Page 18 of Maid For The Dark Elf

"Did anyone see you leave?" I ask, extending my hand to help her into the carriage.

"No." Rosalie accepts my assistance, her fingers briefly warm against mine before she settles onto the velvet seat. "I told the kitchen staff I was visiting the market early, before the crowds."

As she pulls back her hood, morning light catches the rich chestnut of her hair, which she's woven into a simple braid that falls over one shoulder. The style frames her face beautifully, revealing the delicate curve of her neck and the gentle slope of her collarbones above her modest brown dress. The fabric is well-made but clearly practical—sturdy cotton with careful mending at the sleeves that speaks to years of thoughtful care rather than frequent replacement. She's chosen a cream-colored shawl that complements her warm bronze skin, and small silver earrings catch the light when she turns her head.

Everything about her appearance whispers of quiet dignity maintained despite circumstances that would crush lesser spirits.

"I'm covered for the morning," she continues, smoothing her skirts as the carriage lurches into motion. "But I'll need to return by midday for Lady Ardyn's afternoon appointments."

I nod, calculating the time that gives us. "That should be sufficient."

The familiar gates of House Vaerith come into view as we round the final bend, their ancient ironwork gleaming in the early sunlight. Rosalie leans forward slightly, studying the estate with obvious curiosity.

"It looks different without all the carriages and crowds," she murmurs.

"More like home and less like a stage," I agree, helping her down from the carriage.

Inside, the manor feels peaceful in the morning quiet—no orchestral music floating through enchanted air, no elaborate illusions dancing across the walls. Just our family home in its natural state, warm and welcoming.

I guide her toward the dining hall, our footsteps echoing softly on marble floors. She moves beside me with that careful grace I've noticed before, taking in the portraits lining the corridors and the subtle magical touches that make our house distinctly Vaerith—self-organizing books on side tables, flowers that bloom in response to presence, mage-lights that adjust their brightness based on the time of day.

The dining hall doors stand open, revealing the room in all its morning glory. Floating crystal lanterns cast gentle light across the polished table, while the massive windows along the back wall showcase our gardens—ancient oak trees whose branches form natural archways over beds of flowering vines, fountains that sing in harmonious notes, and pathways that shift color with the seasons.

"Magnificent," Rosalie breathes, and I feel an unexpected surge of pride.

My family is just settling into their usual breakfast positions as we enter. Father adjusts his reading spectacles while scanning correspondence, Mother pours tea as though an audience is watching her every perfect move, and my siblings engage in their typical morning banter—Aurelia describing some scandalous gossip she heard at last night's soiree, Emeric still wearing yesterday's clothes and looking like he spent the night somewhere he shouldn't have, Nerina politely declining yet another marriage proposal that arrived with the morning post.

The scene radiates warmth and genuine affection—siblings teasing each other with real fondness, parents exchanging meaningful glances over shared jokes, everyone completely at ease in each other's company.

Rosalie stops just inside the doorway, her hazel eyes wide with something approaching wonder.

Then Father notices our entrance and clears his throat once—a sound that cuts through conversation like a knife through silk.

Silence descends instantly.

"Family, I'd like you to meet Rosalie." I place a gentle hand on her elbow, feeling the subtle tension in her posture. "Her knowledge of House Ardyn may prove invaluable to our investigation."

Rosalie's shoulders stiffen almost imperceptibly, and I catch the way her hazel eyes dart between each face at the table—calculating, measuring, deciding how much trust to offer.

Mother rises gracefully from her seat, violet eyes warm with genuine welcome rather than the calculating assessment most nobles would display.

"Please, join us for breakfast," she says, gesturing toward an empty chair. "You must be famished after such an early start."

The kindness in her voice catches Rosalie off guard—I see it in the slight widening of her eyes, the way her rigid posture softens just a fraction.

"That's very generous, my lady, but I couldn't⁠—"

"Nonsense." Nikolai stands and pulls out the chair beside him, his emerald eyes crinkling with warmth. "Anyone willing to help find Lord Ardyn deserves our hospitality."

Nerina nods agreement, her luminous violet gaze holding none of the condescension Rosalie clearly expects. "Please, sit. Caelric rarely brings guests to family breakfast—you must be special."

Heat creeps up my neck at Nerina's teasing tone, but Rosalie settles into the offered chair with visible relief.

"What can you tell us about the morning you discovered Lord Ardyn missing?" Aurelia asks, leaning forward with sharp interest.

Rosalie's fingers tighten on her teacup. "Lady Ardyn came to my quarters before dawn, searching for him. She'd already checked his study, his chambers, even the stables."

"Who else knew he was gone?" I ask.