Heir to a Fallen Star

Chapter 34

When you reach Maeve’s quarters, you give the sturdy oak door a firm, brisk knock. For a moment, there's only the sound of hurried shuffling and a muffled, breathless giggle from inside. Then, the latch clicks, and the door swings open.

Maeve stands there, practically glowing. She’s wearing a set of incredibly delicate, intimate silk clothes that flow loosely around her curves, a far cry from her structured barkeep aprons.

"Morning, sugar," she says, a beaming, radiant smile lighting up her face.

Through the open crack of the door, your eyes track past her shoulder. The massive, red-bearded bard is sprawled completely unbothered beneath her tangled linen sheets, a good portion of his muscular, tattooed chest and long legs clearly visible. Catching your eye, the fierce musician suddenly looks incredibly boyish and shy; he raises a hand in a sheepish wave and silently mouths a profound "thank you" across the room.

You offer him a small, knowing smile and a firm nod, ensuring he knows he is most welcome.

Turning back to the innkeeper, you gently present the folded fabric. "Thank you for last night, Maeve. It was an extraordinary experience."

Maeve takes the dress, her smile faltering just a bit as she notices your sturdy traveling boots and the fierce, determined set of your shoulders. "You're leaving so soon?" she asks, a note of genuine disappointment cutting through her morning afterglow.

"Unfortunately, yes," you reply softly but firmly. "We have a long, hard trek ahead of us, and we need to make it to a small town in the Southern Highlands before nightfall."

"Wait right here," Maeve says suddenly.

She quickly runs back into her room, leaving the door ajar, and you can hear her rummaging through a heavy wooden chest. When she returns, she isn't holding a scrap of leftover tavern food or a pouch of coin. Instead, she carries a massive, neatly bound bundle of what looks like exceptionally high-grade traveling gear.

"A gift," Maeve says softly, pushing the heavy bundle into your arms. Her sharp eyes soften with an emotion you’ve never seen in the fierce innkeeper before. "For everything you've done. You have no idea what you've done for me, Iris. I will forever be in your debt."

Moved by the raw sincerity in her voice, you pull her into a warm, fierce embrace. "Safe travels, Maeve," you whisper, before turning on your heel and heading back to Room 4.

The moment you kick the door open, Kaelen looks up from tightening the straps on his leather pack. You lay the heavy bundle out across the cleared mattress, cutting the twine to see exactly what the viper has bestowed upon you. As the layers unfold, your breath catches in your throat.

This isn't just standard merchant gear; this is master-crafted artisan work.

• The Underlayers: Four pristine, tightly woven white linen tunics—two for you, two for Kaelen—soft against the skin but durable enough to survive weeks on the road.

• The Armor: Expertly crafted leather pants and matching jackets for you both. The leather is a rich, deep chocolate brown, thick enough to take the grazing blow of a blade, yet treated so beautifully that it's supple and snug. When you run your hands over the stitching, you realize it’s designed for high mobility—perfect for drawing a bow, throwing a dagger, or riding hard. This is the kind of leather that perfectly blocks the biting, frosty wind of the mountains.

• The Cloaks: Two heavy, dramatic traveling cloaks. The exterior is a treated, weatherproofed dark charcoal material meant to repel heavy rain and snow, but the interior is lined with a thick, plush layer of midnight-black velvet.

You stare down at the pile, a heavy silence settling over the room. Leather and velvet of this calibre... it must have cost her a small fortune, likely a massive chunk of the tavern’s seasonal earnings. It's the armour of a hunter.

Kaelen walks over, his massive hand reaching out to touch the heavy collar of the brown leather jacket meant for him. He lets out a low, respectful whistle, his moss-green eyes shifting from the gear up to your fierce face.

"Well, Red," he rumbles, a dangerous, proud smirk finally spreading across his rugged features as he lifts the snug leather jacket off the bed. "It seems the viper wants to make sure her favourite matchmaker looks the part when we go hunting. Let's get changed. The Highlands are waiting."

