29. The Stars Align
The Stars Align
Triona
I stand frozen, my thoughts a jumble. If not Deidre, then who—?
The answer is glaring at me, clear as day.
Before my mind can catch up, my body moves with a will of its own.
My skirts whisper against the stone floor as I hurry from the kitchen, while my heart beats a relentless cadence in my ears.
Each step feels laden with a mix of trepidation and anticipation, and with each twist of the corridor, my pulse surges.
Past the dining room, up the staircase, through the narrow halls, I press on until I stand before his door. My breath comes in rapid, shallow bursts, and the certainty of what I know—what I hope—presses down on me.
I don’t bother to knock. I wretch the door open, the air in my lungs held as I step into the room—and freeze in place.
Finn stands near the hearth, damp hair curling at the edges, droplets tracing slow, glistening paths down his bare back. A bath linen hangs low about his hips, and his skin is flushed with the lingering heat of the bath, lending him an almost ethereal glow in the flickering firelight.
He turns, startled by the sudden intrusion, his brows furrowing. “Triona? What in—?”
I prepare for a tongue-lashing, but words die on his lips when our eyes meet.
My gaze betrays me, trailing over the curve of his neck, the broad sweep of his shoulders, the taut muscles of his chest, the trail of hair that disappears beneath the fabric of linen—each detail illuminated in a way that renders him otherworldly. He is raw masculinity.
My heart pounds fiercely, and a blush of heat paints my cheeks. I know I should look away, yet I remain transfixed, unable to manage it.
“Triona,” he says again, his voice lower now, almost cautious. “You all right?”
The sound of his voice snaps me out of it. I blink, tearing my eyes from him as I spin around, pressing the door shut behind me. I turn and press my back into the cool wood, and I try to steady my breathing.
“I—” voice faltering, sound coming out a mere breath.
“Just… just let me get dressed,” he says.
The barrier he goes behind hides him from view, but I can picture him pulling on his trousers, raking a hand through that unruly hair. And the thought—gods help me, the thought—sets my skin ablaze.
He steps back into view, trousers on, barefoot, damp shirt clinging to his frame in ways that make it difficult to look away. I force myself to meet his eyes.
His tone is softer now, but his brows are still drawn, his concern clear. “What’s wrong, lass?”
Wrong? The question hangs in the air, and I almost laugh at the absurdity of it.
Everything feels wrong—the way my pulse races, the way the air between us seems to crackle, the way my traitorous eyes keep flicking to the hollow of his throat, where there’s still an obvious glisten.
And yet, it somehow feels exactly right.
“How long, Finn?” I demand, my voice barely above a whisper.
His brows knit. “What do you mean?”
“… the Primrose?” I state, each syllable saddled with hope.
He hesitates, his gaze dropping as if weighing the cost of his own truth. Then, without a word, he turns and walks toward the small table near his bed. I watch his movements, slow and deliberate, as he pulls something from among his belongings .
When he turns back to me, his eyes locked on mine, he slowly runs his thumb along the edge of the envelope. With deliberate care, he peels it open and removes the worn parchment inside. My throat tightens—I’d recognise that letter anywhere. It’s the last one I sent him.
“You kept them?” I ask. He meets my gaze, and in the silence that follows, he offers a slow, smouldering look that silently declares, ‘ Of course I did .’
“Part of me wondered if ye’d known,” he breathes, his voice carrying a weight that makes my heart twist. His fingers trace the edges of the folded paper as if the words still hold power over him.
“Known what?”
He shakes his head, not answering. “I think this is the letter that truly did me in.” He opens it and produces the pressed primrose. I remember the day I’d done that. The first day they’d bloomed.
“A single damned flower, and I was undone.”
“Finn…” I whisper, my voice trembling. “How long?”
He still doesn’t answer, but he steps closer. “Undone by a flower… that I’d been leavin’ on yer bedside table since the morning after you’d told me about their significance.” He moves closer still. “That their presence can protect someone from evil.”
I take a shaky step toward him. I can feel the tension radiating off him, but I can’t stop now. My words tumble out, unguarded, as I summon the courage to hold nothing back.
“I woke up yesterday thinking Deidre must have left them for me. So I went to thank her for the gesture, only for her to tell me it wasn’t her.” My voice cracks, and I can feel the heat of tears stinging my eyes. “And she said she couldn’t confirm whether Ma had done it.”
