Page 24 of Maid For The Dark Elf

"You've proven invaluable."

The formal response feels inadequate, but I can't risk revealing how much her presence affects me. I can't pursue this attraction—not when she might have belonged to another, not when the gulf between our stations makes any relationship impossible.

Yet I linger beneath the oak's spreading canopy, reluctant to scale the estate wall and return to the safety of my own chambers.

12

ROSALIE

Two days pass without word from Caelric, and the silence gnaws at me like hunger. I find myself checking the windows that face toward House Vaerith's distant estate, searching for some sign that might explain his absence.

Lady Ardyn spends the morning locked in her chambers with correspondence, leaving me free to tend to household duties without her constant supervision. The opportunity presents itself perfectly—too perfectly to ignore.

I slip through the servant's entrance with a basket over my arm, the same ruse I've used before. The walk to House Vaerith feels painfully long on foot, my steps quick with worry and anticipation. What if something has happened to him? What if the investigation has taken a dangerous turn?

The Vaerith estate rises before me like a beacon of warmth against the grey morning sky. I approach the main entrance rather than seeking a hidden path, my concern overriding caution as I rap the doorknocker against the thick wood.

Aurelia opens the door herself, her violet eyes brightening with genuine pleasure when she sees me standing on the threshold.

"Rosalie! What a lovely surprise." Her smile reaches her eyes in a way that still surprises me after years of serving nobles who smile only with their mouths. "I'm afraid Caelric hasn't returned from his recent trip, but please, come in. Join us in the sitting room."

She leads me through corridors I'm beginning to recognize, past portraits of Vaerith ancestors who seem to watch with benevolent interest rather than cold judgment. The sitting room glows with afternoon light filtering through tall windows, where Lady Seralyth sits surrounded by her children.

"Look who I found at the door," Aurelia announces as we enter.

Lady Seralyth's face lights up with the same warmth her daughter displayed. "Rosalie, how wonderful. Please, sit with us. I was just explaining to my daughters one of the proper tea traditions that has been overlooked for some time."

She gestures to an ornate tea service arranged on a low table, the delicate porcelain painted with intricate designs I don't recognize. Steam rises from the pot in graceful spirals, and the scent of bergamot fills the air.

Asterion glances up from a leather-bound tome, his eyes dancing with mischief. "Ah yes, the great tea ceremony revival. Mother, if memory serves—and it always does—we abolished that particular tradition three centuries ago because it provided no real value to social protocol."

"Tradition doesn't always need some sort of social or monetary value," Aurelia shoots back, settling into her chair with fluidity. "Tradition is tradition because it connects us to something deeper—to the soul, to our ancestors, to who we are beneath all the political maneuvering."

Nerina glances up from her embroidery with a sly smile. "Curious take coming from the likes of you, sister."

I watch this exchange with growing bewilderment. They're... joking. Playing with words like musicians trading melodies, each comment building on the last without malice or calculation. There's no undercurrent of threat, no positioning for advantage, no verbal daggers wrapped in silk.

In every noble household I've served, siblings circle each other like predators seeking weakness. They smile while they wound, praise while they undermine. Even the Ardyn children, scattered as they are, manage to slice at each other's reputations during family gatherings.

But the Vaeriths banter like... like friends.

Lady Seralyth notices my bewildered expression and laughs gently, the sound melodical. "I'm sure this is quite different from what you're used to, dear."

Heat rises in my face as I realize how transparent my reaction must be. "Most human families aren't even as close as you seem to be, let alone elven families."

In every household I've served, family meals were exercises in strategic positioning. Children competed for parental favor while parents evaluated which offspring might prove most politically useful. Even the servants learned to navigate the undercurrents of familial ambition.

Aurelia's smile grows warmer, her violet eyes filled with genuine curiosity rather than pity. "Tell us about your own family, Rosalie. Do you have siblings?"

I shift in my chair, the porcelain teacup suddenly feeling fragile between my fingers. "I may have siblings, but if I do, my father never told me. He also worked for the Ardyn family, but he passed away a few years ago."

The casual way I deliver the information doesn't quite mask the old ache that accompanies thoughts of my father. He was the constant in my uncertain world, the one person who taught me how to survive without losing myself entirely.

"What about your mother?" Seralyth wonders, her tone carefully gentle.

I shrug, the gesture more defensive than dismissive. "I never knew her. I was dropped off at my father's feet as an infant, with the explanation that she couldn't afford to raise me and didn't want to marry him."

The words fall into the sitting room like stones into water, creating ripples of silence. I've never spoken of this to anyone—the circumstances of my birth were hardly conversation material in any household where I served.