Page 67 of Maid For The Dark Elf

"Instead of what? Treating me like I never existed?" I step back, putting distance between us despite the way my body aches to move closer. "Instead of pretending whatever happened between us was just another responsibility you could set aside when it became inconvenient?"

"That's not what happened."

"Then explain it to me, Caelric. Because from where I stood, you decided duty mattered more than I did without even giving me the chance to⁠—"

"To what?" His composure cracks, revealing the raw emotion he's kept buried for weeks. "Stand beside me while the entire kingdom watches? Face the political consequences of being with someone like me? You think I wanted to hurt you?"

Someone like me. As if my humanity makes me fundamentally less worthy of standing beside him.

"I never asked you to sacrifice anything for me." My voice shakes with barely controlled fury. "I never demanded you choose between duty and love. But you made that choice anyway, didn't you? You decided I was too weak to handle whatever came next."

"I was protecting you⁠—"

"From what? From having a voice in my own future?" I laugh, the sound bitter and hollow in the empty foyer. "You're just like every other noble, aren't you? Making decisions for everyone else because you assume we're too fragile or too stupid to understand the consequences."

His jaw tightens, but he doesn't deny it. The silence hangs between us like a chasm.

"My father⁠—"

"Your father what? Ordered you to end things?" I cross my arms, my hazel eyes blazing with indignation. "And you just obeyed without question? Without even talking to me about it first?"

"You don't understand the pressures⁠—"

"Then help me understand!" The words explode from my chest, carrying weeks of suppressed anguish. "Instead of shutting me out like I'm some fragile ornament that might break if handled roughly. I survived years of servitude, Caelric. I helped solve your investigation. I'm not made of glass."

He runs a hand through his black hair, the gesture revealing his own frustration and pain. "I thought if I ended things cleanly, quickly, it would hurt less for both of us."

"Well, congratulations. You were spectacularly wrong."

"Rosalie—"

"No." I hold up my hand, stopping him mid-sentence. "You don't get to say my name like that anymore. Like it means something to you. Because if it did, if I meant something to you, you would have fought for us instead of surrendering at the first sign of opposition."

"I was trying to protect House Vaerith⁠—"

"And what about protecting me? What about protecting what we had together?" Tears blur my vision, but I refuse to let them fall. "You made your choice, Caelric. You chose your family's reputation over us. Own it."

The accusation hangs in the air between us, heavy with finality. Caelric's indigo eyes search my face desperately, as if looking for some sign that forgiveness might be possible.

"I love you," he whispers, the words carrying the weight of everything we've lost.

"No." I shake my head, my chestnut hair falling across my shoulders. "You loved the idea of me. The secret, the rebellion against your upbringing. But when it came time to actually choose me, to stand up for us, you couldn't do it."

I turn toward the stairs leading to the servants' quarters, my heart shattering with each step. Behind me, I hear him say my name one more time, but I don't look back.

Some wounds cut too deep for words to heal.

31

CAELRIC

The walk from House Ardyn to the royal palace feels interminable, each step weighted with the memory of Rosalie's accusations still ringing in my ears. You chose your family's reputation over us. The words cut deeper than any blade because they carry the uncomfortable sting of truth.

But duty calls, regardless of personal devastation.

King Grymlock's private audience chamber welcomes me with familiar warmth, the floating mage-lights automatically brightening as I enter. Privacy wards shimmer into place behind me, sealing our conversation from any potential eavesdroppers. The King sits behind his ancient desk, brilliant violet eyes studying my face with the penetrating gaze that has governed Vhoig for centuries.

"You look like a man who's lost something precious," he observes, gesturing for me to take the chair across from him.