Heir to a Fallen Star

Chapter 29

Kaelen freezes, his lips still pressed against the hollow of your throat. For a long, silent second, he doesn't move, his entire body tense as he listens to a particularly loud, off-key burst of laughter and the clinking of dozens of tankards downstairs. The storm outside must have driven half the town into the tavern for warmth, and now the festival spirits have officially spilled indoors.

Slowly, Kaelen lets out a long, deeply frustrated sigh against your skin. He rests his forehead against your collarbone for a moment, a low, defeated rumble vibrating in his chest.

"You have got to be kidding me," he mutters into your skin.

He lifts his head, looking down at you with a mixture of intense irritation and fond exasperation. His moss-green eyes are still dark with hunger, his hair beautifully mussed from your fingers, and his lips are slightly parted as he glares toward the bedroom door.

"The entire town decides to throw a festival directly beneath our bed," he grumbles, though a small, reluctant smirk touches the corner of his mouth as he looks back down at your flushed face. "Right at the most important part of your memory lesson."

Your eyes instantly ignite with a bright, childlike wonder, the heavy haze of passion giving way to pure, unadulterated excitement.

"I'm so intrigued," you breathe, your head tilting as you listen to the rhythmic stomping of boots matching the lively bounce of the lute. "I've never been to a gathering like that. My head was always buried in my herbs and elixirs, and suddenly..." A massive, brilliant smile breaks across your face, completely illuminating the room. "...all I want to do right now is dance and cheer and sing with ale!"

Kaelen stares down at you, totally disarmed by the sudden, dazzling shift in your energy. The raw, infectious joy radiating from you is something he’s never seen before, and it hits him straight in the chest.

He lets out a soft, defeated chuckle, the last of his playful frustration melting away into pure adoration. He rolls off you, sitting up on the edge of the bed and running a large hand through his messy hair.

"Dance and cheer, huh?" he rumbles, a warm, devastatingly fond smile spreading across his rugged face. He looks over his shoulder at you, his moss-green eyes sparkling. "The terrifying apothecary wants to go join the drunken rabble?"

He stands up, stretching his massive frame, and reaches back down to offer you his hand, his grip warm, solid, and inviting.

"Well, far be it from me to deny my girl her first festival," Kaelen murmurs, his voice thick with affection. "Come on then, Red. Let's go get you that ale and see if you can actually keep a beat."

A soft knock rattles the timber door, interrupting Kaelen's teasing. Driven by your sudden spark of excitement, you practically leap out of the bed and swing the door open.

Standing in the hallway is Maeve. She looks significantly softer than she did this morning, her hands nervously smoothing down the front of her apron.

"I, uh... hi there," Maeve begins, clearing her throat as the muffled roar of a fiddle echoes from below. "As you can hear, there's a bit of a party happening downstairs. The storm drove everyone in, and the local bards are making the most of it. I wasn't sure if you were interested in joining?"

"We were actually just heading down in a moment," you reply, a bright smile breaking across your face.

Maeve's eyes sweep over your traveling clothes—the heavy, plain tunic and your practical, dirt-streaked trousers. A knowing, purely feminine spark lights up her eyes.

"Not dressed like that, my dear," Maeve says with a soft, genuine smile. "A winter festival demands something a bit more festive. I have a few dresses in my quarters that I think would fit you beautifully, if you are interested."

She pauses, her gaze flickering past your shoulder to Kaelen, who is standing behind you. Out of a newfound respect for the boundaries of your relationship, she looks at him almost as if asking for permission—or at least ensuring she isn't overstepping.

Kaelen steps up behind you, his massive hand coming to rest gently on the small of your back. He looks at Maeve, his moss-green eyes shifting from cautious to quietly appreciative of the gesture.

"It's up to Iris," Kaelen rumbles softly, his voice devoid of any past animosity. He looks down at you, a warm, indulgent smile tucking the corner of his lips. "What do you think, Red? Want to see what she's got?"

You nod enthusiastically, your excitement practically radiating through the small room. Before you step out, you lean up on your tiptoes and plant a soft, lingering kiss on Kaelen’s lips.

"I'll see you downstairs in a moment," you mutter against his mouth, making him smile against your lips before you turn and walk off with Maeve.

You follow her down the hall and into her private quarters. It’s a surprisingly cozy room, smelling faintly of lavender and old paper. The walls are decorated with beautifully dried flowers, and a vanity table in the corner is packed with little jars and pots of what looks like decorative makeup. It’s a deeply feminine space, entirely hidden from the rough-and-tumble atmosphere of the tavern downstairs.

Maeve walks over to a heavy wooden trunk at the foot of her bed, lifting the lid and sorting through the fabrics with an expert hand. Finally, she lets out a soft "Ah," and pulls out a garment that makes your breath catch.

