Page 2 of Maid For The Dark Elf

His hair catches the mage-light as he surveys the table with those piercing indigo eyes that seem to catalog everything in an instant. The thin scar crossing his eyebrow—earned in some long-ago battle—gives his aristocratic features a hint of steel beneath the refinement.

"My apologies for the delay." He settles into his chair at the head of the table with fluid grace. "The day's correspondence required immediate attention."

"Nothing serious, I hope?" Mother's question carries the concern of someone who has weathered decades of political storms alongside her husband.

"Routine matters." His dismissive tone suggests otherwise, but none of us press. Father shares what he chooses to share, when he chooses to share it.

Aurelia launches back into her gossip about Lady Velandra and Lord Thane, but I notice how Father's attention settles on each of us in turn. Not intrusive observation—gentle assessment. Making sure we're all well, all present, all his.

"The Malvern proposal?" he asks Nerina quietly.

"Declined respectfully." Her relief shows in the relaxation of her shoulders. "I cited the need to focus on House responsibilities this season."

"Good." No elaboration needed. Father has never pushed any of us toward marriages that would benefit the House at our expense.

Emeric shifts uncomfortably under Father's gaze, probably expecting questions about his bruised jaw. Instead, Father simply moves on.

This is what separates us from every other Great House.

We argue. We disagree. Asterion buries himself in books while Emeric seeks fights in shadowy corners of the city. Aurelia thrives on political intrigue while Nerina retreats from it. Nikolai earned his place through loyalty rather than blood.

But when outsiders threaten one of us, they face all of us.

"Blood does not break," Mother murmurs, almost to herself, as she watches Father carve the roasted fowl with precise movements.

The words waft through the air like an invocation.

The zagfer footman appears in the doorway with the abrupt silence of someone who knows he's interrupting something sacred. His grey skin gleams with perspiration, and his chest rises and falls in rapid succession—he's been running.

"Forgive the intrusion, Lord Maltheris." The zagfer's voice carries the formal cadence drilled into royal messengers. "I bear urgent correspondence from His Majesty."

Father extends his hand, the gesture automatic after centuries of receiving royal communications.

But the zagfer hesitates.

"Actually, my lord, this is addressed specifically to Lord Caelric Vaerith."

The silence that follows could shatter crystal. Aurelia's fork hovers halfway to her mouth. Asterion's book slides forgotten from his fingers. Even Emeric's perpetual restlessness stills completely.

"To Caelric?" Mother's voice barely rises above a whisper.

The zagfer produces a scroll sealed with deep crimson wax—the king's personal seal, not the formal royal crest used for routine correspondence. My name appears across the parchment in the flowing script of the royal scribes.

I accept the scroll with steady hands, though my pulse quickens. The wax breaks with a soft crack that seems to echo through the dining hall.

Young Caelric Vaerith is commanded to present himself before His Majesty King Grymlock Ishiraya with all due haste. The matter requires immediate attention.

Nothing more. No explanation, no hint of purpose. Just a summons that could herald anything from royal favor to complete disgrace.

"What does it say?" Nerina's gentle question breaks the spell.

"His Majesty requests my immediate presence." I keep my voice level, though uncertainty coils in my stomach. "No specifics."

Father's indigo eyes study me with the intensity that has made him legendary in political circles. "House Vaerith has served the crown faithfully for eight centuries. We've weathered every succession, every crisis, every war because we understand one fundamental truth—loyalty flows both ways. Surely this is a good sign."

"Kings favor us precisely because we never fracture," Mother adds, her violet gaze moving between Father and me. "Other houses scheme and plot against each other. We present a united front."

"That unity makes us valuable," Aurelia murmurs, though worry creases her brow. "But also potentially threatening if someone whispers the right poison in royal ears."