Heir to a Fallen Star

Chapter 62

The night breeze hits my soaked shift, making me shudder violently from the sudden chill, but Kaelen is already moving. He grabs his dry, loose black linen shirt from the bench and drapes it over my shoulders, wrapping me up in his scent and his warmth. He quickly secures the skiff's lines, signalling Silas with a low, sharp whistle that the lesson is over.

Minutes later, we are back inside the heavy, bolted safety of the captain's quarters. The iron brazier is still glowing a deep, comforting amber, throwing a wave of intense heat into the room.

I’m so tired my knees are literally shaking as I stand by the bed. Kaelen takes a thick, dry wool blanket and begins gently wrapping it around me, rubbing my arms to get the circulation flowing.

"Dry clothes, a warm bed, and absolute silence," Kaelen commands softly, untangling a few wet, golden curls from my face. He looks down at me, his moss-green eyes filled with a quiet, profound tenderness. "You've saved this crew, and you've conquered the sea tonight, Iris. Now go to sleep. The Captain's orders."

"I don't think I've ever been so willing to follow orders in my life," I mumble, my voice thick, slurred, and barely audible as my eyes flutter half-shut.

The warmth of the brazier is a heavenly contrast to the freezing Atlantic, but the wet chemise clinging to my skin is a cold misery. Guided by pure, unadulterated exhaustion, I don't care about propriety, modesty, or the fact that the most feared captain on the sea is watching me. With slow, uncoordinated movements, I unceremoniously peel the soaked undergarments from my body, letting them drop into a sodden heap on the floorboards.

Completely bare and shivering, I don't even have the mental capacity to think about searching for a dry tunic. I just dive straight into the bed, burying myself deep beneath the heavy, rough wool blankets.

The moment the dry, thick wool touches my skin, a long, ragged sigh of pure bliss escapes my lips. I curl into a tight ball, my damp gold curls spreading across the pillow, my eyes snapping shut as my mind instantly begins to drift toward the dark, peaceful void of sleep.

The mattress dips under a sudden, heavy weight.

I feel the blankets lift slightly, and then a massive wall of radiating heat slides into the bed behind me. Kaelen’s large, dry body moulds perfectly against my back. He’s stripped down to his trousers, his bare chest pressed firmly against my spine, his skin burning like a furnace. His long, muscular arm slides over my waist, pulling me securely against him, anchoring me so deeply into the mattress that the gentle rocking of the ship feels like a cradle.

He rests his chin over my shoulder, his breath warm and steady against my neck.

"Sleep, Red," he whispers into the dark, his grip tightening just enough to let me know I’m safe. "I’ve got the watch."

A soft, sleepy smirk touches my lips as the heavy fog of slumber pulls at my consciousness, but my stubborn mouth just can't let it go.

"I thought you said captains need to bunk with their crew," I mumble into the pillow, my words slurred and barely audible, a final, half-awake tease before I drift off completely.

Behind me, Kaelen's chest heaves with a low, silent vibration as a quiet rumble of laughter escapes him. His large, warm hand rubs a slow, comforting circle over my hip, pulling me just a fraction closer against his burning chest.

"I did," he whispers into the crook of my neck, his voice thick with a profound, quiet warmth that wraps around me like a shield. "But I'm making an executive decree. Tonight, the Master Apothecary is the crew. Now close your mouth and go to sleep, Red."

I let out one last, contented sigh, completely melting into his heat as the rhythmic rocking of the Vanguard's Wake pulls me under into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The heavy, dreamless slumber releases me slowly, leaving my mind clearer and more rested than it has been in days. I blink open my eyes, stretching my limbs beneath the heavy wool blankets.

The space beside me is empty, the sheets cold. A few days ago, waking up alone in a strange room might have triggered a spike of panic—that old, defensive instinct screaming about abandonment. But today, the knots in my belly are entirely gone. I smile softly into the pillow. I know exactly where he is. A captain doesn't belong to a bed; he belongs to his ship, especially with the Trench looming ahead.

I slide out of the berth, the chill of the cabin instantly chasing away the lingering warmth of sleep. I pull on a fresh, dry linen tunic, lace my sturdy leather boots and trousers, and buckle my dagger securely around my waist.

