Page 31 of Dark Elf Makes Five

"Because parading me in front of every noble in the province will somehow improve matters?" Her voice rises an octave. "They'll tear me apart like wolves. I don't know their customs, their manners, their⁠—"

"Halvren." I don't raise my voice, but the steward appears within moments as if summoned by magic.

"My lord?"

"Arrange for appropriate formal attire for Miss Thornefield. Something suitable for Lady Vespira's gathering. Also, ensure a seamstress and ladies' maids are available to assist with preparations."

Halvren's weathered face betrays nothing, though I catch a slight widening of his eyes. "Of course, my lord. Shall I send for⁠—"

"No." Kessara pushes back from the table, her chair scraping on the stone floor. "Absolutely not. It will only anger them more."

I set my fork down with deliberate calm, the porcelain clicking against the plate in the sudden silence. The children have gone completely still, their eyes darting between Kessara and me like spectators at a duel.

"Sit down." My voice carries the quiet authority that makes seasoned soldiers pause mid-step.

Kessara's hands clench into fists at her sides, but she reluctantly returns to her chair. The flush hasn't faded from her cheeks, and I can practically hear the arguments churning behind her eyes.

"Every noble within fifty miles already believes you warm my bed." I resume eating as if discussing the weather. "They whisper that I've lost my senses over a human woman, that you've bewitched me with some peasant charm. Hiding you away only feeds their theories."

"Because appearing at a formal gathering will somehow convince them otherwise?" Her voice drips with sarcasm. "They'll see exactly what they expect to see—proof that their rumors are true."

"Perhaps. Or they'll see something far more dangerous." I meet her gaze across the table. "A woman who refuses to cower. A lord who doesn't apologize for his choices. The distinction matters more than you realize."

Tobin shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "What if something bad happens to Kessa?"

"Nothing will happen to her." The certainty in my voice surprises even me. "She'll be under my protection."

"Your protection won't stop their tongues from wagging," Kessara mutters, stabbing at her vegetables with unnecessary force. "If anything, it will make them worse."

"Let them wag." I lean back, studying her flushed face. "Every word they speak against you is another inch added to their grave. I've grown quite fond of digging lately."

The threat hangs in the air like morning mist, and I watch understanding dawn in Kessara's eyes. She knows what happened to the merchant. She knows I don't make empty promises.

"You can't intimidate every noble in the province," she says, but her voice lacks conviction.

"Watch me."

Lysa tugs on Kessara's sleeve. "What's a gathering like? Do they have dancing?"

"I wouldn't know, sweetheart." Kessara's voice softens as she turns to her sister. "I've never been to one."

"That's why we have a week to prepare," I interject. "Halvren will arrange everything you need. Proper attire, instruction in court etiquette, whatever else is required."

"This is madness." But Kessara's protest sounds weaker now, resignation creeping into her tone. "What if I make a fool of myself? If I use the wrong fork or curtsy incorrectly or⁠—"

"Then you'll learn quickly. You survived years keeping your family fed through wit and determination. I doubt noble etiquette will prove more challenging than petty theft."

Bran giggles at that, earning a sharp look from Tobin that silences him immediately.

Kessara picks up the invitation, her fingers tracing Lady Vespira's seal. "They'll crucify us both."

"They'll try." I finish my wine and set the goblet aside. "But I've found that crucifixion requires the victim's cooperation."

And I don't intend on making this easy.

17

KESSARA