Heir to a Fallen Star

Chapter 42

The room fills with the sharp, clean scent of bruised rosemary and thyme as the water begins to heat.

I take the iron knife from the table and begin to prep the root vegetables. Thump. Thump. Thump. The rhythmic, steady sound of the blade hitting the wooden cutting board echoes through the quiet cabin. Carrots drop into a neat pile. Thick, earthy potatoes follow. I crush the wild garlic cloves, letting the pungent oils coat my fingers, before moving on to the heavy turnips.

I work in absolute silence, letting the domestic rhythm soothe the jagged edges of our conversation. I don't look back at the bed, giving him the privacy to gather his wits, but my ears are tuned to every breath he takes in the shadows behind me.

The heavy thump-thump of the knife finally ceases as I slide the chopped vegetables into the pot. I swing the iron rod back beneath the growing flames, the broth already beginning to simmer and release a rich, savory aroma into the small stone room.

But the silence from the bed remains heavy. I glance back over my shoulder for a fraction of a second; Kaelen is still sitting on the edge of the mattress, his head lowered into his hands, the silvery scars on his back illuminated by the firelight. I’ve seen him angry, I’ve seen him lethal, and I’ve seen him arrogant—but I have never seen him so deeply unsettled, especially not because of something I said.

Deciding to give him the true, uninterrupted physical space he needs to piece his walls back together, I quietly slide into my leather trousers, pulling the stiff boots over my feet. I grab two carrots from the leftover pile on the table, slip out of the heavy oak door, and click it shut behind me.

The cool, damp highland air hits my face, instantly clearing the heat of the cabin. The garden is dark, a labyrinth of shifting shadows and the sweet, protective scent of mugwort and rue. I navigate the path toward the small lean-to stable Aster keeps near the edge of the ridge.

Inside, the air smells of sweet hay and warm horseflesh. Marigold lets out a soft, welcoming whinny the moment she catches my scent, her ears perking up in the dim light.

"Hey, girl," I whisper, walking over to her stall. I offer her the first carrot, which she takes with a greedy, crunching enthusiasm, her velvety nose nuzzling deeply into the crook of my neck. The familiar, affectionate warmth swells my heart, melting away a bit of the guilt tight in my chest. I grab a stiff bristle brush from the tack peg and begin running it over her flank, grooming her coat and mane in long, soothing strokes while she lets out soft, rhythmic snorts of pure enjoyment.

Once she is neat and calm, I take a slow, hesitant step over to the adjacent stall.

Thunder, Kaelen's massive black stallion, looms in the shadows. He is a mountain of a beast, his dark coat swallowing the midnight air, his breathing deep and powerful. He watches me with intelligent, cautious eyes, shifting his heavy hooves against the straw.

"You're not going to be as prickly with me as your rider currently is, are you?" I ask him softly, keeping my voice low and level.

I hold out the second carrot on the flat of my palm, offering it as a peace offering, but I don't step into his stall just yet. Thunder is a warhorse—trained to be volatile, fiercely loyal only to Kaelen, and inherently suspicious of anyone else. I stand perfectly still at the threshold of his space, waiting for his approval, letting him sniff the carrot and read my intentions before I dare bring the brush near his massive frame.

Thunder slowly bows his heavy, dark head toward me, his nostrils flaring as he takes the carrot from my palm. The crunch of the vegetable is the only sound in the quiet stable.

"Peace offering accepted. May I brush you, boy?" I ask gently.

He responds with a soft, warm huff of air that fans across my face, moving his massive body a step closer to the stall door. It’s a permission as clear as day. I step fully into his space, raising the bristle brush, and begin to smooth down his flank. Under the rhythm of my hands, his coat begins to glisten in the moonlight like deep black velvet.

"You truly are a magnificent beast," I murmur to him, genuinely awed by his power.

Thunder lets out a soft, melodic whinny in response, tossing his dark mane just enough as if to say I know, which causes a genuine chuckle to bubble up from my throat.

"You're very welcome," I reply, smiling at his vanity. "You're much nicer than I anticipated. I think we could be good friends."

