Page 75 of Dark Elf Makes Five

His thumb traces the scar across my knuckle, the one I earned trying to pick the wrong pocket when I was barely sixteen.

"You taught me what it means to have a family worth protecting. A home worth defending." He lifts my scarred hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the faded mark. "I was existing before you. Now I'm living."

Lysa sniffles against his coat, her voice muffled. "Are we really your family?"

"You are." He doesn't hesitate, doesn't qualify the statement with conditions or explanations. "All of you. If you'll have me."

The simple certainty in his voice undoes me completely. The last of my resistance crumbles like a wall built on sand, leaving nothing but the truth I've been fighting for weeks.

I love him. I love this impossible, arrogant, protective man who broke into our cabin like he owned it—which, knowing him, he probably does by now.

"Kessa?" Bran's voice wavers with uncertainty. "What do we do?"

I look at my siblings—my children, really, since I raised them—and see the hope blazing in their eyes. They want this. They want him, want the life he's offering.

And for once in my stubborn, prideful life, I want it too.

"We go home."

40

ZERION

Ifind Kessara exactly where I expected—walking the stone path that winds through the heart of my orchard, her fingers trailing along the low branches heavy with ripening fruit. The late afternoon sun catches the auburn highlights in her dark hair, now loose around her shoulders instead of the practical braids she once favored.

Three years have transformed her. The sharp angles of hunger have softened into curves that speak of regular meals and peaceful sleep. Her clothes—a deep green dress that complements her hazel eyes—bear no patches or careful mending. The constant tension that once held her shoulders rigid has eased into something approaching serenity.

She pauses beneath the same tree where I first discovered her, reaching up to cup a particularly large apple in her palm. The irony isn't lost on either of us.

"Admiring your handiwork?" I ask, stepping closer until the familiar scent of orchard blossoms and her skin mingles in the warm air.

"Actually considering whether to steal it." She doesn't turn around, but I hear the smile in her voice. "For old time's sake."

"I'd be forced to apprehend you again." I slide my arms around her waist from behind, pulling her back against my chest. "Terrible punishment would follow."

"Mmm." She leans into me, her head finding its perfect place against my shoulder. "What sort of punishment?"

"The worst kind imaginable." I press my lips to the curve of her neck, tasting salt and sunshine. "I'd drag you back to my manor and force you to live in luxury for the rest of your days."

Her laughter ripples through the quiet orchard, warm and unguarded in a way that still catches me off guard after all this time. The sound transforms the space around us, turning ancient fruit trees into witnesses to our contentment.

"Halvren thinks Bran will make an excellent steward someday," she says, changing the subject with typical Kessara directness. "Better than him, even."

I consider this, watching a pair of sparrows dart between the branches above us. "Halvren's not wrong. The boy has a natural head for numbers and an instinct for managing people that can't be taught."

"He's not a boy anymore." Her voice carries a note of wonder, as if she still can't quite believe how quickly time has passed. "Seventeen next month, and already taller than you."

"Barely." I tighten my arms around her, unwilling to admit that Bran has indeed gained another inch in recent weeks. "And his suggestions for improving crop rotation were sound, I'll grant you that."

"Lysa wants to study at the capital academy." Kessara's tone grows thoughtful. "She's been reading every book in your library about natural philosophy and mathematics."

"Then she'll go." I don't hesitate. "I'll arrange the introduction letters myself."

"And Tobin?"

"Tobin wants to join the guard." I chuckle against her hair. "Captain Draven thinks he shows promise with a sword, though his mouth might get him killed before he learns proper discipline."

"He gets that from me."