Page 22 of Dark Elf Makes Five

"And what response has this theory generated among our noble neighbors?"

Halvren shifts slightly, the movement betraying his discomfort. "Mixed, my lord. Some dismiss it as jealous gossip from a widow seeking to improve her prospects. Others appear more... receptive to the notion that your reputation requires protection from unsuitable influences."

I break the Ashworth seal and unfold the letter, scanning Lord Ashworth's elaborate script with growing irritation. His concerns about my "recent decisions" and their potential impact on "established social order" read like a diplomatic transcript—every word chosen to convey disapproval while maintaining plausible deniability.

"Lord Ashworth seems particularly concerned about my social standing." I fold the letter and set it aside. "What else?"

"The town gossip has grown more... colorful in recent days." Halvren's mouth tightens with distaste. "The consensus appears to be that Miss Kessara serves as your mistress, with her siblings provided comfortable lodging to ensure her continued cooperation."

"How considerate of the townspeople to concern themselves with my household arrangements."

"There's more, my lord." Halvren's tone drops lower. "Some of the more vocal critics have begun questioning whether a lord who makes such decisions can be trusted to govern his lands effectively. They wonder if your judgment has been compromised in other matters as well."

The implication hangs in the air like smoke from a poorly tended fire. I've spent years building a reputation that keeps unwanted visitors at bay and ensures my tenants respect my authority without question. Now Lady Selmyra's wounded pride threatens to undermine that carefully constructed image.

I open the next letter—another noble house expressing "concern" about reports reaching their ears. Then another. And another. Each one couched in the language of friendship and worry, but carrying the unmistakable stench of political maneuvering.

"Lady Selmyra has been thorough in her correspondence."

"Indeed, my lord. She appears to have written to every major house within a day's ride." Halvren pauses. "If I may speak plainly?"

"You may."

"The lady's strategy lacks finesse. Her desperation shows through the veneer of concern for your welfare. Most recipients will recognize the manipulation for what it is."

I set the remaining letters aside unopened, already knowing their contents. "But not all."

"No, my lord. Not all."

The afternoon light has shifted during our conversation, casting new shadows across the room. I consider the chess board that Lady Selmyra believes she's playing—her assumption that public pressure will force me to reconsider my decisions, perhaps even drive me to seek her counsel and, ultimately, her hand in marriage.

She's gravely miscalculated.

"What of Captain Draven's men? Any incidents during their escort duties?"

"None, my lord."

I nod, unsurprised. The town's hostility toward Kessara had been predictable from the moment she set foot in my house. But Lady Selmyra's campaign threatens to escalate that hostility into something more dangerous.

"Send Captain Draven to speak with me." I gather the opened letters into a neat stack. "And give Kessara errands to run in the market tomorrow. I want to show these vultures that House Morvath hides nothing."

"Yes, my lord." Halvren hesitates. "And Lady Selmyra's... communications?"

I smile, the expression carrying no warmth. "Let her continue. Every letter she sends only demonstrates her unsuitability as a potential ally or spouse. She's digging her own grave with admirable efficiency."

Halvren inclines his head with the practiced efficiency of decades. "I'll send Captain Draven immediately, my lord."

The door closes behind him with its familiar soft click, leaving me with these nobles' correspondence and the growing certainty that Lady Selmyra's campaign will require a more direct response than I'd initially anticipated. The woman's desperation has made her reckless, but recklessness in noble circles often proves more dangerous than calculated malice.

Heavy boots announce Draven's approach. Unlike Halvren's measured taps, the captain's summons carries the blunt authority of a man accustomed to battlefield urgency.

Draven steps inside, his weathered face bearing the neutral expression he wears when expecting orders he might not personally favor. His practical armor shows the wear of constant use—a marked contrast to the ceremonial uniforms favored by most noble house guards.

"You summoned me, my lord?"

"I want additional patrols along the estate walls, particularly near the orchard entrance." I sink down in my chair, studying his reaction. "Double the watch rotation if necessary."

"Expecting trouble?"