Page 61 of Dark Elf Makes Five

Dawn creeps across the horizon with agonizing slowness, painting the sky in shades of gray and pale gold. The persistent mist continues its drowsy dance through the trees, droplets collecting on leaves before falling to the forest floor with soft, rhythmic patters.

I feel the chill seeping into Kessara's bones despite her efforts to hide it, the way her shoulders tremble against my chest. Without breaking stride, I unfasten my cloak and drape it around her smaller frame, pulling her even closer to share what warmth I can offer.

The heavy fabric engulfs her, dark wool still holding traces of my body heat. She burrows into it instinctively, seeking comfort even as her mind remains focused on the search ahead.

"Zerion." Her voice emerges as barely a whisper, thick with emotions she's fighting to contain.

The sound of my name on her lips does something to the ice that has settled in my chest, warming it just enough to remind me why I'm willing to burn the world to get those children back safely.

"Yes, my sweet?"

She's quiet for several heartbeats, the only sounds our mount's steady progress and the soft creak of leather. When she speaks again, her words carry a weight that surprises me.

"Can you promise me something?"

The request hangs between us like morning mist, fragile but urgent. I don't hesitate.

"Anything."

Another pause, longer this time. I can feel her gathering courage for whatever she's about to ask, steel entering her spine as she makes some internal decision.

"I want whoever did this..." Her voice strengthens, gaining an edge sharp enough to cut. "I want them to suffer."

The bloodthirsty request should shock me. Instead, I have to fight back a smile of fierce approval, knowing this isn't the time for such reactions. This is the woman I fell for—not despite her protective fury, but because of it. The tigress who would tear apart anyone who threatens what she loves.

I nod against her hair, my voice carrying absolute certainty.

"They will, Kessara. I'll personally make sure of it."

The equus moves beneath us with steady rhythm, but my mind churns with darker thoughts. What does Selmyra hope to gain from this madness? The woman has always been calculating, but kidnapping children crosses into territory that even the most ambitious nobles avoid.

Power, perhaps. The chance to force my hand through leverage she believes I cannot ignore. Or maybe she thinks removing Kessara's siblings will drive the woman away from my estate, clearing the path for whatever matrimonial schemes dance through that twisted mind of hers.

The reasoning matters less than the consequences she'll face when I⁠—

"STOP!"

Kessara's scream cuts through my thoughts like a blade. She shoves against my chest with desperate strength, pushing herself away from me with such violence that I nearly lose my grip on the reins.

She tumbles from the equus before I can catch her, hitting the muddy ground hard enough to drive the breath from her lungs. The impact sends her rolling across wet grass and fallen leaves.

"Halt!" I bark at the guards, already swinging down from my mount. "Everyone stop!"

I reach her in three strides, dropping to my knees beside her sprawled form. My hands hover over her shoulders, checking for obvious injuries while she gasps and struggles to regain her bearings.

"Kessara, are you hurt? What happened?"

She pushes my hands away with trembling fingers, scrambling to her feet on unsteady legs. Mud streaks her cheek and clings to the borrowed cloak, but she ignores both as she spins around frantically.

"I saw something," she breathes, already moving back the way we came.

"Kessara, stop." I follow her retreating form, confusion threading through my voice. "What did you see?"

She doesn't answer, just continues her desperate search through the grass and undergrowth. Her movements grow more frantic with each passing second, hands sweeping across the ground like she's hunting for something precious that's been lost.

Then she freezes.

Her entire body goes rigid as she drops to her knees, both hands reaching for something I cannot yet see. When she lifts her trembling fingers, a small piece of fabric dangles between them—muddy, torn, but unmistakably real.