Kaelen’s moss-green eyes don't leave you for a fraction of a second as you strip away your old, worn traveling gear and slide into the new, pristine items. The rich, deep chocolate leather pants pull up smoothly against your skin, hugging your thighs and hips perfectly, fitting like a glove while still giving you the fluid mobility of a seasoned scout.

As you reach for your boots, Kaelen moves with an utter, quiet dedication. The massive warrior drops right down onto his knees on the wooden floorboards before you. Without a single word, he takes your foot in his large hands and begins lacing up your sturdy boots, his movements precise and careful.

Standing above him, you look down at the crown of his dark hair, your fingers working to tie the delicate front laces of your new white linen tunic. The contrast of his rugged, lethal frame bent in complete submission to you makes your chest ache with a profound warmth.

Just as he pulls the final knot tight on your second boot, his hands slide up the smooth, thick leather of your calf, stopping right at the sensitive spot of your inner thigh. He leans forward and plants a soft, lingering kiss right there, his warm breath soaking through the leather.

A sudden, fierce flush rushes straight to your cheeks. Caught entirely off guard, you let out a breathless gasp and quickly spin around, turning your back to him to hide your burning face as you frantically begin gathering your loose golden hair into a tight, practical braid.

You hear the low, amused rumble of his chuckle behind you as he stands up.

His heavy footsteps approach, and you feel the weight of the new dark brown leather jacket being gently guided onto your shoulders. But instead of letting you finish, Kaelen catches you by the waist and fluidly spins you around to face him.

"Allow me, Red," he murmurs, his voice dropping into that dangerously deep, gravelly register.

He leans in close, his broad chest nearly flushing against yours, and begins to lace up the front of your jacket. He weaves the leather cord slowly, agonizingly, through each silver eyelet. He takes his time, purposely ensuring that the rough, calloused edge of his knuckles brushes firmly against the swell of your chest with every single pass.

Your breath catches, your heart hammering against the new linen of your tunic. You glare up at him through your lashes, though your cheeks are still beautifully pink.

"If you carry on at this speed," you whisper, your voice a mix of a challenge and a plea, "we will never make it to the horses."

Kaelen pauses, his fingers holding the lace taut just inches from your throat. He looks down at you, a slow, devastatingly wicked smirk cutting across his rugged face as his eyes burn into yours.

"Then I suggest you don't look at me like that, sweetheart," he rumbles playfully, though he gives the laces one final, firm tug, sealing you perfectly into your new armour. "Because the temptation to bolt that door again is getting damn near impossible to fight."

Your hands move slowly up the broad expanse of his new leather jacket, the dark material smooth and heavy under your palms. You slide them up to his shoulders and wrap your arms firmly around his neck, burying your fingers deep into the dark curls at the base of his head.

With a fierce, sudden pull, you bring the massive warrior down to meet your lips.

You kiss him hard—a deep, consuming breath that carries all the fiery resolve of the hunt ahead and the lingering heat of the night behind. It’s a kiss meant to anchor him, a promise of what waits for him on the other side of this journey if you both survive it. Kaelen’s hands instantly find your waist, gripping the fresh leather of your jacket as he groans into your mouth, trying to pull you even closer.

Before he can completely lose himself to it, you resolutely pull back.

Your lips are slightly parted, your breathing shallow as you look up into his darkened moss-green eyes.

"We need to go," you say through a breathless, steady whisper.

Kaelen blinks, a heavy daze in his eyes quickly sharpening into focus. He lets out a long, ragged exhale, resting his forehead against yours for a brief, anchoring second. A small, defeated smile touches his lips as he releases your waist.

"Aye, Captain," he rumbles, his voice rough and completely affectionate. "The Highlands await."

He reaches down, scooping up his heavy traveling pack and swinging it over one shoulder. He grabs your weatherproof, velvet-lined cloaks from the bed, tossing yours over your shoulders with practiced ease before throwing on his own.

