Page 43 of Dark Elf Makes Five

Lysa appears around the corner with her dark curls bouncing, lower lip jutting out in a dramatic pout. "Tobin and Bran won't let me play soldiers with them! I'm tired of being the princess all the time!"

"Oh." Kessara's voice climbs an octave as she scrambles for a solution. "Well, perhaps... Lord Morvath can be the princess today?"

I stare at her in complete disbelief. The woman who melted beneath my touch moments ago has just volunteered me for what might be the most undignified role imaginable.

"Wonderful!" Lysa shrieks, seizing my arm with surprising strength for such a small child. "Come on, Princess Zerion! We need to rescue you from the dragon!"

She begins dragging me toward the courtyard with determination that would impress my estate guards. I glance back desperately at Kessara, who has pressed her hand firmly over her mouth, shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter.

The sight of her amusement makes my reluctant participation almost worthwhile.

Almost.

Twenty minutes later, I find myself crouched behind a stone bench in the courtyard garden, wearing an improvised crown fashioned from twisted grape vines that Lysa insisted would make me "look more princess-like." The indignity of my situation becomes complete when Tobin charges around the corner wielding a wooden sword, his freckled face scrunched with theatrical determination.

"Fear not, Princess Zerion!" he shouts, brandishing his weapon with surprising skill. "I shall rescue you from the terrible dragon!"

Bran emerges from behind the fountain, arms spread wide and making what I assume are meant to be menacing dragon noises. The sound resembles a dying goose more than any fearsome beast, but his siblings seem thoroughly convinced by the performance.

"You'll never defeat me, brave knight!" Bran roars, chasing Tobin in circles around the garden path. "The princess belongs to me forever!"

I catch sight of Kessara leaning against the manor wall, still covering her mouth with both hands as her shoulders shake with silent laughter. Her eyes sparkle with such genuine delight that I find myself almost enjoying this ridiculous charade.

"Help me, brave knight!" I call out in what I hope passes for a distressed maiden's voice. "The dragon has imprisoned me with his terrible... dragon magic!"

Lysa claps her hands together, bouncing on her toes. "Oh, you're very good at being a princess! Much better than me!"

The mock battle intensifies as Tobin lunges forward with his wooden sword, engaging Bran in an elaborate duel complete with dramatic flourishes and exaggerated death scenes. Their joy transforms the entire courtyard, filling the space with warmth that has absolutely nothing to do with the morning sun.

When Tobin finally delivers the "killing blow," Bran collapses with theatrical flair, tongue lolling out as he declares his defeat. The children cheer, and Lysa rushes to remove my grape vine crown with ceremonious importance.

"You're free now, Princess Zerion!" she announces. "The dragon can never bother you again!"

I rise from my undignified crouch, brushing dirt from my coat while trying to salvage some remnant of lordly composure. "Thank you, brave heroes. Your kingdom owes you a great debt."

Kessara finally approaches, her laughter subsiding into a warm smile that makes my chest almost hurt with unexpected emotion. "That was quite a performance, my lord. I had no idea you possessed such... dramatic talents."

"Neither did I," I admit, watching as the children begin planning their next adventure. "It appears your siblings have discovered hidden depths in me I never knew existed."

She steps closer, close enough that I catch the faint scent of orchard blossoms in her hair. "They have that effect on people. Making the impossible seem perfectly natural."

Her words carry deeper meaning, and I understand she's not just talking about childhood games. These three small humans have somehow carved out space in my carefully ordered world, creating pockets of warmth I never knew I was missing.

"Indeed they do," I murmur, watching Lysa organize the next round of play while her brothers debate the rules with earnest concentration. "Indeed they do."

23

KESSARA

"The gardens? Again?"

Three pairs of eyes stare back at me from across the dining table, plates scraped so clean they practically gleam in the candlelight. Bran sits straighter in his chair, affecting an air of innocent virtue that fools absolutely no one. Lysa clasps her hands together like she's praying to some benevolent deity of outdoor adventures. Even Tobin has abandoned his usual bashful demeanor in favor of hopeful expectation.

"We finished everything," Bran announces, gesturing toward his spotless plate with the pride of someone who's just conquered a mountain. "Every last crumb."

"Including the carrots," Lysa adds, wrinkling her nose at the memory. "Even though they taste like dirt."

I glance at the empty serving dishes scattered across the polished mahogany surface. They devoured tonight's meal with the efficiency of a pack of wolves, clearly hoping their enthusiasm for roasted chicken and vegetables would earn them extended playtime privileges.