Page 53 of Maid For The Dark Elf

"Actually, yes." Nikolai leans forward, elbows on his knees. "Rosalie asked me to deliver this."

He places a folded paper on my desk. My name appears across the front in her careful script, and seeing it makes my chest tighten like someone's wrapped chains around my ribs.

"I'm not accepting personal correspondence."

"It's about the investigation." Nikolai's tone carries no inflection, but his eyes narrow slightly. "She remembered something about Lord Ardyn's private meetings. Thought it might be relevant."

Of course. Even now, she's thinking about the investigation. About finding the man who protected her when no one else would. While I've been drowning in self-loathing and wedding preparations, she's continued working toward the truth.

I grab the letter, then stop. "Summarize it."

"Caelric—"

"Summarize. It."

Nikolai's jaw tightens, but he complies. "She recalls overhearing Aethan mention someone named Vorin or Varin during one of his private meetings. The conversation seemed... tense. She thought we should know."

It's not exactly uncommon. "When did she remember this?"

"Yesterday evening. She's been trying to reach you since then."

"Right." I set down my pen with deliberate care. "Thank her for the information. I'll investigate the connection."

"You could thank her yourself."

The suggestion hits like a painful physical blow. "That wouldn't be appropriate."

"Appropriate." Nikolai repeats the word like it tastes sour. "Since when do you care more about appearances than⁠—"

"Since Father made the consequences clear." The words emerge sharper than intended. "This conversation is over."

Nikolai studies me for another long moment, then rises from his chair. "You're making a mistake, brother."

"I'm following orders."

"You're being a coward."

The accusation hangs between us long after he leaves. I stare at Rosalie's letter, her careful handwriting blurring as shame burns through my chest like acid. She's right to avoid me. She's right to communicate through intermediaries rather than suffer my pathetic attempts at professional distance.

Because that's what they are—pathetic. Every interaction feels like walking on broken glass, each word chosen to maintain barriers I don't want while avoiding the warmth I crave. I sound like a pompous ass even to myself.

A soft knock interrupts my brooding. "Enter."

The door opens to reveal Bridda, one of our human servants, carrying a tea service. Behind her walks Rosalie, and the sight of her nearly stops my heart. She wears a simple blue dress that brings out her hazel eyes, her chestnut hair braided in an elegant knot that exposes the graceful curve of her neck. Beautiful. Devastating. Mine, if I had any courage at all.

"Lord Caelric," Bridda says with deference. "Lady Aurelia requests your review of tomorrow's timeline."

"Of course." I accept the offered scroll without looking at either woman. "Thank you, Bridda. You may go."

The young servant curtseys and departs, leaving Rosalie standing in my doorway like an accusation. She doesn't speak, doesn't move, just watches me with those expressive eyes that see entirely too much.

"Was there something you needed?" The question emerges with bureaucratic politeness that makes me want to punch something.

"Nikolai said you received my message. "

"Yes. The information will be investigated appropriately."

"Appropriately." She repeats the word with the same distaste Nikolai showed. "How wonderfully... thorough of you."