Heir to a Fallen Star

Chapter 16

The floorboards are ice-cold beneath your bare feet as you slip out from under the heavy linens, careful not to let the chill invade the space you just left. Beside you, Kaelen is deeply, peacefully asleep, his breathing a slow, heavy rhythm in the quiet dark. You watch the gentle rise and fall of his shoulders for a moment, a quiet smile touching your lips, before stealing away down the stairs.

The early hours of the morning become a familiar, grounding ritual. You stoke the dying embers of the hearth until a cheerful flame catches, lighting up the rustic kitchen. You set a large iron kettle of water to heat on the stove for tea, and then you get to work on the molasses bread. The rhythmic kneading of the sticky, sweet dough—spiced with ginger and cloves—helps clear the last lingering cobwebs of sleep from your mind.

While the bread bakes, filling the safehouse with a rich, comforting warmth, you make several trips out to the well pump in the crisp pre-dawn air. It’s hard, heavy work, hauling the buckets of water back inside to fill the large copper tub by the hearth, but the physical exertion feels good. It makes you feel alive, proving your body belongs to you again, not to the shadows of the tunnel.

Once the tub is full and the water is steaming, you reach into your satchel for your apothecary supplies. You sprinkle a handful of dried botanicals across the surface—soothing lavender to ease the lingering tension, calendula to heal, and a dash of eucalyptus to open up your still-tender airway.

With a contented sigh, you sink into the hot, fragrant water. The heat immediately goes to work on your aching muscles, and you lean your head back against the rim, closing your eyes and soaking in the absolute peace.

The quiet doesn't last long. Above you, the distinct creak of the bedroom floorboards gives way to a slow, heavy step descending the wooden stairs.

"Good morning, Mr," you call out, your voice still a little raspy but much stronger than yesterday, echoing softly over the splash of the water. "There's freshly brewed tea and baked molasses bread on the counter. I'll be out in a moment... the water's still hot if you want to soak."

The footsteps pause at the bottom of the stairs, and then the door to the washroom creaks open. Kaelen stands in the doorway, his hair a wild, sleep-mussed halo, his shirt half-buttoned as if he’d scrambled out of bed the second he realized your side of the mattress was cold. He takes in the scene—the steaming tub, the scent of fresh bread, and you, looking entirely at peace.

A slow, incredibly soft smile spreads across his face, the tension melting from his shoulders. He leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms as his moss-green eyes lock onto yours with a mix of awe and lingering amusement.

"You are entirely unbelievable, Red," he murmurs, his voice a deep, gravelly morning rumble. "I wake up thinking the syndicate managed to steal you out from under my nose, and instead, I find you've run a full-scale bakery and a bathhouse before the sun is even up. Are you trying to make me look bad?"

A soft chuckle ripples through the water as you shift, a playful glimmer dancing in your eyes despite the raspy edge to your voice.

"I thought you needed a break, seeing as you've been looking so well after me," you say, tilting your head up to look at him. "And no, Mr., that was an invitation for after I'm done. I'm just about finished."

Kaelen’s eyes trail the movement of the water, a slow, thoroughly captivated smile breaking across his face as he leans back against the doorframe. He crosses his arms, his moss-green eyes darkening with amusement. "Ah, so I'm on clean up duty and second-hand water? Cruel, Red. Truly cruel."

"You'll survive," you tease, grabbing a thick linen towel from the rack beside the tub.

You stand up, the hot, lavender-scented water cascading off your skin in a gentle rush. Kaelen’s playful smirking instantly falters, his breath catching in his throat as his gaze follows you. He doesn't move a muscle, entirely transfixed as you step out of the copper tub and immediately wrap the large towel securely around yourself, tucking it tightly over your chest, he can only see the feint outline of your through fire lit canvas curtain.

You walk past him, intentionally brushing your shoulder against his chest as you head toward the door, leaving a faint trail of eucalyptus and lavender in your wake. You pause in the doorway, glancing back over your shoulder with a wicked little smile.

"The molasses bread is getting cold, and the water won't stay hot forever," you murmur, nodding toward the steaming tub. "Don't take too long, Pointy. We have a mountain to cross."

Kaelen lets out a low, rough exhale, shaking his head as he watches you step out into the hallway. "You're going to be the death of me, Iris," he calls out after you, though the sheer devotion in his voice is unmistakable as he begins unbuttoning his shirt to take his turn in the heat.

Before you even reach the bottom step of the staircase, a sudden temptation gets the better of you. You pause in the shadows of the hallway and look back through the half-open door, stealing a quick peak just as Kaelen pulls his linen shirt over his head.

The firelight from the hearth dances across the lean, powerful lines of his back and the rugged contours of his shoulders, casting deep shadows over the old scars he wears like Armor.

But your timing is a second too slow.

As the fabric clears his face, Kaelen spins around to toss the shirt onto the stool. His moss-green eyes immediately lock onto yours through the crack in the door. A slow, deeply wicked smirk spreads across his face, and one of his dark eyebrows shoots up in silent, knowing amusement.

"See something you like, Red?" he calls out, his gravelly morning voice dripping with playful arrogance.

Caught completely red-handed, a hot, furious blush flares across your cheeks. You let out a small, embarrassed gasp and instantly bolt up the stairs, your bare feet flying over the wooden steps as fast as they can carry you. You rush back into the safety of the bedroom, your heart hammering against your ribs from a completely different kind of excitement this time, a breathless laugh escaping you as you try to hide your burning face behind the linen towel.

Still smiling and shaking your head at your own caught-out behaviour, you quickly drop the towel and reach for your traveling gear. Knowing the mountain air will grow increasingly bitter the higher you climb, you layer up carefully—pulling on a thick, durable tunic, sturdy trousers, and your heavy wool traveling cloak to seal in the warmth.

Once dressed, you sit at the edge of the bed and gather the thick mass of your long hair. With practiced, efficient movements, you weave it into a tight, neat braid down your back, keeping it completely out of your face and secure against the whipping winds of the high ridges.

By the time you make your way back down the stairs, the rich, sweet scent of the baking molasses bread has completely filled the cottage.

Kaelen is just stepping out of the washroom, a fresh shirt on, looking thoroughly relaxed from the hot soak, though his hair is still damp. The moment he sees you, that familiar, brilliant spark returns to his moss-green eyes, but he mercifully spares you any teasing about your little voyeurism from earlier.

Instead, he walks over to help, pulling two heavy stoneware plates from the shelf while you deftly slice into the steaming, dark loaf of molasses bread. Thick, fragrant steam rises from the centre as you cut generous pieces, placing them next to the two mugs of fresh, steaming herbal tea you just poured.