The moment I unbolt the heavy oak door and step into the companionway, I can feel the change in the sea. The Vanguard's Wake isn't just riding the swells anymore; she is fighting them.

When I step out onto the main deck, the wind hits me like a physical blow, whipping my gold curls wildly across my face. I instantly have to grab a wooden railing to steady myself as the deck pitches violently to the left. The sky above is no longer the brilliant canvas of stars from last night—it is decorated with massive, bruising columns of thick, dark grey clouds that seem to swallow the horizon whole.

The ocean has turned a violent, churning slate-grey, the waves swelling into massive, roaring walls of water that crash against the hull with a terrifying fury.

Despite the storm brewing around them, the crew is a blur of hyper-focused, disciplined motion. No one is slacking. Boulder is shouting over the roar of the wind, commanding a team of sailors to double-lash the heavy cargo crates, while Silas stands at the secondary helm, his single eye narrowed against the spraying foam.

Up on the quarterdeck, his hands gripping the primary wheel with white-knuckled intensity, is Kaelen. His dark hair is soaked with sea spray, his jaw set in a hard, unbreakable line as he steers the massive vessel through the rising wrath of the sea.

He looks up just as I find my footing, his moss-green eyes cutting through the grey gloom to lock onto me. The fierce, hardened expression of the captain softens for a fraction of a second, a quick nod of acknowledgment throwing a lifeline of warmth across the chaotic deck. We're at the edge of the Trench.

"Captain, we need hands on deck!" a crewman shouts, his voice nearly swallowed by the howling wind as a massive crest of water slams into the bow, sending a brutal sheet of icy spray exploding across the timbers.

Kaelen doesn’t hesitate. "Boulder, take the secondary wheel with Silas! Keep her nose in the wind!" he roars back, his voice cutting through the tempest like a cracksman's whip. He locks the main wheel into place and leaps down the quarterdeck stairs, his boots hitting the slick, pitching deck with practiced, impossible balance.

The ship groans, tilting sharply as another rogue wave elevates the stern. Men are scrambling, throwing their weight into a massive, tangled fray of rigging that has snapped loose from the mainmast. If that heavy canvas rips free, the wind will tear it to shreds, leaving us crippled at the very mouth of the Trench.

"Iris! Get to the midship line!" Kaelen yells as he barrels past me, his hand briefly clipping my shoulder to steady me against a sudden lurch. "Tie yourself off and help them hold the brace!"

There's no time to be a spectator, and certainly no time to be afraid. The confidence I found in the dark water last night surges back, hardening into pure survival instinct. I don't look down at the churning abyss below the gunwale. I lunged forward, grabbing a stray length of thick hemp rope, and wrap it securely around my waist before diving headfirst into the chaos beside the crew, digging my boots into the wet wood.

The Vanguard’s Wake launches over the crest of a massive rogue wave, the hull groaning in mid-air before crashing down into the trough with a bone-rattling thud.

Right above my head, a horrific sound tears through the air—the violent, trapped snap of heavy canvas. One of the main sails has caught on a loose, tangled rigging line, twisting into a choked knot. Instead of letting the wind pass through, the trapped sail catches the storm’s full fury like a massive, solid wall. The ship tilts instantly, pitching at a terrifying, sickening angle. Water begins spilling over the gunwale. The wind is trying to capsize us.

I look up at the tangled knot, then snap my gaze to the quarterdeck. Kaelen is already looking at me. He sees exactly where my eyes are fixed. His face pales, and he shakes his head violently, shouting something that is entirely drowned out by the gale, but his eyes speak for him: No. Don't you dare.

But if I don't, we are all doomed. We will flip, and the Trench will swallow every last one of us.

Ignoring his unvoiced command, I yank the knot at my waist, freeing myself from the safety line. I lung as hard as I can toward the mainmast.

The climb is pure, unadulterated hell. The wet wood is slick as ice, slipping under my fingertips. The wind screams, trying to rip me from the rigging like a stray leaf, and my muscles burn with a vicious, screaming agony as I defy gravity on a tilting axis. Halfway up, knowing I can't risk fumbling for my weapon when the ship hits the next wave, I pull my iron dagger from my belt and slam it securely between my teeth, tasting cold steel and salt.

