Page 8 of Maid For The Dark Elf

Inside, the grand foyer stretches upward into darkness, its vaulted ceiling lost in shadow despite the floating orbs of magelight that drift like captured stars. Tapestries depicting ancient victories hang between marble pillars, their threads shimmering with preservation spells that keep the colors vibrant after centuries.

"Lady Ardyn." A voice smooth as aged wine draws our attention. "How lovely to see you again."

Lord Chancellor Vorian Selkareth approaches with the measured grace of someone completely at ease in these halls. His understated black robes make him appear scholarly rather than imposing, and his warm violet eyes immediately focus on Lady Ardyn with genuine concern.

"Lord Chancellor." Lady Ardyn's relief is palpable. "I was expecting to meet with His Majesty directly."

"The King asked me to receive you personally." Vorian's smile radiates reassurance. "Please, shall we speak somewhere more private?"

He leads us to a smaller chamber off the main hall, its walls lined with books and warmed by a fireplace that crackles with enchanted flames. The intimacy of the space seems designed to encourage confidential conversations.

"My husband—" Lady Ardyn begins the moment we're seated.

"Is perfectly safe," Vorian interrupts gently, his hands folded calmly. "Lord Aethan has been sent on confidential Crown business. I apologize for the suddenness, but matters of state sometimes require immediate departure."

"Crown business?" Lady Ardyn leans forward eagerly. "What sort of⁠—"

"I'm afraid I cannot discuss the specifics." Vorian's expression remains kindly but firm. "You understand how sensitive these diplomatic matters can be."

I settle into the background, adopting the invisible posture that years of service have perfected. But something about the Chancellor's careful phrasing makes my skin prickle. His words feel rehearsed, polished smooth by repetition.

"When will he return?" Lady Ardyn's voice carries a note of desperation she's trying to hide.

"These assignments rarely have fixed timelines." Vorian spreads his hands apologetically. "But rest assured, the Crown values Lord Aethan's service immensely. He volunteered for this duty specifically because of his unique qualifications."

"Volunteered?" Lady Ardyn's eyebrows draw together. "He said nothing about⁠—"

"Discretion was paramount." The Chancellor's interruption flows seamlessly, as though he anticipated this exact question. "Even family members couldn't be informed beforehand."

Lady Ardyn clutches her hands together, the gesture betraying nerves she's trying to conceal. "But surely you can tell me something more? Where he's gone? How long these missions typically last?"

"I understand your concern completely." Vorian's voice maintains its soothing cadence, but I notice how he sidesteps each specific question with the grace of someone well-practiced in deflection. "Lord Aethan's expertise in certain diplomatic matters makes him invaluable for delicate negotiations."

From my position near the window, I watch this careful dance of non-answers. The Chancellor speaks with the polished assurance of someone delivering well-rehearsed lines, each response designed to comfort without revealing anything substantial. His words flow like honey over stone—sweet, but leaving no lasting impression.

"When did he depart?" Lady Ardyn's voice grows smaller with each deflected question.

"Several days ago, as you've undoubtedly noticed." Vorian spreads his hands in a gesture of sympathetic helplessness. "The Crown apologizes for any inconvenience this sudden departure may have caused your household."

I bite my tongue to keep from speaking. Inconvenience seems a peculiar word choice for a wife's distress over her husband's unexplained absence.

"I see." Lady Ardyn's shoulders sag slightly. "And there's truly nothing more you can tell me?"

"Only that Lord Aethan serves the Crown with distinction, as he always has." Vorian rises smoothly from his chair. "But please, allow me to arrange some refreshments before your journey home. The evening air can be quite brisk."

"That's very kind." Lady Ardyn accepts his offer with the gracious politeness expected of nobility, though disappointment shadows her features.

Vorian signals to a nearby servant, who materializes with the silent efficiency palace staff have perfected. "Some warm spiced wine and perhaps some of those excellent honey cakes from the kitchens?"

As we wait for refreshments, the Chancellor fills the silence with gentle inquiries about the estate, the weather, anything except the topic that brought us here. His conversation feels like silk draped over steel—beautiful on the surface but concealing something harder underneath.

The wine arrives in delicate crystal goblets that catch the firelight, accompanied by pastries arranged on silver platters. Lady Ardyn sips politely while Vorian maintains his stream of pleasant, meaningless chatter.

But something gnaws at me as I stand quietly by the door. Aethan trusted me with everything—his correspondence, his meeting schedules, his private concerns about various court intrigues. We spent countless hours discussing the political undercurrents that shaped kingdom policy.

If the Crown had truly assigned him to some crucial diplomatic mission, why wouldn't he have mentioned it to me, even in passing?

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