Page 62 of Maid For The Dark Elf

"The magical signatures on these letters match perfectly," Asterion announces, his scholarly precision cutting through the tension. "Same enchanted ink, same preservation spells, same hand behind the forgeries. Someone spent years crafting this deception."

I lean over the table, studying the carefully arranged evidence. "Show me how it connects."

"Here." Asterion points to a series of letters bearing House Ardyn's official seal. "These anonymous warnings about Aethan's supposed plans to eliminate rival branches? All forgeries. The magical residue proves they were created using stolen seal impressions and replicated parchment."

Emeric's scarred fingers trace the financial ledgers we've assembled. "The money trail leads directly to three recipients over the past eighteen months. Substantial payments, all routed through intermediaries to avoid detection."

"Therovar Ardyn received forty thousand gold sovereigns," Nikolai reads from his notes, his emerald eyes hard with disgust. "His wife Velryssa received another thirty thousand through a separate channel. And their son Darion... twenty-five thousand."

The numbers paint a stark picture of calculated betrayal. Nearly a hundred thousand gold sovereigns—enough to purchase entire estates—funneled to Lord Aethan's own relatives in exchange for his murder.

"We'll need to move quickly," I decide, straightening as command authority settles around my shoulders. "If they suspect we've found Aethan's body, they'll either flee or attempt to silence each other to avoid confession."

"Coordinated arrests," Emeric suggests immediately. "Strike all three locations simultaneously before they can communicate or escape."

"Exactly." I begin outlining our strategy, my mind calculating distances and timing. "Emeric, you'll take the main house and arrest Therovar. His study contains additional evidence we'll need intact."

"Nikolai handles Velryssa," I continue, knowing his diplomatic skills will be crucial. "She's the most politically connected of the three. Her arrest needs to appear routine until we've secured the others."

"And Darion?" Father asks.

"I'll take him personally." The youngest conspirator will likely be the most volatile, most prone to panic or desperate action. "His emotional instability makes him the greatest flight risk."

Aunt Nythessa's lips curve into a cold smile. "Poetic justice, really. They spent months planning Aethan's death, and now we'll dismantle their lives in a single evening."

"What about the investigation's true architect?" Mother inquires. "Whoever provided the gold and orchestrated this manipulation remains unknown."

"One step at a time," I reply, though the question haunts me as well. "We secure confessions from these three first. Someone that deeply embedded in noble politics won't remain hidden once we start pulling threads."

Asterion begins gathering the evidence into secure containers. "I'll prepare magical preservation spells for everything. We cannot afford to have critical documents mysteriously disappear."

"Move out in one hour," I command, feeling the weight of House Vaerith's authority behind my words. "Arrest them quietly, separately, before they realize what's happening. By midnight, Lord Aethan's murderers will be in custody."

I find Darion in his family's secondary manor, pacing before a dying fire like a caged wolf. His silver hair catches the flickering light as he spins toward the door, violet eyes wide with the kind of nervous energy that speaks of guilt and sleepless nights.

"Lord Caelric." He attempts a bow, though his eyes are narrow with suspicion. "Rather late for a social call, isn't it?"

"We found Lord Aethan's body."

His movements freeze, but he recovers quickly—too quickly for genuine surprise.

"Found... what? That's impossible. Uncle Aethan is away on Crown business. Everyone knows⁠—"

"In the old watchtower on your family's lands. Hidden beneath the ruins for weeks." I step closer, watching his micro-expressions. "Strange place for someone supposedly traveling on the King's orders."

"I don't understand what you're implying." Darion's voice climbs higher. "If something terrible has happened to my uncle, surely the proper authorities⁠—"

"We already have your parents in custody."

The mask shatters completely. Darion's face twists with rage and desperation, his hand flying to the ceremonial blade at his hip.

"You lying bastard!"

He lunges forward with the reckless fury of youth, all emotion and no technique. I sidestep easily, catching his wrist as he overextends. A quick twist sends his blade clattering across the stone floor, and I use his momentum to slam him face-first against the mantelpiece.

"Finished?" I ask, applying just enough pressure to his arm to ensure compliance.

"You have no authority here!" he snarls against the marble. "This is House Ardyn territory! You can't just⁠—"