I climb higher, the deck spinning dangerously below me, until I finally reach the crossbeam where the sail is choked in the knot.

The wind lashes at me with absolute fury. I lock my legs around the wooden pole, squeezing with everything I have left, freeing my hands. I snatch the dagger from my mouth and begin hacking wildly at the thick, taut rope.

Snap. Snap. With one final, desperate s***h, the binding blows apart. The sail instantly expands with a sound like a cannon shot, taking on the wind properly.

The effect is instantaneous. The agonizing tilt of the ship corrects itself with a violent lurch, straightening out completely. Down on the deck, the men are flung upright, shouting in absolute relief as the Vanguard rights herself in the churning water.

Exhausted, trembling, and soaked to the bone, I sheathe my dagger and begin the agonizingly slow descent. My feet finally hit the solid, wet timber of the deck, and my knees nearly buckle.

I wipe the wet hair from my face and look up.

Kaelen is striding toward me. The relief on his face is entirely eclipsed by a cold, thunderous fury. His jaw is clenched so tight a muscle is jumping in his cheek, and his moss-green eyes are flashing like a localized storm. He is, to put it very mildly, not particularly impressed.

Kaelen’s stride toward me is dark, heavy, and completely unyielding. The sheer momentum of his approach, his fists clenched, face red sends a cold, violent shiver straight down my spine. For the first time since I stepped aboard this ship, his posture leaves me genuinely afraid. The soft, laughing man who held me in the ocean last night is gone; his time with this hardened crew has brought the ruthless commander to the surface, and right now, his focus is entirely fixed on me.

As he closes the final distance, eclipsing the grey sky with his massive, towering frame, my body betrays me. I reluctantly flinch, drawing my shoulders inward and bracing for the impact of his voice.

Kaelen stops dead in his tracks the exact moment I pull back.

The flinch acts like a physical blow to him. The thunderous, commanding fury in his face instantly cracks, a sudden, sharp look of raw agony cutting through his hardened features as he realizes he just made me fear him. He freezes, his large hands half-raised in the air, trembling slightly as he forces his posture to soften, desperately trying to shed the terrifying mantle of the captain before my eyes.

"Iris," he breathes, his voice cracking, completely stripped of its commanding rumble. He steps in closer, blocking the wind and the sight of the staring crew with his broad shoulders, his moss-green eyes wide and swimming with a desperate, heavy remorse. "Hey... look at me. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

He doesn't reach for my waist or pull me against his chest this time. Instead, with agonizing slowness, he extends his large, calloused hand, keeping it perfectly still and open between us, giving me the choice.

"I was terrified," he whispers fiercely, his chest heaving as a rogue wave slams into the hull, completely ignored by both of us. "When I saw you unclip that line and start going up the mast... my heart stopped. If you had slipped, if the wind had taken you... I wouldn't have been able to catch you, Red. I lost my mind."

He looks down at his own trembling hand, then back up into my eyes, his gaze entirely vulnerable.

"I am the Captain to them," he says softly, a profound, quiet sincerity in his voice. "But I am just a man who cannot lose you to this sea. Please tell me I didn't just break what we built last night."

I look at him, I cannot muster words as I am still frozen but i shake my head quickly to tell him no.

I don't need to be told twice. After seeing that ruthless, unyielding side of him, I am all too happy to retreat down below. Still entirely frozen, no words able to break past the lump in my throat, I quickly move past his large frame. My head is held low, my eyes fixed on the slick wood of the deck as I practically scurry toward the hatch, desperate for the quiet safety of the lower decks.

As I rush toward the stairs, I pass Silas.

The old quartermaster is gripping the secondary wheel, his weathered hands steady against the ship's violent rocking. He watched the entire interaction unfold from the top deck. As I stumble past him, he looks from my retreating, shivering form back over to Kaelen, who is standing completely paralyzed in the middle of the deck, looking down at his own hands.

Silas slowly and softly shakes his head, a deep, heavy frown carving into his wrinkled face. He doesn't say a word aloud, but his single, piercing eye speaks volumes to his captain. The unspoken words are screaming across the deck: You fool. You've gone and frightened the most important thing in your life, and on this ship.