Page 72 of Maid For The Dark Elf

"Looking for someone in particular?"

"Caelric. Now."

"Ah." His scarred features arrange themselves into something dangerously close to a grin. "Right this way."

He leads me through corridors I've memorized during countless visits, past portraits of long-dead Vaeriths who seem to watch our progress with painted disapproval. When we reach the heavy oak door of Caelric's study, Emeric knocks once before pushing it open.

"Visitor for you."

He steps aside, allowing me to enter before closing the door with deliberate finality. The soft click of the latch carries an oddly conspiratorial quality, as though he's been expecting this confrontation.

Caelric looks up from the papers scattered across his desk, indigo eyes widening with genuine surprise at my unexpected arrival. He's removed his formal jacket, leaving him in a simple white shirt that emphasizes the breadth of his shoulders. For a moment, neither of us speaks.

"Rosalie." My name emerges carefully, as though he's testing dangerous waters. "I didn't expect⁠—"

"Of course you didn't." I cross the room with measured steps, placing my hands flat on his desk to lean forward. "You never expect me to have opinions about the decisions you make for me."

His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. "If this is about the freedom papers⁠—"

"It's about everything." The words tumble out with years of suppressed frustration behind them. "It's about you deciding what's best for me without asking what I want. It's about you arranging my entire future like another political negotiation."

Caelric rises slowly, his considerable height making me crane my neck to maintain eye contact. "I thought you'd be grateful."

"Grateful?" The laugh that escapes me holds no humor whatsoever. "You think freedom without purpose, family, or security feels like a gift? You've given me the right to starve independently instead of asking whether I wanted to build something together."

He doesn't immediately offer solutions or explanations. Instead, he simply watches me with those penetrating indigo eyes, as though seeing me clearly for the very first time.

"What did you want?" His voice drops to barely above a whisper.

"I wanted you to fight for us instead of managing me like another responsibility."

The silence stretches between us, heavy with everything we've never said. Then Caelric moves around the desk, closing the distance until we're standing close enough that I see the flecks of silver in his dark eyes.

"I was afraid," he admits quietly. "Afraid that choosing you would destroy everything my family built."

"And now?"

His hand rises to cup my cheek with infinite gentleness. "Now I understand that love requires partnership, not protection."

When our lips meet, the kiss carries all the passion we've held back, all the promises we were afraid to make. This time, neither of us pulls away.

"Not here." Caelric's words emerge as a low thrum against my lips between kisses. "Bedroom."

Before I can respond, his arms slide beneath me with strength born of centuries of training. He lifts me effortlessly, my body cradled against his chest as though I weigh nothing. For a blessed instant, I feel the solid strength of him supporting my entire weight, the steady beat of his heart echoing through the thin fabric of his shirt.

He carries me through corridors with confident familiarity, ignoring the startled glances from servants and household guards who hastily avert their eyes. Each step carries us closer to privacy, away from prying eyes and noble expectations. When we reach his bedchamber doors, he pushes them open without releasing his hold on me.

His room holds the scent of sandalwood and old books. The massive bed dominates the space, piled high with dark silks and pillows. He lays me down with exaggerated gentleness, following me before I can sit up again.

Our clothing becomes a frantic obstacle to overcome. Buttons pop loose beneath my fingers, laces pull tight then give way with small tearing sounds. His shirt parts to reveal lean muscle carved from decades of warfare training, dark skin dusted with a faint trail that disappears beneath his trousers. My own dress falls away in pieces, silk pooling around my waist before Caelric strips it completely away.

"I love you." He murmurs the words against the skin just below my ear before trailing kisses downward along my collarbone, over the swell of my breasts, across the flat plane of my stomach. Each touch carries reverence, each kiss feels like a promise finally spoken aloud.

When his mouth finds the sensitive juncture between my thighs, I gasp, my fingers tangling in his dark hair. He doesn't linger—though his breath ghosts across me with enough heat to make my hips lift instinctively—instead continuing his exploration downward until he's kneeling on the floor beside the bed, his hands gripping my hips with firm possessiveness.

"Promise you'll never leave me again." I push myself upright, my voice hardened by weeks of hurt and longing.

His indigo eyes lift to meet mine, shadowed by the dim light filtering through the windows. "I promise."