With a final, decisive sweep of the room, you grab your daggers and your bag of herbs. The star rests securely against your chest beneath the new, snug leather. You turn the heavy iron bolt of Room 4, the sharp click echoing like a starting gun, and step out into the hallway—no longer just a wandering apothecary, but a woman ready to hunt down her past.

The wind howling through the rocky crags of the Highlands is entirely ruthless. It isn’t a normal winter chill; it’s a biting, malevolent frost that claws right through the weatherproof exterior of your new cloak, seeking out any vulnerability until it feels like it's eating away down to your very bones. Even Maeve’s thick velvet lining can only do so much against a mountain that doesn't want you here.

But the cold isn't what has you gripping the reins of your horse until your knuckles turn white.

Beneath the linen of your tunic, right against the centre of your chest, the star has begun to vibrate. At first, it's just a faint pulse, but as the horses push higher into the steep alpine trails, the vibration deepens into a heavy, resonant hum. It echoes up your neck, vibrating straight into your ears like a distant, ethereal song. A song that sounds beautifully, agonizingly like home.

You gently shake your head, blinking hard against the swirling frost, trying to rattle the humming out of your mind. You keep your gaze fixed straight ahead, deliberately avoiding Kaelen's direction. He’s riding just a horse's length ahead of you, his massive shoulders hunched against the wind, his eyes scanning the tree line. After the sheer terror he felt watching you glow this morning, you can't let him see you struggling now. You can't let him see you slipping back into the light.

Because the truth is entirely terrifying: you want to slide back into it.

Deep within your chest, a desperate, hollow longing is opening up. The phantom taste of that bitter tea, the echo of your mother's voice, the intoxicating rush of that blinding gold magic—it’s pulling at you like a physical undertow. Your fingers twitch on the leather reins, a fierce, almost uncontrollable urge whispering in your mind to reach into the pouch, to pull the star out, to hold it flat against your palm and let the light swallow you whole again.

It’s an addiction to a past you barely remember, a siren song cutting through the frost. With every heavy stride of your horse, the temptation grows heavier, and the fight to resist it is slowly draining the warmth right out of you.

Marigold's ears pin flat against her head. The mare can feel the frantic, unnatural rhythm of your heart and the sudden, tense rigidity in your hands. She lets out a sharp, anxious snort, her hooves dancing nervously against the icy gravel of the trail before she gives a soft, warning buck.

She’s trying to snap you out of it. She’s trying to alert Kaelen.

But the humming in your ears is shifting from a vibration into a deafening, localized roar. The world around you is beginning to blur at the edges, the biting mountain wind fading into a muffled backdrop. Your focus is completely fractured; you aren't even steering her anymore, your hands frozen on the leather reins as the golden warmth beneath your tunic pulses hard enough to make your vision swim with faint, shimmering light.

"Woah, easy girl," Kaelen’s deep voice cuts through the haze, though it sounds like he’s shouting from underwater.

Hearing the horse's distress, he pulls his mount around in one sharp, practiced motion. The moment his moss-green eyes land on you, the casual alertness of a traveller instantly vanishes from his face, replaced by a sudden, stark dread.

You aren't looking at him. Your eyes are wide, fixed on the empty air ahead, and your face is deathly pale against the dark velvet of your cloak—except for the faint, golden veins of light just beginning to throb and shimmer beneath the skin of your throat, climbing steadily toward your jaw.

"Iris!" Kaelen barks, throwing himself out of his saddle before his horse has even fully halted. His heavy boots crunch violently into the snow as he lunges toward Marigold's bridal, grabbing the mare's reins to keep her from bolting as you begin to sway in the saddle. "Iris, look at me! Drop the reins, Red, look at me!"

The moment his large, leather-gloved hand dives inside the collar of your tunic, the contact breaks the spell. Kaelen grips the leather pouch, tearing the star away from your chest with a fierce, desperate yank.