Hearing this, Thunder takes a half-step back, lowering his long, muscular neck down to my level. He leans forward, deliberately nudging his heavy nose right against my torso, urging me toward his forehead until he is practically demanding I scratch the sweet spot right between his ears.

A wave of absolute triumph washes over me. Winning over Kaelen's fiercely protective warhorse feels like earning a badge of honor. I lean in, laughing at his sudden forwardness, and plant a soft, lingering kiss right between his large, intelligent eyes.

"I like you too, boy," I chuckle, my fingers working into the thick hair behind his ears as the massive stallion leans into my touch, completely at peace.

"Would you two mind if I bunk here tonight? I don't think your friend is quite fond of me at this moment."

I sigh, leaning the side of my body against Thunder’s massive, warm shoulder. The stallion doesn't mind the intrusion at all; he simply shifts his weight, anchoring me. I raise my hands back to his long, dark mane, my fingers working rhythmically as I begin weaving intricate, neat braids into the thick black hair. It gives my hands something to do, keeping the anxious buzzing in my chest at bay.

Nearby, I hear Marigold stirring in her stall. She shifts heavily against the wooden partition, letting out a sharp, pointed snort and tossing her head.

"Jealousy, maybe?" I ask Thunder with a soft smirk, glancing over at my mare. "Don't worry, girl, you're still my number one. I'm just trying to make alliances here."

The quiet of the stable is comforting, a stark contrast to the emotional minefield I left back in the cabin. But deep down, I know the hay is cold, and running away to sleep with the horses isn't going to fix the crack I just put in Kaelen's armor. I finish the first braid, tying it off gently, wondering if he's still sitting on the edge of that bed, staring at the walls, or if he's waiting for me to come back.

I look over at Marigold, and she is absolutely not impressed. She is staring at me over the wooden partition of the stalls, her dark eyes filled with a hilariously heavy judgment.

I let out a soft chuckle. "I'll be right back," I promise her.

I step out of the stable and head back into Aster's moonlit garden, my boots crunching softly on the dirt path. I scan the wild patches of flora until I spot a cluster of baby’s-breath glowing like tiny, delicate stars in the dark. I pluck several long, leafy strands of the white flowers and head back into the warmth of the barn, slipping straight into Marigold's stall.

"Come here, girl," I soothe, offering a comforting stroke down her nose. She tosses her head once, as if accepting my apology, before standing perfectly still. My fingers move quickly, splitting her silky mane into neat sections and expertly weaving the delicate white baby's breath right into the braids. By the time I'm finished, she looks like a creature out of an old high-mountain fairytale.

I plant one last final kiss right on her velvety muzzle, drawing in her familiar, calming scent as I try to pluck up the courage to return to the cabin. The warmth of the stable is safe, but I can't stay out here forever.

I step out of the stalls, looking back at the two magnificent beasts watching me in the dim light.

"Wish me luck," I say softly.

Thunder lets out a low, grounding huff, and Marigold swishes her tail, her new braids rustling. Taking a deep, stabilizing breath, I square my shoulders and turn back toward the garden path, ready to face the man inside.

I slip back into the room, the heavy wooden door clicking softly into place behind me. Kaelen hasn't moved much. He is laying down on the mattress, his head propped up, staring blankly at one of the candles on the stone wall. The flame is practically dancing in the subtle breeze slipping through the window cracks, casting long, erratic shadows across his bare chest.

The entire cabin now smells heavy of the rich, fragrant stew, the herbs and garlic having bloomed beautifully in the heat.

Wanting to lose myself in a task, I step over to the hearth to stir the pot. But my mind is completely distracted, still looping through the heavy silence of his past, and I entirely forget to grab a protective cloth. The second my bare palm grips the hot iron rod, a searing heat flashes through my skin.

I wince sharply, pulling my hand back with a gasp and shaking it out, staring at the angry red mark already blooming across my skin. Kaelen, lost so incredibly deep in his own thoughts, doesn't even blink or look over.

