Page 58 of Dark Elf Makes Five

"The magical signature suggests dark elf involvement, my lord. This level of precision requires training and resources beyond what common criminals possess."

Selmyra. Her name burns through my thoughts like poison, carrying with it the promise of retribution that will reshape the very landscape of this region. She has crossed a line that cannot be uncrossed, committed an act that demands payment in blood and screaming.

"Find them."

My voice emerges as something barely recognizable—a growl torn from depths I rarely acknowledge, carrying violence that makes even Draven's scarred features tighten with recognition.

"Tear this province apart stone by stone if necessary. Question everyone who has breathed the same air as those children in the past month."

The captain nods grimly, understanding flowing between us without need for further explanation. He has served long enough to recognize when diplomacy ends and warfare begins.

"And when we locate the perpetrators?"

"Slaughter anyone who was involved in this."

The words leave no room for mercy, no space for negotiation or half-measures. Someone has taken what belongs to me, threatened the fragile peace I've built in this place, and they will learn why dark elves once ruled empires through fear alone.

Kessara's sobs intensify against my chest, her body wracked with tremors that seem to originate from her very bones. I press my lips to her damp hair, tasting rain and terror and the salt of tears that have no end.

The fire crackles in its hearth, casting dancing shadows across the library walls where three children once sat for their lessons, safe and warm and utterly unaware of the dangers circling just beyond the estate's boundaries.

Now they are gone, stolen into the storm's fury, and I will burn the world to ash before I allow them to remain lost.

The small stuffed Thistle—a herd animal covered in wool—lies crushed between Kessara's cheek and the pillow, its wool matted with tears that finally stopped falling an hour ago. Her breathing has evened into the shallow rhythm of exhausted sleep, but her fingers still clutch the toy with desperate intensity, as if releasing it might sever her last connection to her sister.

I ease myself onto the narrow bed beside her, careful not to disturb the fragile peace she's found. The mattress dips under my weight, and she shifts unconsciously toward the warmth of my body, seeking comfort even in sleep. Her dark hair spreads across the pillow in damp tangles, and I smooth the strands away from her face with fingers that tremble despite my efforts at control.

This is my fault. The thought carves through my chest like a blade, sharp and unforgiving. I knew Selmyra was planning something. I had reports, warnings, evidence of her schemes. And still I let this happen. Still I failed to protect three innocent children who trusted me to keep them safe.

The weight of that failure presses against my ribs until breathing becomes an effort. These children were under my roof, under my protection. They looked to me for safety, and I gave them nothing but false security while danger circled closer.

A gentle knock interrupts the spiral of self-recrimination. I murmur permission to enter, keeping my voice low enough not to wake the woman beside me.

Draven appears, his second-in-command hovering behind him like a shadow. Both men are still damp from the rain, their armor gleaming with moisture and their faces grim with purpose.

"My lord," Draven begins, his weathered features tight with suppressed urgency. "We found muddy wagon tracks leading toward the forest road outside the estate boundaries."

Kessara stirs against my shoulder, her eyelids fluttering as consciousness creeps back through the haze of grief and exhaustion. She takes in the room, me, the guards.

"What's happened?" Her voice emerges rough and broken, scraped raw by hours of weeping.

"We have a potential lead on where the children went," Draven explains, his tone carefully neutral.

The words strike Kessara like lightning. She flies upright, her hazel eyes wild with desperate hope and fury that burns bright enough to illuminate the dim room.

"Well, let's go then! What are we waiting for?"

My hand catches her wrist before she can swing her legs over the side of the bed, holding her in place with gentle but implacable pressure.

"You're in no condition to be going anywhere. It's late and you need to stay here—my men and I will handle this."

The transformation that crosses her features is nothing short of magnificent. The broken woman who collapsed in my arms becomes something fierce and untamed, her spine straightening with defiance I haven't seen since that first night in my garden. Fury blazes across her face, mixed with passion and determination that could move mountains.

"Am I not your equal now?" The words emerge as venom, sharp enough to draw blood. "Do you only favor me when it suits you, Lord Morvath?"

"Now, that's not what⁠—"

"I am going to be there searching for my family, Zerion. This is not a negotiation. Do you understand me?"