Page 74 of Dark Elf Makes Five

The betrayal tastes bitter on my tongue.

Zerion's gaze meets mine across the small space, and the tension that had momentarily dissolved snaps back into place with vicious intensity. His expression shifts, becoming something softer and infinitely more dangerous.

"Come home, Kessara."

The words hit me like a slap. "I am home."

"This isn't our home anymore." Bran's voice wavers with guilt, his freckled face scrunching as he looks between Zerion and me. "I'm sorry, Kessa, but I had to tell him where we went. We don't belong here."

The admission should anger me. I should rage at him for the betrayal, for undermining everything I've sacrificed to keep them safe. Instead, I feel nothing but hollow resignation.

Of course he left clues. Of course he wanted to be found.

"The estate is dangerous." I force steel into my voice, crossing my arms to hide the tremor in my hands. "Being with Zerion will only bring you more harm. You saw what happened⁠—"

"What happened," Zerion interrupts, stepping deeper into the cabin, "was my failure to anticipate Selmyra's desperation. It won't happen again."

He moves with that predatory grace I remember, each step deliberate and measured. The children part before him like water, still clinging to his coat but allowing him passage.

"I'll build taller walls. Triple the guard rotations. Commission protective wards from the capital if necessary." His voice becomes something approaching a plea. "Whatever it takes to keep all of you safe."

"You can't protect us from everything." But even as I say the words, I'm backing toward the far wall. "There will always be another kidnapper, another threat⁠—"

"Then I'll face them all."

He's close enough now that I can see the silver threads woven through his dark coat, can smell the familiar scent of winter air and expensive soap that clings to his skin. Close enough that the heat radiating from his body cuts through the cabin's chill.

His hand rises to cup my cheek, thumb tracing the line of my jaw with devastating gentleness.

"I need you, Kessara." The words emerge as a whisper. "I love you."

His mouth finds mine before I can protest, before I can remind him of all the reasons this is impossible. The kiss tastes of desperation and promises, of all the words we've never spoken aloud.

When he pulls back, I realize he's trembling.

"All of you," he whispers against my lips.

The tears come without permission, hot and silent as they spill down my cheeks. I stare up at him through the blur, my vision fracturing his face into fragments of silver hair and pale grey eyes.

"But... we're nothing." The words scrape my throat raw. "I'm a thief who got caught stealing fruit. They're children with no name, no bloodline, no⁠—"

"No." The word explodes from him with such fierce passion that Lysa jumps in his arms. His free hand cups my other cheek, thumbs brushing away the tears that won't stop falling. "You're everything."

His voice breaks on that last word, and I've never heard anything so raw from him before. The controlled, distant lord has vanished entirely, leaving only a man whose composure has shattered completely.

"I can’t live another day without your laughter in my house." His forehead presses against mine, breath warm against my lips. "Without their chaos. Without Tobin leaving muddy footprints through my halls, or Lysa asking me seventeen questions about every book in the library."

Tobin giggles at that, his small hand fisting in Zerion's coat. "I only asked sixteen questions yesterday."

"Without Tobin challenging every decision I make because he thinks I'm not good enough for his sister." Zerion's eyes never leave mine, even as his mouth quirks at the corner. "Which he's absolutely right about, by the way."

Bran shifts uncomfortably, his cheeks flushing red. "I never said⁠—"

"You didn't have to." Zerion's smile turns rueful. "Your disapproval could freeze wine in summer."

More tears spill over, and I hate how they make me feel—weak, exposed, desperate. But I can't seem to stop them.

"You've shown me a kind of life I can't come back from." His voice drops to little more than a whisper, meant only for me despite our audience. "Ever. Before you, my halls were silent tombs filled with expensive furniture and bitter memories. Now they echo with arguments and laughter and the sound of children's feet running where no child has ever been welcome."