Heir to a Fallen Star

Chapter 30

I look back at the bard, then back at Maeve, practically feeling the undeniable tension humming between them like a taut bowstring. It’s thick enough to cut with a dagger.

"That man over there, Maeve... That man is wishing for you to be by his side," I say, my voice softening with genuine encouragement. Before she can argue, I give her arm a soft, playful whack. "Get on over there, you silly vixen! Before I get Pointy over here to toss you over, or mail you to him by raven."

Beside me, Kaelen lets out a low, deeply amused rumble, his moss-green eyes crinkling at the corners as he shakes his head. "Don't tempt her, Maeve. I’m sure when Red gets a matchmaking idea in her head, she's relentless. And I will throw you if she asks me to."

Maeve looks between the two of us, entirely flustered, her painted lips parting in surprise. She looks back at the red-bearded bard, who just finished a soaring verse and offered her a devastating, hopeful smile right through the crowd.

Smoothing down her apron with suddenly trembling hands, Maeve lets out a breath that is half-gasp, half-laugh. "You two are absolutely terrible," she mutters, though a brilliant, beautiful smile breaks across her face.

She pushes herself off the stool, giving her hips a small, confident sway, and begins to weave through the dancing crowd straight toward the hearth where the bard is playing. As she approaches, the man's eyes light up so brightly it could rival the fire behind him, his fingers striking a suddenly much bolder, happier chord on his lute.

A soft, triumphant smile spreads across your crimson lips as you watch the scene unfold. Turns out, Maeve’s love was never meant to be found with a passing traveller like Kaelen; it was right here in this inn all along, bound to a melody and a man who truly saw her.

Maeve threads through the clapping crowd and takes a seat on a wooden stool nearby him, trying to look casual, though her cheeks are beautifully flushed.

The moment she sits, the massive red-bearded bard pauses his playing for a single, breathless second. The sudden hiccup in the music makes a few tavern-goers blink, but the bard doesn't care. With a swift, deliberate movement of his large hand, he reaches out, grabs the edge of her stool, and pulls it flush next to his own.

He adjusts his stance, positioning his large frame so that his leg rests flush against hers, a heavy, unyielding warmth anchoring her to his side. A look of sheer, contented relief washes over Maeve's face as she leans into the contact, and the bard instantly fires back into his song, his fingers flying across the strings with a sudden, roaring burst of renewed energy and joy.

"Look at that," you murmur, leaning back against Kaelen's solid chest, taking another sweet sip of your honey mead.

Kaelen’s chin rests softly against the top of your head, his arms wrapping around your velvet-clad waist from behind. He watches the brawling red-headed musician and the glowing innkeeper with a quiet, respectful nod.

"Aye," Kaelen rumbles, his deep voice vibrating pleasantly through your back. "Seems the viper found someone who doesn't mind a bit of a bite. You did a good thing down there, Iris. You broke her armour so he could finally get in."

He presses a soft kiss to the side of your neck, his fingers idly tracing the black lace at your wrist. "But now that she's properly occupied... I believe someone promised me a dance. Or was your memory failing you again, Red?"

You look up at him, your grey eyes wide and entirely sincere beneath the delicate black liner.

"You're going to have to teach me." you murmur, a soft, breathless laugh escaping your crimson lips. "I've never been to one of these before gatherings. My feet only know how to walk through forest paths, not follow a rhythm."

Kaelen’s gaze softens completely, the playful smirk on his face melting into an expression of pure, unadulterated devotion. He looks down at you as if you've just handed him the greatest privilege in the world.

"I remember," he rumbles, his voice dropping into that low, steady register that always makes your heart race.

He sets his empty tankard down on the bar and turns you fully in his arms. He takes your right hand in his massive, calloused palm, intertwining his fingers with yours, while his left-hand slides firmly down to anchor against the small of your velvet-bound waist. He guides your free hand up to rest against his broad, solid shoulder.

"Just look at me, Red," he commands gently, stepping closer until the heat radiating from his chest completely envelops you. "Don't look at your feet. Don't worry about the crowd. Just match my steps."

The bard strikes up a new tune—a slower, rich, swaying melody that winds through the warm air of the common room. Maeve is leaning against his leg, a look of pure contentment on her face, but your focus narrows entirely to the man in front of you.

Kaelen takes a slow, deliberate step back, pulling you gently with him, then sways to the left, his movements surprisingly fluid and graceful for a man of his massive size. Your worn traveling boots find the rhythm easily under his patient guidance, the heavy crimson skirt swirling elegantly around your ankles with every turn.

"See?" Kaelen whispers, leaning down so his lips brush the shell of your ear, his breath hot and intoxicating. "You're a natural. A fierce little apothecary who can tame vipers and command the room without even trying."

He spins you slowly under his arm, the black lace at your wrist catching the firelight, before pulling you right back against his chest, his hold tightening possessively. His moss-green eyes burn down into yours, dark with a heavy promise. "And when this song ends, sweetheart... we are going straight back up those stairs. Because I still have a few more things I need to make sure you remember."

I look up at him and whisper in his ear, “To be honest…I find love making much easier than dancing…”

Your words filter directly into his ear, warm and utterly brazen against his skin.

Kaelen freezes mid-step. The smooth, swaying rhythm of his boots hits a sudden, jarring halt right in the middle of the crowded tavern floor. For a split second, the massive warrior looks entirely short-circuited, his moss-green eyes blowing wide as the sheer, scandalous honesty of what you just confessed sinks in.

Then, a dark, incredibly hot flush creeps rapidly up his neck, darkening his sharp cheekbones. A low, ragged growl tears from the back of his throat—a sound of pure, unstrung surrender.

"Iris," he chokes out, his voice dropping into a dangerously deep, gravelly register that is entirely undone by you.

He doesn't care that the bard is still playing, or that Maeve is watching, or that half the tavern is swirling around them. His grip on your velvet waist tightens until there isn't a breath of space left between your chests, his large hand anchoring you so fiercely against him you can feel the wild, erratic thud of his heart hammering against his ribs.

He leans down, his lips brushing aggressively against your earlobe as his breath fires up your veins.

"You are a menace," he whispers roughly, his voice thick with a sudden, suffocating heat that makes your knees go weak. "A beautiful, wicked little menace. If you think I can keep dancing with you after you say something like that, you've vastly overestimated my restraint."

Without another word, Kaelen breaks the dance entirely. He keeps his fingers tightly locked with yours, turning on his heel and slicing a path right through the laughing, spinning crowd. He doesn't look back at the bar or the bards; his focus is entirely fixed on the heavy wooden staircase at the back of the room.

As he pulls you up the stairs, his strides are long and purposeful, the heavy thud of his boots echoing over the music below. The second you both clear the threshold of your dark, fire-lit bedroom, Kaelen shuts the door with a sharp thud and throws the heavy iron bolt into place, locking out the rest of the world.