Page 30 of Dark Elf Makes Five

"My lord." Mrs. Adlren appears at the base of the stairs, her arms laden with a thick stack of letters bound with various colored ribbons. "The post arrived."

I accept the bundle, noting the familiar seals of neighboring estates mixed with what seems to be correspondence from the capital. Nothing that can't wait until after the meal, though the sheer volume suggests more nobles have taken interest in my household arrangements.

"Thank you."

The dining room doors stand open, revealing Kessara already seated at the long table with her three siblings clustered around her. Bran sits to her right, his dark hair still bearing traces of ink from his morning lessons with Master Ramin. Lysa perches on the edge of her chair, swinging her legs while she chatters to Tobin, who nods along with the serious expression of a boy trying to appear older than his years.

I pause in the doorway, observing the scene. Three weeks ago, convincing Kessara to join me for meals required direct orders and thinly veiled threats. Now she sits comfortably in the chair I designated as hers, no longer treating each invitation like a trap waiting to spring. The transformation pleases me more than it should.

Custom dictates that servants eat in the kitchens after their betters have finished. Custom also dictates that dark elf lords don't house human thieves and their siblings, provide them with tutors, or concern themselves with the gossip of provincial merchants. I abandoned adherence to custom the night I found Kessara in my gardens.

"Good afternoon." I settle into my chair at the head of the table, placing the correspondence beside my plate.

Kessara rises immediately, moving to the sideboard where covered dishes wait. Her movements carry the efficiency born of weeks spent learning the rhythms of my household—no wasted motion, no hesitation. She serves my plate first with practiced precision, ladling roasted root vegetables and sliced meat without needing to ask my preferences.

"Master Ramin says I'm getting better at my letters," Lysa announces, bouncing slightly in her seat as Kessara fills her plate. "I wrote my whole name today without any help."

"That's wonderful, love." Kessara's voice carries genuine warmth as she moves to serve Bran. "What else did you learn?"

"He showed us maps of the kingdom," Bran interjects, his eyes bright with enthusiasm. "Did you know there are cities with more people than our entire town? Master Ramin says some have libraries bigger than this whole manor."

I watch Kessara's face as she serves Tobin, noting the mixture of pride and something else—wistfulness, perhaps—that flickers across her features. These opportunities she's providing her siblings come at a cost I doubt they fully comprehend.

"And Tobin solved three arithmetic problems without counting on his fingers," Lysa continues, grinning at her youngest brother. "Master Ramin was very impressed."

Tobin flushes pink but straightens his shoulders with obvious pride. "They weren't that hard."

"Don't be modest," Kessara says, finally serving herself before taking her seat. "You should be proud of your progress."

The conversation flows around me as I eat, punctuated by excited descriptions of lessons and discoveries. Bran explains the principles of navigation while Lysa demonstrates her improved penmanship by tracing letters in the air. Tobin, normally the quietest of the three, grows animated discussing the mathematical concepts Master Ramin introduced.

I find myself genuinely entertained by their enthusiasm. When did I start looking forward to these meals? When did Kessara's presence across from me become something I anticipated rather than tolerated?

She catches me watching her and raises an eyebrow in silent question. I return my attention to my plate, but not before noticing how the afternoon light brings out the gold flecks in her hazel eyes.

I reach for the topmost letter while the children continue their animated discussion. The wax seal bears Lady Vespira's familiar crest—a twisted vine surrounding a crescent moon. I break it open and scan the elegant script within.

An invitation to a spring gathering at her estate next week. How perfectly timed.

A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth as I consider the possibilities. Lady Vespira has been one of the many vocal critics of my household arrangements, spreading whispers through every drawing room in the province. Her invitation represents either an olive branch or an opportunity to publicly humiliate me. Either way, it presents an intriguing chance to address the rumors directly.

I glance down the table where Kessara sits cutting Bran's meat into smaller pieces, her attention focused entirely on her siblings' needs. The idea crystallizing in my mind borders on either brilliant or catastrophic.

"Lady Vespira has extended an invitation to her autumn gathering," I announce, setting the letter beside my plate.

Kessara looks up from Bran's plate. "How generous of her. It's good to see the nobles aren't too upset with you after all."

The innocent assumption in her voice only makes my decision more appealing. "You'll attend with me."

Her knife clatters against the porcelain. "I beg your pardon?"

"The gathering is next Saturday evening. You'll accompany me as my guest."

Tobin's eyes widen while Lysa stops mid-chew to stare between us. Kessara's face drains of color before flushing bright red.

"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard." She sets down her utensils with deliberate precision. "I'm a servant in your household, not some noble lady who attends fancy parties. The scandal alone would⁠—"

"Would what? Confirm the rumors already circulating?" I take another bite of roasted vegetables, savoring both the flavor and her mounting panic. "The gossips have already decided you're my mistress. Hiding you away only lends credence to their theories."