It’s a beautiful, deep crimson velvet dress. The corset bodice is structured but soft, laced with black ribbon, and the rich fabric is adorned with delicate, black floral detailing that catches the candlelight perfectly.

"This would be a vision on you," Maeve says softly, holding it up against you to measure the length. She smiles, a genuine warmth in her eyes. "It’s the colour of winter berries. Go on, put it on."

She hands the heavy, luxurious velvet to you, gesturing toward a changing screen in the corner. "Get dressed, my dear. While you do that, I’ll get the brushes. I'd like to tend to your hair and your face, if you'll let me."

The transformation is nothing short of breathtaking.

The heavy velvet of the deep crimson dress sits elegantly off your shoulders, exposing the smooth skin of your collarbone to the crisp air. The low-cut corset bodice is perfectly structured, framing and rounding your bosom with a snug, flattering lift while tapering down to accentuate the soft curves of your waist and hips. The long sleeves hug your arms tightly down to your wrists, where they flare out into delicate, intricate black lace that rests against the backs of your hands. From your waist, the rich, heavy skirt cascades down, flowing gracefully around your ankles.

As you sit at her vanity, Maeve works with practiced, gentle hands. She paints your lips with a matching deep crimson ointment, emphasizing your natural pout and leaving them looking lush and vibrant. With a steady hand, she lines your eyes delicately with deep black soot, creating a sharp, striking contrast that makes your unique grey eyes burn significantly brighter than before. Finally, she rolls and pins your long hair up into an elegant crown of soft curls, leaving just a few stray strands to frame your face and soften your jawline.

Maeve steps back, the makeup brush still in her hand. She looks at you, shaking her head in sheer awe, a beaming, genuine smile lighting up her face.

"You're a vision, my dear," she whispers softly, her voice filled with a quiet, reverent admiration. "I see exactly why Kaelen is so taken by you."

Touched by the genuine kindness in her voice, you stand up and offer her a warm, sincere hug. The embrace bridges whatever distance was left between you, sealing a quiet bond of mutual respect.

"Thank you, Maeve," you murmur, before the two of you finally make your way out of the room and toward the bustling staircase.

The roar of the tavern hits you first—a wave of heat, the lively, frantic thrum of a fiddle, the stomping of boots, and the smell of roasted meats and spilled ale. You stop at the top of the stairs, your eyes instantly scanning the crowded common room.

It doesn't take long to spot him. Kaelen stands by the heavy wooden bar, a clay tankard of ale gripped in his massive hand. He’s listening to a group of older town gentlemen, his head tilted back as he lets out a rich, fond laugh that rings out over the music. He looks relaxed, handsome, and entirely at peace.

You begin your descent, walking down the stairs slowly, deliberately. The long velvet skirt sways around your ankles, making your sturdy, worn traveling boots barely visible—but they are there, a grounding touch of you hidden beneath the sudden, breathtaking elegance of the gown.

As you step down, a few nearby patrons quiet down, their heads turning. The sudden shift in the crowd's energy catches Kaelen's sharp instinct. His laughter cuts off instantly. His moss-green eyes snap to the stairs, searching for the source of the distraction—and the moment they lock onto you, he freezes completely, his tankard pausing halfway to his lips.

As you close the distance between you, the heavy, roaring noise of the tavern seems to fade into the background. You feel the heat rising to your cheeks under his intense, unblinking stare, and you give him a shy, slightly breathless smile, your painted lips curving softly.

Kaelen doesn’t move. He looks entirely paralyzed, his massive frame frozen as his moss-green eyes track you down the final few steps. His gaze sweeps over the rich crimson velvet sitting off your shoulders, the snug curve of the corset, and the delicate black lace gracing your wrists, before flying back up to your face. The deep black liner makes your grey eyes absolutely arresting, and his chest heaves with a sharp, ragged breath as you finally stop right in front of him.

The older gentlemen he was laughing with a moment ago glance between the two of you, chuckle knowingly, and quietly raise their mugs before sliding away to give you space.

Kaelen slowly sets his tankard down on the bar counter behind him, never breaking eye contact. He steps into your space, the familiar, intoxicating scent of leather and woodsmoke enveloping you, but there is a new, fierce reverence in his eyes.

"Gods, Iris," he breathes, his gravelly voice dropping so low it’s nearly swallowed by the music. He reaches out, his large, calloused hand hesitating for a fraction of a second as if he’s afraid of messing up the beautiful fabric, before gently wrapping his fingers around your waist. "You look... you are entirely breathtaking."

He looks down at your shy smile, a slow, devastatingly handsome smirk beginning to break through his utter awe. He leans down, his breath warm against your ear as he whispers, "If you think I'm letting any other man in this room dance with you tonight looking like that, your memory is definitely still faulty."

