Page 38 of Dark Elf Makes Five

Her breathing remains deep and even against my ribs. After the night we shared—the hours we spent claiming each other with desperate hunger—she's earned this rest. My body still bears the marks of her nails, thin scratches across my shoulders that sting pleasantly when I shift beneath her weight.

Nothing has changed. Everything has changed.

I've always been determined to protect her, to provide for her family, to shield them from a world that views humans as lesser. But now she's allowing me to. The difference between taking care of someone who resents your help and caring for someone who welcomes it feels vast as an ocean.

I won't take that trust lightly.

With infinite care, I ease myself from beneath her sleeping form. She murmurs something unintelligible, her hand searching briefly for warmth before settling against the pillow. I tuck the blankets around her shoulders, ensuring she stays warm, then reach for my silk robe hanging beside the bed.

The manor feels different as I descend the main staircase. Each step echoes with new purpose, new responsibility. The portraits of my ancestors watch from their gilded frames with their usual stern disapproval, but their judgment carries less weight this morning.

I find Halvren in the morning room, reviewing household accounts with his usual expressionless face. His quill scratches across parchment as he tallies expenses, completely absorbed in his work until my footsteps announce my presence.

"My lord." He rises immediately, setting down his quill. "I trust you slept well?"

The question carries no hidden meaning—Halvren's discretion has always been absolute. Still, I detect the faintest hint of curiosity in his weathered features.

"Quite well." I settle into the chair opposite him, noting how his gaze carefully avoids the scratches visible above my robe's collar. "I need you to prepare three rooms in the family wing. Proper chambers, not servants' quarters."

His eyebrows lift slightly. "May I ask which guests we're expecting, my lord?"

"Bran, Lysa, and Tobin." I watch his expression carefully. "They'll be moving out of the servants' hall immediately."

To his credit, Halvren's face remains perfectly neutral. His hands fold neatly in his lap, though I notice the slight tension around his eyes—the only sign of his surprise. After decades of service, he's mastered the art of accepting my decisions without question, regardless of how unconventional they might seem.

"Of course, my lord." His voice holds the same professional tone he uses for any household directive. "Shall I assign them chambers near the guest suites, or would you prefer⁠—"

"The east wing. Close enough to hear if they need anything, but with privacy appropriate to their new status."

He nods slowly, already calculating logistics. "I'll have the rooms prepared within the hour."

Halvren inclines his head, already mentally organizing the task. "Shall I inform the children, or would you prefer⁠—"

Heavy footsteps echo in the corridor outside, cutting through our conversation. Captain Draven appears in the door, his weathered face set in grim lines that immediately put me on edge. His armor bears the dust of a hard ride, and his usual stoic composure carries an undercurrent of urgency.

"My lord." He nods tersely. "We need to discuss Lady Selmyra."

The pleasant warmth of the morning evaporates. "What about her?"

"Reports have come back from the port. She's been meeting with unsavory types—smugglers, mercenaries. The kind who take coin for activities that don't bear scrutiny."

My jaw tightens. After last night's confrontation at the gathering, I should have expected Selmyra to escalate her campaign against Kessara. But hiring criminals crosses a line that transforms social maneuvering into genuine threat.

"Walk with me." I rise from my chair, the silk robe rustling around my legs. "Both of you."

We move through the manor's corridors, our footsteps muffled by thick carpets. Draven continues his report as we climb the main staircase toward the family wing.

"My contacts saw her twice near the docks, always after dark. She's being careful, but not careful enough." His voice drops lower. "The men she's meeting aren't the type who handle delicate work, my lord. They're blunt instruments."

"How blunt?"

"The kind that prefer permanent solutions to temporary problems."

We reach the landing of the east wing, and I pause beside a tall window overlooking the estate grounds. Sunlight streams through the glass, but it does nothing to warm the cold calculation settling in my chest.

"Investigate discreetly. Track her movements, identify her associates." I turn to face both men. "I want to know every breath she takes, every coin she spends."

Draven nods grimly. "Already have men positioned⁠—"