Page 30 of Maid For The Dark Elf

Her violet eyes widen as she takes in my appearance—the bloodstains on my hands from the broken teacup, the wild look I'm certain haunts my face, the way I clutch the doorframe like it's the only thing keeping me upright.

"Come inside, quickly." Nerina's arm slides around my waist, her touch gentle but insistent as she guides me through the entrance hall. "Emeric!"

The commander appears from a side corridor, his crimson eyes immediately assessing the situation with military efficiency. His scarred face darkens when he sees my condition.

"What happened?"

"I don't know yet," Nerina replies, her voice tight with concern. "Carry her to the sitting room. Now."

Emeric scoops me up as though I weigh nothing, his massive frame making the task effortless despite my protests. The world tilts dizzyingly as he strides through corridors that blur past like watercolor paintings.

"Water," Nerina orders a nearby zagfer servant who bows and scurries away. "Quickly."

The sitting room's familiar warmth envelops me as Emeric deposits me onto the plush sofa with surprising gentleness. My body sinks into the cushions, trembling with exhaustion and the weight of what I've remembered.

"Find Caelric," Nerina tells her brother, who nods and disappears without question.

Lady Seralyth appears in the doorway, her elegant composure cracking when she sees me sprawled across her furniture like a broken doll. "Emeric, find your brother."

Seralyth approaches with measured steps, her healer's instincts taking precedence over social propriety. Her cool hands touch my forehead, and immediately a warm, soothing sensation flows through my skull, easing the pounding that's been building since I fled the Ardyn estate.

"Breathe, child," she murmurs, her voice carrying the same gentle authority she uses with her own children. "You're safe now."

The zagfer returns with a crystal goblet filled with cool water. Seralyth helps me sit upright, pressing the glass to my lips.

"Small sips," she instructs. "There's no rush."

The water tastes like salvation, washing away the bitter taste of fear that's coated my tongue since Darion's words triggered my memory. I drink greedily, letting the liquid ground me in the present moment.

Heavy footsteps thunder through the corridors—Caelric's approach unmistakable in its urgency. He bursts through the doorway with Emeric, Aurelia, Nikolai, and an older elven woman I don't recognize trailing behind him. His indigo eyes are wide with something approaching panic as they lock onto mine.

Without hesitation, he drops to his knees beside the sofa, his hands hovering over me as though he wants to touch but doesn't dare.

"What happened?" he demands, his voice rough with barely contained emotion. "Are you hurt? Did someone⁠—"

"I'm fine," I manage, though my voice comes out shaky and thin. "I remembered something. About Aethan's disappearance."

The room goes quiet except for the soft crackling of the fireplace. Everyone leans forward, their attention focused on me with an intensity that would normally make me want to disappear.

"It's about succession," I continue, the words tumbling out in a breathless rush. "I overheard Darion arguing with Aethan years ago. Something about someone being removed from the family records, someone with a legitimate blood claim that could resurface."

Aurelia's violet eyes sharpen with interest. "That would explain the money transfers we discovered. Aethan wasn't supporting a mistress—he was taking care of a child he had outside his marriage."

"Not a child," Asterion interjects from where he stands near the bookshelf, several leather-bound volumes tucked under his arm. "I've been researching the Ardyn genealogy. There's a cousin, distant and largely ignored by most of the family. Someone who's been managing their estates in Orthani for decades."

He opens one of the books, revealing pages covered in intricate family trees and careful annotations. "The payments Maltheris traced have been going to support him."

Maltheris steps forward, his imposing presence filling the room as he examines the name Asterion indicates. His indigo eyes, so similar to Caelric's, narrow with recognition.

"Alaric Ardyn," he says quietly, his voice certain. "Yes, this matches our financial records perfectly."

They work together like the fingers of a skilled musician's hand, each note perfectly placed to create something greater than the sum of its parts.

"This is incredible," I breathe, my voice a whisper.

Caelric glances up from where he's been studying the genealogical charts with his sister, his indigo eyes finding mine across the room. The intensity in his gaze makes my breath catch.

"What is?"