Page 11 of Dark Elf Makes Five

The merchant's spine straightens with righteous indignation. "I did." Her gaze rakes over Kessara with open disdain. "Bringing human strays into your home is one thing, Lord Morvath, but parading your... appetites... through respectable establishments is quite another."

I step forward until mere inches separate us. The woman's breath catches in her throat as my pale eyes bore into hers with lethal intensity.

"Kessara is a member of my household staff." Each word drops like a blade. "Not a warm body purchased from the dark markets, not entertainment for my personal amusement. She is my staff, and she will be treated as such by everyone on my land."

The merchant's face pales to the color of old parchment. Her hands flutter uselessly at her sides as she realizes the magnitude of her mistake.

"I own this land." My voice holds the weight of complete authority. "I own these shops, these buildings, these streets you walk upon. Every coin that passes through your fingers exists because I allow it."

Her mouth opens and closes soundlessly, like a fish gasping on dry land.

"You will never speak of my staff in such terms again. Do I make myself clear?"

"Y-yes, my lord. Of course, my lord. I meant no⁠—"

"You meant exactly what you said."

I turn away from her sputtering apologies, striding toward the door with measured steps. The brass bell chimes again as I push into the street, my voice carrying clearly across the cobblestones where merchants and shopkeepers have gathered like vultures drawn to carrion.

"I'll be taking my coin to an establishment more equipped to serve my needs."

The woman behind me makes a strangled sound of protest, but I've already dismissed her existence. My gaze sweeps across the faces staring at us with wide eyes and gaping mouths.

"I need a seamstress."

Silence stretches across the square like a held breath. Then movement catches my attention—a dark-skinned elven woman emerging from a shop across the street. Her movements flow with practiced grace as she approaches, dropping into a respectful bow that speaks of genuine deference rather than calculated submission.

"I would be honored to serve you, my lord."

I reach into my coat, withdrawing a leather pouch significantly heavier than the first. The coins within clink together with promising weight as I press it into Kessara's hands. Her fingers close around the leather reflexively, though her hazel eyes remain fixed on my face with something approaching wonder.

"Take the children with you."

She nods once, gathering her siblings with gentle touches. Lysa's small hand finds hers immediately, while Bran positions himself protectively beside Tobin. They cross the street together, a small procession of determination and barely concealed awe.

Draven materializes at my shoulder, his weathered face impassive but alert. His eyes scan the crowd with professional assessment, cataloguing potential threats and escape routes with the efficiency of a career soldier.

"In future, you will accompany her on any town visits." My voice remains low enough that only he can hear. "Into the stores as well."

"Understood."

I watch Kessara disappear into the seamstress shop, her siblings trailing behind like ducklings following their mother. The gathered merchants begin to disperse, their whispered conversations carrying fragments of speculation and nervous energy.

Let them talk. Let them wonder and whisper and weave whatever tales suit their small minds. My money flows through this town like lifeblood through veins. These people exist at my pleasure, survive on my generosity, prosper because I allow it.

I can fuck whoever I choose. I can feed whoever I choose. The distinction between the two remains mine to make.

7

KESSARA

The sharp rap against our door cuts through the pre-dawn darkness like a blade. I jolt upright, heart hammering against my ribcage as my eyes strain to make sense of the shadows. The knock comes again—three measured strikes that carry unmistakable authority.

"Get up. All of you. Dress and meet me in the grand hall."

Lord Morvath's voice penetrates the wooden door with crisp efficiency. No explanation, no pleasantries. Just commands delivered with the expectation of immediate compliance.

I scramble from the narrow bed, bare feet hitting cold stone. Around me, my siblings stir with sleepy confusion. Lysa's dark curls peek above her blanket like a small bird's nest, while Tobin rubs his eyes with the back of his hand.