Page 35 of Dark Elf Makes Five

"It's degrading." Her voice carries the sharp edge I've come to recognize as her particular brand of defiance. "And that's what she calls you."

The reference to Selmyra sends an unexpected flicker of satisfaction through my chest. So she's been paying attention to more than just her duties around the estate. I pull her closer, feeling the warmth of her body against mine as the waltz carries us in slow circles around the dance floor. Her breath catches slightly as I brush a strand of dark hair from her neck, my fingers lingering against the soft skin there.

"Then what would you prefer?" My voice drops to a whisper meant only for her ears. "Sweet? Precious? Beautiful?" Each word is a deliberate caress against the shell of her ear. "Or perhaps something more... intimate?"

The flush that spreads across her cheeks has absolutely nothing to do with the warmth of the ballroom, and everything to do with the way her pulse jumps beneath my fingertips where they rest at her throat. She opens her mouth to respond, but her words are lost as the whispered conversations around us suddenly sharpen into focus.

"—lost complete control of his judgment⁠—"

"—acting like a barbarian over some human⁠—"

"—clearly been seduced beyond reason⁠—"

My jaw tightens as the gossip filters through the music, each whispered word a calculated blade aimed at my reputation. I continue the dance, my movements never faltering even as my gaze sweeps the ballroom with predatory precision. It doesn't take long to locate the source.

Selmyra stands near the refreshment table, her eyes gleaming under the chandeliers as she leans close to Lord and Lady Caelum. Her silver eyes glitter with malicious satisfaction as she speaks in hushed tones, her elegant hands gesturing subtly in our direction. Whatever poison she's spreading, they're drinking it eagerly—their faces reflecting the perfect combination of shock and scandalized delight that feeds noble gossip for months.

Rage builds in my chest just like a slow-burning fire. The calculated nature of her attack becomes crystal clear. If she cannot have me as a husband, she's determined to destroy my standing entirely. Better to rule over ruins than watch someone else claim what she considers rightfully hers.

"We've accomplished what we came here for." I guide Kessara toward the dance floor with smooth steps.

Lady Vespira approaches us with her practiced hostess smile, clearly hoping to end the evening on a civilized note after the earlier violence. "Lord Morvath, I do hope you've enjoyed the gathering despite the... unfortunate incident."

"Your hospitality has been illuminating, Lady Vespira." I incline my head with formal courtesy.

Kessara steps forward, a glint in her hazel eyes that speaks of trouble. "It's fascinating how some people define hospitality, isn't it? True welcome means protecting your guests from predators—not just cleaning up the blood afterward. It's lucky My Lord's reflexes are so swift." Her smile is razor-sharp beneath the veneer of politeness. "Perhaps you might consider what that really means."

Lady Vespira's composed mask slips for just a moment, her eyes widening at the boldness of the statement. The implication hangs in the air like smoke—that she failed in her duty as hostess by allowing Ludric's behavior in the first place.

"It was a lovely party, your Ladyship," Kessara adds with a gentle but beaming smile.

I place my hand at the small of Kessara's back, feeling the tension thrumming through her body as we move toward the ballroom's grand entrance. My fingers trace along her spine through the silk of her gown, a possessive touch that sends whispers rippling through the nobles we pass.

The night air hits us as we step outside, cool and clean after the stifling atmosphere of aristocratic pretense. My carriage waits in the circular drive, the equus stamping impatiently in their traces.

I help her inside, my hands lingering at her waist longer than strictly necessary as I lift her up into the plush interior. Her fingers brush mine as she settles into the seat, and for a moment, the space between us crackles with something far more dangerous than mere scandal.

19

KESSARA

"That was a disaster," I sigh as we step through the manor's heavy oak doors, the weight of the evening settling on my shoulders like a lead cloak.

Master Halvren appears from the shadows with his usual silent efficiency, reaching for my borrowed coat with hands that have performed this ritual countless times. The fine wool feels foreign against my fingers as I slip it from my shoulders—too soft, too expensive, too much like wearing someone else's skin.

"On the contrary, it went wonderfully. Better than I anticipated, actually." Zerion's voice carries that infuriating note of satisfaction, as if watching a man's bone snap was merely an entertaining diversion.

I scoff, turning to stare at him in disbelief. The candlelight catches the sharp angles of his face, highlighting the complete absence of regret in his pale eyes. "Were you at the same gathering I was? Because after tonight, the gossip will multiply like rabbits in spring."

"Perhaps." He adjusts his cuffs with deliberate movements as he heads down the hallway. "But the threats should subside considerably. Talk will die down with time."

"As if!" The words burst out, incredulity making my voice sharper than I intend. I follow him as he strides toward his study like tonight was nothing more than a successful business transaction. "You broke a Lord's arm!"

Halvren's face goes pale, his weathered features arranging themselves into an expression of pure shock. The coat slips from his suddenly nerveless fingers, pooling on the marble floor like a silk puddle.

"My Lord?" His voice cracks slightly on the words.

"Yes, yes." Zerion waves his hand with the casual dismissiveness of someone swatting away a persistent fly. He rounds his massive desk, settling into his chair as if bone-breaking is simply another tedious administrative duty. "The old bastard deserved it. I will not apologize."