Page 42 of Dark Elf Makes Five

I push back from the desk and rise, abandoning any pretense of productivity. The contracts can wait. Everything can wait when my mind refuses to focus on anything beyond the memory of her fingers tangled in my hair.

The office door closes behind me with a soft click as I step into the corridor. Perhaps a walk through the estate will clear my head, restore some semblance of rational thought. Though I suspect even the fresh air won't banish the scent of her skin from my memory.

Heavy footsteps echo down the hallway, measured and purposeful. Captain Draven rounds the corner with the expression I've learned to recognize—jaw set, shoulders rigid, eyes sharp with urgency. Something has his attention, and it's never good news when he wears that particular look.

"What is it?" I demand, falling into step beside him without preamble.

His weathered face remains grim as we walk. "Reports from the port city came in this morning, my lord. Our contacts confirm Lady Selmyra has been meeting with mercenaries."

The words hit like cold steel against my spine. "How many?"

"At least six that we can verify. Experienced fighters, not common thugs." Draven's hand rests on his sword hilt, a habit that emerges whenever he discusses threats to the estate. "They've been asking questions about the manor's defenses, guard rotations, staff quarters."

My jaw tightens. Selmyra's desperation has apparently evolved beyond spreading gossip and social manipulation. "Any indication of their intentions?"

"Nothing specific yet, but hiring armed men suggests she's moved past subtle schemes." His voice communicates the weight of years spent anticipating violence. "The timing concerns me, given recent events."

Recent events. A diplomatic way of referring to last night's passion that likely echoes through the manor's stone walls despite our attempts at discretion.

We continue down the corridor, our footsteps creating a steady rhythm against polished floors. Selmyra's regression into hiring mercenaries reveals a level of instability I hadn't anticipated. Her wounded pride has clearly festered beyond reason, transforming into something more dangerous than mere social plotting.

"Double the perimeter patrols," I say, mind already calculating defensive measures. "And increase surveillance on anyone approaching the estate grounds."

"Already done, my lord."

The main entrance comes into view ahead, morning sunlight streaming through the open doorway like liquid gold. That's when I see her—Kessara leaning against the stone frame, one shoulder pressed to the carved pillar as she watches something beyond the threshold.

Children's laughter drifts through the entrance, bright and carefree. The sound transforms her entire posture, softening the perpetual tension she carries in her shoulders. A genuine smile curves her lips, the kind I rarely see when she thinks anyone might be watching.

My chest tightens with an emotion I can't quite name.

Kessara turns at the sound of our approaching footsteps, her smile transforming her entire face. The sunlight catches the copper threads in her dark hair, and for a moment I forget entirely about mercenaries and threats.

"Good morning," she says, that genuine warmth still lingering in her voice. "Are you here about the merchants?"

I frown. "What merchants?"

She nods toward the estate gates, where movement catches my eye. Beyond the iron bars, a cluster of people mill about with the practiced ease of traveling traders. Wagons sit arranged in a loose semicircle, canvas covers concealing their contents. Several figures lean against the wheels, their attention fixed on the manor with uncomfortable intensity.

These aren't merchants—they're scouts.

Draven steps forward, hand already moving toward his sword. "I'll take care of it, my lord."

The captain strides away with military precision, leaving us alone beneath the carved stone archway. I watch him disappear around the corner before turning back to Kessara, who remains blissfully unaware of the danger lurking beyond our walls.

Sunlight streams through her loose hair, and I can't resist reaching out to tuck a wayward strand behind her ear. "You look lovely this morning."

Color blooms across her cheeks like roses in spring. "Zerion..."

My fingers trail down the delicate curve of her neck, following the path I memorized last night. Her skin feels like silk beneath my touch, warm and impossibly soft. She shivers as my hand continues its journey, tracing her spine until it settles at the small of her back.

"Do you have any idea," I murmur, leaning closer until my breath whispers against her throat, "how difficult it was to concentrate on estate business this morning?"

Her breathing quickens, and I'm just about to press my lips to that sensitive spot below her ear when rapid footsteps echo across the courtyard.

"Kessa! Kessa!" Lysa's voice cuts the morning air like a blade.

Kessara jerks away from me so quickly she nearly stumbles, clearing her throat with obvious embarrassment. The loss of her warmth leaves me oddly bereft.