Page 10 of Dark Elf Makes Five

Footsteps echo in the hallway, quick and familiar. Kessara stands in the doorway, her bronze skin flushed from the afternoon heat and her dark hair escaping its braid in wispy strands around her face.

"What are you doing out here?" She rounds on her siblings with sharp concern. "I told you to stay in the room."

Her hazel eyes dart between the children and me, confusion and protective anger warring across her features. The flat of candles rests in her arms like a shield, but I notice what's missing immediately.

"Where are the clothes?"

Color floods her cheeks. Her gaze drops to the floor, shoulders curving inward as if trying to make herself smaller.

"We don't need new clothes." The words emerge just above a whisper. "But I got the candles, as you requested."

I stand up from my chair, the movement sharp enough to make Lysa flinch. My boots click against the floor as I approach Kessara, each step deliberate and measured.

"You were given direct orders to purchase new clothes." My voice holds the weight of authority. "Clothes that don't make you and these children look like slaves in my home."

Her chin lifts with familiar defiance, hazel eyes sparking. "Their clothes will be just fine after I wash them."

I step closer, close enough that she has to crane her neck to meet my gaze. The scent of orchard leaves and soap clings to her skin, but underneath lies something sharper—fear, carefully controlled.

"You will not argue with me."

Her breath catches, but she doesn't retreat. Stubborn woman.

"The last thing I need is for the people in this town to find ammunition against my reputation—the same reputation that allowed me to bring four humans into my home."

"The rumors are already spreading." The words burst from her lips before she can stop them.

My jaw tightens. "What rumors?"

She glances at the children, her voice dropping to little more a whisper. "That damned elven shopkeeper wouldn't serve me. They think I'm..." Her cheeks flame red. "They think I'm 'Lord Morvath's whore'."

Rage floods through me, cold and absolute. The idea of bedding this fierce human woman is one I've entertained more than once since she arrived, but I won't tolerate some pathetic merchant besmirching my name with crude speculation.

I turn toward the door. "Draven! Prepare the carriage. We're going to town."

"My lord⁠—"

"Now."

The silence that follows stretches taut as a bowstring. Kessara's siblings watch with wide eyes, sensing the shift in the air without understanding its source.

"All of you will come with me."

Minutes later, we settle into the carriage—four humans pressed together on one bench while I occupy the opposite seat. They sit in absolute silence, Tobin's small fingers wrapped around Kessara's hand like a lifeline. Even the boy's usual energy has been smothered by the tension crackling through the enclosed space.

The carriage wheels rattle over cobblestones, each bump jarring us closer to town. I watch them huddle together, these siblings bound by loss and loyalty, and something protective stirs in my chest.

When we reach the market square, I don't wait for the driver to open the door. I step down first, turning to face Kessara.

"Which store?"

She points with a trembling finger toward a narrow storefront squeezed between a bakery and a blacksmith's shop. Faded fabric samples hang in the dusty window.

"Come. All of you."

I stride through the door, the brass bell announcing my arrival with sharp chimes. The shopkeeper—a middle-aged elf woman with graying auburn hair—looks up from her ledger. Her eyes widen when she sees me, then narrow to slits when Kessara and her siblings file in behind me.

"Did you refuse service to this woman?"