow, deliberate sip of your tea, waiting him out with a slight tilt of your head.

Kaelen lets out a long, defeated sigh, leaning his forehead against your shoulder for a second before looking up. His moss-green eyes are filled with a mix of sheepishness and absolute honesty.

"Look... I’ve lived a rough life, Red. I’m a rogue. I’ve spent years moving from town to town, sleeping in taverns, and hiding in the shadows. I’m not going to lie to you and pretend I’m a saint. There have been women in my past."

He shifts closer, his large hands coming around to gently rest on your hips, pulling your back flush against his chest so you can feel the steady, earnest beat of his heart.

"But hear me on this," he whispers, his voice dropping all the teasing edge, turning deeply serious and fierce. "None of them mattered. None of them made me feel like the ground was shaking beneath my feet. And not a single one of them ever made me want to stop running... until you."

He leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the side of your neck. "You're the only one I want, Iris. Past be damned. Does that answer your question?"

You turn your head slightly, looking back over your shoulder to see his face. The faint flush is still dusting his jawline, and you offer him a soft, reassuring smile.

"It does," you say gently, your piercing grey eyes holding his with absolute sincerity. "And I wasn't asking to judge you, Kaelen. I was just curious. I really wasn't trying to ruin your morning."

The tension immediately drains from his shoulders, and he lets out a low, relieved breath that warms the back of your neck. The sheepish look on his face melts into a soft, incredibly tender expression.

"I know," he murmurs, his thumbs gently rubbing soothing circles against your hips through your cloak. "You didn't ruin it, Red. It's just... no one has ever looked at me the way you do. No one has ever cared enough to ask about the man beneath the rogue, rather than just what I can do for them. It catches me off guard."

He leans forward, resting his chin comfortably on your shoulder, his moss-green eyes watching the steam curl away from your tea mug.

"Besides," he adds, a hint of that familiar, wicked smirk creeping back into his gravelly voice, "If im going to keep you completely stumped and speechless at night, it's only fair you get to turn the tables on me in the morning."

He reaches up, his fingers gently finding their place back in your golden hair, carefully resuming his battle against the knots. "Now, finish your tea. We have a lot of mountain left to climb today, and Marigold is going to want her morning apple."