Page 17 of Dark Elf Makes Five

"I was defending you from those foul-mouthed, spoon-fed, spoiled elven bastards."

The words ring through the dining room like a bell, and I watch in horror as his gaze slides down the length of the table to where Lord Zerion sits, still absorbed in his ledger.

"Er... my apologies, Lord Morvath."

Zerion glances up from his books, those ghostly eyes taking in the scene with calm assessment. His shoulders rise and fall in the barest suggestion of a shrug before he returns his attention to the pages before him, as if thirteen-year-old human boys calling his entire race bastards happens every other day. Which, to be fair, it does whether or not he realizes.

I grab Bran's shoulders, forcing him to meet my eyes. The bruise on his jaw looks worse up close, the skin mottled and swollen.

"Listen to me, all of you. It doesn't matter what they say about me. Do you understand? It doesn't matter if they call me every name in the book or spread lies about what I do here. You never, ever give them reason to hurt you."

Bran's jaw tightens, the muscle jumping beneath the bruised skin. "So I'm supposed to just stand there while they⁠—"

"Yes." The word cracks through the air like a whip. "You stand there and you ignore it, because the moment you raise your hand against one of them, they have every excuse they need to do worse than bruise your face. They could have you arrested, Bran. They could have you all thrown out of school, out of this house, out of town entirely."

My voice drops to a whisper, but every word carries the oppressive weight of years spent watching humans disappear for lesser offenses.

"I won't lose any of you to your pride. Not when we finally have somewhere safe."

Lysa lets out a sound that makes my blood freeze—a bitter laugh that belongs on the lips of someone three times her age. She walks past us toward the dining table, her small shoulders rigid with an attitude I've never seen from her before.

"Safe." She sets her school notebook beside her usual place setting with a slap. "Right. Because it's not like we're going to make friends with anyone anyway."

The casual bitterness in her voice shocks me so much that I can only stand there with my jaw nearly hitting the floor. This is my Lysa, who used to see magic in dandelion seeds and found reasons to smile even when her stomach cramped with hunger.

"All the other students were warned to stay away from us. Even the other humans." She slides into her chair and stares down at her empty plate. "I caught Curian Ashworth trying to put mud in my water cup during lunch. Mud, Kessa. Like I'm some kind of animal."

The words land like stones in my chest, each one heavier than the last. I'd hoped—gods, how foolishly I'd hoped—that they could just attend school like normal children. Study their letters and numbers, maybe even find a friend or two among the other human students.

Instead, they're targets. Outcasts. Marked by association with me and the choices I made to bring them here.

"Tobin." My voice comes out hollow, defeated. "Go sit with your brother and sister."

He scurries past me without his usual bounce, climbing into his chair with uncharacteristic quiet. I move mechanically around the table, ladling soup into bowls and arranging bread on plates. The familiar motions feel foreign now, weighted with the knowledge that every spoonful comes at the cost of my siblings' childhood.

I'm reaching for the wine decanter when Lord Zerion's voice stops me cold.

"Kessara."

I freeze, my hand halfway to the crystal vessel. His tone carries that particular note of quiet authority that makes every servant in the house jump to attention.

"Do I need to tell you again tonight?"

I turn slowly, keeping my gaze fixed on the polished marble floor. The pattern of veins in the stone blurs as tears threaten to spill over.

"Sir, servants are supposed to eat in the⁠—"

"Sit."

The single word cuts through my protest like a blade through parchment. When I finally risk a glance up, those grey eyes pin me in place with unwavering intensity.

"Eat with your family."

Without a word, I sit across from the three of them, ladling my own soup and heaving a deep sigh before joining the sound of eating.

10

ZERION