Hiding the injury, I quickly step back outside into the cool night air. I search the shadows near the edge of the cabin until I find a small, shaded patch of half-melted snow. The pain is sharp and stinging now, a fierce throb that demands attention. I sink my burnt palm directly into the slush, letting the freezing frost numb the fire in my skin for several long minutes. Before heading back inside, I spot a patch of Aster's wild herbs and pick a few vibrant yellow pieces of calendula.

Back in the room, I work quietly. One-handed, I grab a stone mortar and pestle, throwing the yellow flowers and leaves inside. I add a few drops of soothing oil, mashing them into a thick, healing paste. I lather the cool mixture over my stinging palm, the herbal remedy instantly taking the edge off the burn, before tightly wrapping my hand with a clean strip of linen cloth.

Taking a deep breath, I make my way back to the pot—this time being highly cautious to use the thick cloth wrapper. I grip the iron handle and slowly stir the thick, aromatic stew, watching the steam rise. It's close, but not quite done yet.

With nothing left to do, I pull out a wooden stool by the hearth and take a seat, the quiet rhythm of the simmering broth filling the space between us as I wait for him to speak.

Frustrated, confused, and thoroughly done with the suffocating silent treatment and his refusal to eat the portion I dished for him, I scrape the bottom of my bowl, the wooden spoon hitting the sides with a sharp click. The cozy safety of this cabin has officially turned into a cage, and my restless nature is screaming for an escape.

Without looking back at the bed, I stand up, grab my heavy cloak from the peg, and fling it over my shoulders. I march out of the room, letting the heavy oak door thud shut behind me.

The midnight air is cool and crisp, a welcome shock against my heated skin. I make my way straight back to the stables, the scent of hay and horseflesh instantly grounding me. Siding on the side of caution, I bypass Marigold—knowing my sweet mare might not have the stamina for the kind of fast, reckless escape my soul is craving right now—and walk straight up to Thunder’s stall.

The massive black stallion lifts his head, his dark eyes intelligent and alert in the moonlight, his new braids catching the dim light.

"I know Kaelen wouldn't approve of this," I whisper, reaching up with my uninjured hand to stroke his velvet nose. "But I need fresh air, boy. And you're a very fast, very powerful steed."

I lean my forehead against his, looking up into his large, calm eyes. "Any chance you'd accompany me on a midnight walk under the stars? Just you and me."

Thunder lets out a low, vibrating huff against my chest, tossing his mane slightly as if he understands the desperate need for freedom clinging to my clothes. He shifts his weight, stepping closer to the stall gate, waiting to see if I'm brave enough to slide the latch.

Wasting no time, I decide to go bareback. I latch the stall door open, and as if sensing my lack of gear, Thunder incredibly lowers himself, bending his knees slightly so that I may mount him. I swing my leg over his massive, velvety back, and as he straightens up to his full, towering height, a gasp catches in my throat. I feel like I'm towering over the world. His large, heavily muscled frame barely fits between my legs, and the ground seems so far away. Yet, looking down at his powerful shoulders, I feel entirely safe. I place my wrapped hand and my good hand against his neck, giving him a soft, appreciative pat to let him know I'm ready.

We walk slowly out of the barn, through the shadowed garden, and out onto the open gravel road. Thunder lets out a deep, contented huff, his nostrils flaring as he enjoys the fresh, brisk night air just as much as I do.

We walk for a long while under the massive expanse of the midnight sky. I gaze up at the countless stars, finding comfort in the silence, and begin having a conversation out loud with the empty air.

"I understand he has walls," I murmur, my voice carrying over the steady, rhythmic clop-clop of Thunder's hooves. "Like I do. And I understand I've had my moments of frustration with him, but they were always short-lived. All I did was ask a question. There was no betrayal. No male suitors trying to cause a fight. I just want to know him." I let out a heavy, tired sigh into the wind. "He is completely withdrawn and detached."

I lean forward slightly, now aiming my question to the stallion beneath me. "How would you handle it, boy?"

Thunder merely tosses his braided mane, a low vibration rumbling in his chest as if telling me that men are stubborn creatures, but they always come around for the ones they love. It is exactly what my restless soul needed. The crisp wind washes away the suffocating tension of the cabin, leaving me clear-headed and calm.