Page 23 of Dark Elf Makes Five

"Preparing for it." I gather the letters into a neat stack. "The political climate has shifted. Our guests may find themselves the target of more than gossip."

Draven's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly—the only sign that he's processing implications beyond the immediate orders. "I'll see to the wall patrols immediately. Additional men around the orchard as well."

"Good. There's more." I stand, taking the correspondence to the fireplace and gingerly tossing the stack in. "Kessara will need to visit the market tomorrow. You'll personally escort her, along with whatever additional guards you deem necessary."

The captain's eyebrows rise fractionally. "Personally, my lord?"

"I want eyes and ears I trust observing the town's mood. The gossip has escalated beyond idle chatter." I meet his gaze directly. "Report anything of note when you return."

Draven straightens, his military bearing asserting itself. "Understood. How public do you want this escort to appear?"

"Visible enough to discourage harassment. Subtle enough to avoid appearing defensive." I pause, considering the balance required. "The goal is protection, not provocation."

"I'll handle it." He hesitates, then adds, "The men have noticed increased activity along our borders. Riders who don't appear to be conducting normal business."

"Watching the estate?"

"Possibly. Or carrying messages between houses." His expression darkens. "Could be both."

The confirmation settles into my mind like a piece clicking into place on a chess board. Lady Selmyra's letter campaign represents only the visible portion of her strategy—the obvious moves designed to distract from more subtle preparations.

"Increase the border patrols as well. I want to know about every rider who passes within sight of our lands."

"Yes, my lord."

Draven turns to leave, but I raise a hand to stop him. "Captain. Your assessment of the threat level?"

He considers the question with the methodical approach that made him valuable during his military service. "Growing. But manageable if we stay ahead of it."

"See that we do."

The door closes behind him, leaving me with thoughts that grow darker as the afternoon light fades. I move from the fireplace to the tall windows overlooking the estate grounds, my gaze automatically seeking the familiar patterns of daily life that have defined this place for years.

Movement in the courtyard below catches my attention. Kessara walks alongside her siblings, Lysa's hand clasped firmly in hers while Bran and Tobin chase each other around the fountain. The scene carries an innocence that seems almost fragile against the backdrop of noble machinations and whispered threats.

But as I watch them, tactical considerations override the peaceful tableau. The courtyard's open design, the multiple access points, the distance from the main house—every detail that makes it perfect for children's play also makes it vulnerable to those who might seek to use them as leverage.

Kessara's laugh drifts up through the glass as Tobin stumbles dramatically into the fountain's edge, his theatrical fall earning applause from his siblings. She has no idea how easily her devotion to them could become a weapon in someone else's hands.

13

KESSARA

The library door clicks shut behind me, leaving Master Ramin's droning voice and my siblings' scratching quills safely contained within those book-lined walls. Bran had actually smiled when I checked his penmanship this morning—a genuine expression rather than the forced cheer he's worn since the school incident. Perhaps having lessons here instead of enduring daily humiliation among his peers suits him better than I'd expected.

I turn toward the main corridor, already mentally cataloguing the morning's tasks, when Master Halvren's familiar silhouette blocks my path. The steward stands with his customary perfect posture, hands clasped behind his back and that unreadable expression that's served him through decades of managing this estate. We've barely spoken since those first awkward days when he assigned us rooms and explained the household rules—our interactions limited to polite nods when we pass in the corridors.

Seeing him waiting here, clearly intending conversation, sends an uncomfortable prickle up my spine.

"Miss Kessara." He extends a folded paper toward me with the same measured precision he brings to everything else. "We find ourselves in need of several supplies that cannot be procured from the estate grounds."

I accept the list, scanning the neat handwriting that details cleaning materials and cooking ingredients. Nothing unusual or expensive, but the timing feels deliberate. "Of course. I'll gather these this afternoon."

"The carriage awaits you at the front entrance." His tone carries that particular neutrality that suggests orders from higher authority. "Captain Draven has been assigned to accompany you."

My fingers tighten on the paper. Of course Zerion arranged this—probably thanks to our conversation yesterday about not wanting me to hide behind his estate walls. The man's protective instincts manifest in the most infuriatingly high-handed ways.

"How thoughtful of his lordship to consider me for his shopping needs."