Page 45 of Maid For The Dark Elf

"Let them see."

The words surprise us both. I hadn't planned to say them, hadn't even realized I was thinking them until they escaped. But now, standing here in the shadow of duty and expectation, they feel like the first honest thing I've said in days.

"Caelric." Her voice carries a warning, but also something that sounds like hope. "You don't mean that."

"I do." My hands find her face, thumbs tracing the delicate line of her cheekbones. "The only certainty I feel anymore is when I'm with you. Nothing else makes sense—not the investigation, not my responsibilities, not the future everyone's planned for me. Only this."

Her breath catches, and I see my own desperate honesty reflected in her expression. "We can't keep pretending this will end well."

"Then let's stop pretending it's temporary."

The silence that follows feels charged, electric with possibility and peril. I can see her weighing the consequences, calculating the risks, doing all the rational things I should be doing but can't bring myself to care about.

"Discovery could destroy you," she says finally.

"Not having you is already destroying me."

She closes her eyes, and when she opens them again, I see surrender there—not to defeat, but to something stronger than fear or duty or the careful calculations that have governed both our lives.

"Then we stop pretending," she whispers, and reaches up to pull my mouth down to hers.

22

ROSALIE

The grand ballroom transforms before my eyes as House Vaerith's servants arrange the final touches for Aurelia's engagement celebration. Crystal chandeliers float into position with whispered commands, their light catching the silver threading in tapestries that depict centuries of family history. I move between the preparations like a ghost, carrying linens and arranging flowers while nobility streams through the main entrance in waves of silk and jewels.

"The Chancellor's delegation just arrived," Nerina murmurs as she passes, her arms full of ceremonial goblets. "Thirty carriages, can you believe it? Mother's having fits about the seating arrangements."

I nod, though my attention drifts toward the main hall where Caelric greets guests alongside his father. Even from this distance, I see the careful control in his posture, the smile that never quite reaches his eyes. Three days have passed since our conversation beneath the weeping tree, and the weight of our decision sits like a secret that grows heavier with each stolen glance.

"Rosalie." Aurelia appears beside me, radiant in deep emerald silk that makes her platinum hair shine like starlight. "Could you help me with the gift table? Half these packages don't have proper identification cards."

"Of course."

I follow her to the alcove where wedding presents tower in elaborate displays. Aurelia begins sorting through ribboned boxes while I arrange the smaller items, both of us working in comfortable silence until she speaks again.

"You seem different lately."

My hands still on a jeweled music box. "Different how?"

"Happier. More... present." She glances toward the main hall where her brother continues his diplomatic duties. "It suits you."

Heat creeps up my neck as I focus intently on adjusting silk bows. "I don't know what you mean."

"Don't you?" Her tone carries gentle amusement rather than accusation. "I've watched you blossom these past weeks, Rosalie. Whatever's causing it, I'm glad."

Before I can respond, a commotion near the entrance draws our attention. The Chancellor himself sweeps through the doorway, his entourage trailing behind like colorful birds. The man commands attention effortlessly—tall even by dark elf standards, with silver-streaked hair and the kind of presence that makes rooms feel smaller.

"Maltheris!" His voice booms across the ballroom as he approaches Caelric's father. "You've outdone yourself. This celebration rivals the Crown's own festivities."

"High praise from someone who's attended every royal wedding in living memory," Maltheris replies with genuine warmth.

I watch the exchange while continuing to arrange gifts, noting how naturally Caelric transforms before my eyes, slipping seamlessly into his role as diplomatic heir with the fluid grace of someone born to such responsibilities. He glides between clusters of nobles with ease, his tall frame cutting an elegant path through the gathering crowd. I watch, mesmerized despite myself, as he navigates from the Vaelish ambassador's retinue to a group of minor lords from the eastern provinces, his indigo eyes bright with genuine interest as each person speaks.

His memory astounds me—he recalls not just names but intricate family connections, recent business ventures, even personal details shared in passing conversations months ago. "Lord Thalion, how fares your daughter's recovery?" he inquires of one elderly noble, and the man's weathered face lights up with surprise and gratitude that someone of Caelric's standing remembered such a personal concern.

With each interaction, Caelric offers precisely the right amount of attention—enough to make every guest feel genuinely important and valued, yet never lingering so long as to create the impression of favoritism or political alliance. It's a delicate dance of social navigation that would exhaust most people, but he makes it appear effortless. When Lady Thessa begins what promises to be a lengthy complaint about trade disputes, he listens with apparent fascination before smoothly redirecting her toward Lord Thane—a perfect distraction, Aurelia tells me, since the two are lovers.