A small, musical chuckle escapes your crimson lips, the sound melting the last of the nervous tension in your chest.

"Well, that's not happening," you murmur, leaning into his solid frame as your eyes hold his. "Yours are the only arms I desire around me, Pointy."

The old nickname slips out naturally, a private, comforting thread connecting who you were in the quiet woods to the vision you are tonight.

You glance past his broad shoulder, scanning the warm, hazy tavern room. Near the hearth, a small cluster of local women are staring openly in your direction. Their eyes trail over Kaelen's massive, rugged frame, their expressions a mix of heavy envy and longing. You can't blame them—in the firelight, with his dark hair slightly mussed and his jaw sharp, he looks like a warrior stepped right out of a bard's tale.

You look back up at him, a playful, possessive spark flaring in your grey eyes as you gesture subtly toward them with your head.

"Seems like I'm not the only one who needs to keep an eye out," you say, your voice dropping into a wicked, teasing purr. "I'd like them to know you're mine."

Kaelen’s eyes darken instantly, a sudden, heavy heat flaring in his gaze at your declaration. He doesn't even bother to look back at the women you pointed out; his attention is entirely, fiercely locked onto you. A low, possessive rumble echoes deep in his chest.

"Is that so?" he murmurs, his grip on your waist tightening as he pulls your hips firmly against his. He reaches up with his free hand, his large fingers gently tangling into the soft curls at the nape of your neck, tilting your face up just a fraction.

He smiles—a dangerous, breathtakingly handsome grin that is for you and you alone.

"Then let's make sure there isn't a single doubt in this room, Red," he whispers roughly.

He leans down and claims your lips right there in the middle of the crowded tavern. It’s a deep, unhurried, incredibly public kiss, full of the slow, commanding heat he promised you upstairs. One of his large hands spans across the small of your back, anchoring you to him, completely erasing the rest of the world until the music and the cheering feel a thousand miles away.

As you pull away, your eyes stay closed for a long, heavy second, your senses entirely reeled in by the heat of his mouth. A soft, involuntary groan escapes your crimson lips, making Kaelen chuckle against your cheek.

"Right," you mutter, finally opening your eyes with a playful scowl, your head spinning just a little. "I need a drink."

You turn your head toward the bar counter, and right on cue, Maeve is already sliding toward you. The heavy, frantic rush of the tavern crowd doesn't seem to faze her one bit tonight. She places a beautifully polished clay mug onto the wooden counter, filled to the brim with a sweet, golden, steaming honey mead that smells heavily of cinnamon and clove.

Maeve leans her forearms against the bar, a brilliantly bright, proud smile lighting up her face as she looks past you to the massive warrior still anchoring you by the waist.

"Like my work, Kaelen?" she says, her voice beaming and entirely devoid of its old bitterness. She tosses a playful wink your way. "I'd say the velvet suits her a hell of a lot better than those dusty traveling trousers."

Kaelen’s arm tightens around your waist, pulling you just a fraction closer against his side. He looks at Maeve, his rugged features softening into a expression of genuine, quiet gratitude.

"You did beautifully, Maeve," Kaelen rumbles, his gravelly voice sincere and warm. He looks down at you, his eyes raking over your flushed face and the bright contrast of your grey eyes. "Though, to be fair... she makes the dress look good, not the other way around."

You take a long, welcomed sip of the hot honey mead, the sweet liquid spreading a beautiful, blooming warmth straight down to your chest. You look up at him over the rim, your eyes dancing. "Careful, Pointy. Keep talking like that and I might just drag you right back up those stairs, festival be damned."

Maeve slips out from behind the bar, sliding onto a stool next to us as we lean against the counter. Together, the three of us watch the bard who has completely commanded the centre of the common room. The tavern is entirely mesmerized, everyone clapping and stomping their feet to the lively rhythm of his song.

He is a striking man—large and broadly built, with a magnificent mane of long red hair and a thick, well-groomed red beard. But it isn't just his music that's captivating. His dark eyes are completely fixated on Maeve. Every time he takes a breath between lyrics or finishes a dramatic strum of his lute, he steals a fierce, lingering glance right at her.

I look over at Maeve and notice her gaze is just as intensely locked onto him, her usual sharp exterior completely melted.

"I might have been wrong," I say softly, leaning closer to her.

Maeve blinks, snapping out of her trance, and looks at me with a rather puzzled expression. "Wrong about what?"

"That man over there cannot keep his eyes off of you," I nudge her gently, gesturing toward the bard with my chin.

"No," she protests instantly, a sudden flush of pink rushing to her cheeks as she looks away. "He's known me for many years. He's a bard, my dear; he can have his fair share of the ladies as he pleases. I'm just the innkeeper who pours his drinks."