I step closer, my chest heaving. “I went years without waking up with them on my bedside table.” My voice falters. “Just after you arrived back was when I received the first bundle after years . The realisation hit me in a rush. I never once stopped to question why. And I feel like a fool.”
“Every time you’d stir in yer sleep, I could feel it,” Finn says, voice laced with something raw.
He takes a careful step closer, his curls framing his face as his proximity causes him to look down at me.
I’m utterly transfixed—chiseled cheekbones, and eyes that are more golden than brown in the moment—unable to tear my gaze away.
“So I’d go out,” he continues, his gaze fixed on me, “and I’d search for the brightest flower in the bunch. I’d clip it, place it in the centre of the bundle, and place it right there—right on your bedside table. And then, as if by magic, you’d settle.”
He pauses, and I see a pass of hesitation in his eyes, the way his jaw feathers before he forces the words out. “I convinced myself it was my presence—that I calmed you as ye’ve always calmed me.” His voice wavers as he exhales shakily.
“So I kept bringin’ ‘em. Watching from the shadows like a coward. I’d watch you roam the house, holdin’ the damned bundle as if it were gold. And every time, I’d see it. That smile. That pure, unguarded smile, I’d wish—gods, I’d wish —I could tell you it was me who’d made you smile like that.”
He looks down at the letter in his hand, his fingers tightening around it.
“But I knew I never would. And it broke my heart, Triona. Every single time, it broke me. But I could never stop, because seeing that smile? Knowin’ I could give you that, even if you’d never know it was me? That had to be enough.”
At last he meets my eyes. There’s something devastating in the way his gaze bores into mine, a weight I’m scarcely prepared to bear. The room feels impossibly still. His words hang heavy in the air, and the sheer depth of his pain leaves me stunned, rooted to the spot.
“What do you feel for me, Finn?” I mutter, my voice trembling but resolute, carrying the full force of my pounding heart.
His eyes soften even as they glisten with unshed tears. He takes a deliberate step forward, then another, closing the gap until no space remains between us. The raw sincerity in his eyes threatens to undo me.
“To most folks, I had but a single purpose. To fight. To protect. To be the weapon they needed. To be used for their advantage. To my own father, I was no more than a burden—a broken lad. But then you came into my life, and through your eyes, I discovered a reflection of who I truly am. You saw the best in me, kindlin’ a belief in myself I’d long forgotten. ”
He pauses, his gaze falling for a moment, his shoulders sagging under the burden of words he’s never spoken. “To the one person I was doing it for… the one person I’d give everything for… I’ve always been more.” The heat of his body, so close to mine, coils around me.
“I’ ve never been what they expected me to be—not with you,” he declares fiercely, his eyes searing into mine. “Ye’ve always cared for me—just me—not for what I can do, or the benefits I can yield. Only me.”
His voice gathers strength with each word, even as it trembles with barely contained emotion.
“I’ve told the stars about you more times than I can count.
On nights when the world felt impossibly heavy, I’d look up at the sky and speak your name into the silence, as if the constellations could carry my words to you.
I’d whisper all the things I refused to say aloud—the way your laugh feels like sunlight breakin’ through a storm, the way your eyes hold more kindness than I deserve, the way the thought of you has kept me tethered when I was on the verge of fallin’ apart.
The stars know every piece of you I’ve ever cherished, every hope I’ve dared to dream, and every fear I’ve fought to silence.
They hold, within their glow, the version of you I hold closest to my heart—the one I’ll never stop yearnin’ to truly know—despite my best efforts to subdue these overwhelming feelings. ”
“So, in short…,” he says as he lowers to his knees in front of me. Gently, he brings one hand to my hip, then takes my hand and presses it tenderly against his beating heart, as if urging me to feel the truth of his devotion.
“I am who I am because of you.” His voice trembles through his confession.
“My fiercest ally. My unwaverin’ refuge.
” He pauses, his throat working against the emotion threatening to break him.
Then, softer, but no less certain, “And the love of my life—all of it, all of you—wrapped in one maddeningly beautiful, impossible package.”
Tears glisten in his eyes, but he doesn’t blink them away. Instead, he holds my gaze unflinchingly, as if daring me to see the truth in every shattered piece of his heart.
I stare at him. All I can do is feel. Feel the weight of his words. Feel the undeniable, inescapable truth of them.