Page 19 of Maid For The Dark Elf

"Well, everyone. He had left the previous day for a meeting with the King and didn't return that night." Rosalie pauses, choosing her words carefully. "Several of his extended family arrived that morning for a meeting, but he wasn't there."

Aurelia's platinum eyebrows arch. "Interesting. Because last night, Velryssa Ardyn made it seem as though she'd known in advance that he was going to leave."

Rosalie's teacup clinks against its saucer. "That's impossible. Lord Ardyn told me nothing about leaving, and he shared everything regarding his schedule."

"Everything?" Aurelia's violet eyes gleam with predatory focus.

"His appointments, correspondence, family obligations." Rosalie's voice grows stronger. "I managed his daily affairs. If he'd known he was going to travel, I would have known."

The contradictions pile up like kindling, each revelation adding fuel to a fire that burns brighter but illuminates less. Instead of clarity, we're drowning in inconsistencies.

I lean back against my chair, frustration building like a clenched fist.

Rosalie sets down her teacup carefully, the porcelain clicking softly against the saucer. Her hazel eyes sweep across each face at the table before settling on mine.

"Are you certain something has happened to Lord Ardyn?" The question carries weight, as though she's been holding it back for days. "Lady Ardyn was told by the Chancellor that her husband was sent away on official business for the King."

The silence feels thick as honey. I catch Aurelia's sharp glance, see the way Father's fingers pause over his correspondence, notice how even Asterion looks up from his perpetual reading. We exchange the kind of guarded looks that families share when they possess dangerous knowledge.

Rosalie notices immediately. Her spine straightens, and something shifts in her expression—a flicker of hurt mixed with determination.

"You know something I don't."

It's not a question.

"Rosalie—" I begin, but she cuts me off with a gesture.

"No." Her voice carries quiet steel. "I'm risking everything to be here. My position, my safety, possibly my life if the wrong people discover I'm helping you." She leans forward, hazel eyes blazing. "I've told you things about the Ardyn family that could destroy me if they ever learned of it. The least you can do is tell me what I need to know to stay on the same page."

The challenge hangs in the air like smoke from a snuffed candle. She's right, of course—we've asked her to trust us with information while withholding the most crucial details ourselves.

I look toward Father, seeking guidance. His violet eyes meet mine for a long moment before he nods once, barely perceptible.

"The King personally summoned me," I say carefully. "He told me that Lord Ardyn was taken, not sent away on Crown errands. His Majesty assigned me the task of finding Lord Ardyn before word spreads that he's missing."

The color drains from Rosalie's bronze skin like water from a broken vessel. Her hands grip the table, knuckles white with tension.

"Taken." The word comes out as barely a whisper. "If Lord Ardyn was taken..." She swallows hard, the implications crashing over her like a tide. "Any of the Ardyns could make a play for his title. And who knows what they'd do with that power."

"Exactly." Asterion's blue-violet eyes gleam with approval as he closes his book with a soft thud. "Your intelligence serves you well."

Father leans back in his chair, studying Rosalie with new respect. "While the King can't directly interfere in noble house politics, he won't take kindly to losing one of the few nobles he can reason with to keep Vhoig in its current state."

Rosalie tilts her head, processing this revelation. "Like keeping your family close."

A smile spreads across Father's features. "Smart girl."

The breakfast conversation continues around us, but I find myself watching Rosalie as she absorbs the true scope of what we're facing. Her quick mind is already working through possibilities, calculating risks, understanding that Lord Ardyn's disappearance threatens far more than just one noble house.

As the morning draws toward its end and she prepares to leave, I catch her arm gently.

"Rosalie." She turns, hazel eyes meeting mine. "You will never be forced to help us. This is your choice, always."

Something shifts in her expression—surprise, then a warmth that makes my chest hurt unexpectedly. At last, she looks at me without the careful guardedness that years of servitude have taught her.

"Thank you," she says quietly, and I know she means far more than just the words themselves.

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