Snap. The deafening roar in your ears vanishes instantly, cut off like a severed string. The suffocating golden warmth under your skin recedes so fast it leaves you breathless, a sharp gasp tearing from your lungs as the biting, freezing mountain air crashes back into your reality. The blurred edges of your vision snap into sharp focus, the blinding afterimages dissolving into the stark white snow of the Highlands.

You blink rapidly, swaying dangerously in the saddle. Before you can fall, Kaelen’s massive arms are around your waist, lifting you cleanly off Marigold's back and bringing you down into the deep snow. He keeps you pinned tightly against his chest, his heart hammering violently against your ribs.

"What happened?" you ask, your voice trembling and entirely hoarse. You press the heels of your hands to your temples, shaking your head. "Kaelen... what happened? The last few minutes, it's... it's a blur."

Kaelen doesn't answer right away. He just holds you, his breathing heavy and ragged in the frosty air, his gloved hand clenched white-knuckled around the leather pouch containing the star. When he finally pulls back to look at you, his moss-green eyes are dark with a terrifying mixture of anger, helplessness, and raw panic.

"It was taking you over again," he rasps, a plume of white mist rising between you. "Marigold started bucking, and when I turned around, you weren't even there anymore, Iris. Your eyes were completely blank, and that gold light... it was crawling up your neck like veins of fire. You were going to ride right off the edge of the crag."

He lifts the pouch, staring down at it as if it were a coiled viper. Even inside the heavy leather, you can see a faint, malevolent golden pulse struggling to break through.

"It’s calling to you," Kaelen says fiercely, his gaze snapping back to your pale face. "And the closer we get to these mountains, the louder it's getting. We need to get you inside, Red. Right now."

"Inside? Inside where?" you ask, your voice cracking as you look around at the vast, desolate expanse of ice and jagged stone. "We're at the top of a mountain, Kaelen."

You look down at his large hand gripped tightly around the leather pouch. The temptation to reach out and snatch it back flashes through you for a split second, and it absolutely terrifies you.

"I think you need to keep the stone," you say quickly, pushing your hands against his chest to force yourself to step back. "You hold onto it. It clearly has too much power over me right now... and I don't trust myself with it."

Kaelen looks at the pouch, then back at you, a heavy, grim understanding settling over his features. Without a word, he unbuttons his heavy leather jacket and tucks the star deep into an inner pocket close to his heart, completely sealing away the light. "I've got it, Red," he rumbles softly. "It won't touch you again."

Before the heavy silence can stretch between you, a blast of freezing wind stirs the horses. Marigold steps forward, breaking the tension. She stretches her long neck out and forcefully plants her wet, freezing-cold nose right against the sensitive skin of your neck, blowing a hot puff of air that makes you shiver.

A breathless, genuine laugh escapes your lips. The physical sensation is completely grounding, shattering the last of the magical fog in your brain. You lean your forehead right into the mare’s face, wrapping an arm around her muzzle to give her a soft, lingering kiss right between her intelligent eyes.

"I'm alright, girl," you whisper against her sleek coat, your heart swelling with gratitude. "Thank you."

Kaelen watches the two of you, the stark panic finally leaving his posture as he walks over to check the cinches on the saddles. "The horse has better instincts than both of us," he says, though his voice is still tight with concern. He looks up the winding trail, where the grey clouds are dropping lower by the minute. "There’s a scouting outpost about a league through the pass. It’s an old stone watchtower—abandoned, but it’ll have three walls and a roof. If we ride hard, we can make it before the blizzard completely locks down the peak. Can you ride, Iris?"

"I can ride," you say, your voice steadying as you square your shoulders, pulling the heavy velvet-lined cloak tightly around your new leather jacket. "I'm fine now."

You look up at the heavy, bruised clouds dropping low over the jagged peaks, swallowing the trail ahead in a blinding sheet of white. A heavy sigh escapes your lips, turning to mist in the freezing air.