Page 50 of Maid For The Dark Elf

"Forty minutes, Caelric. You were gone for forty minutes with Lord Ardyn's human servant while half the nobility of Vhoig celebrates under our roof." He stops walking, turning to face me fully. "Did you think no one would notice? Did you imagine your absence would go unremarked?"

"We were discussing the investigation⁠—"

"Don't." The single word cuts through my explanation like a blade. "Don't insult both our intelligence with lies. I can smell her on you from here."

Heat crawls up my neck. There's no point in denying what he's already confirmed. "Then you know."

"I know you're being reckless with something that took centuries to build." His voice drops to a dangerous whisper. "I know you're endangering the Vaerith name for a woman who could never be anything more than a mistress."

"You don't understand⁠—"

"I understand perfectly. You think you're the first noble to fall for a pretty servant? The first heir to confuse lust with love?" His laugh holds no warmth. "But you are the first to be stupid enough to compromise an active investigation while doing it."

He turns and strides away. I stand there, feeling smaller than I have since childhood, while my father's disappointment settles over me like a shroud.

24

ROSALIE

Walking up the stone steps to House Vaerith feels different this time. No skulking through shadows, no fabricated errands about market trips. Lady Ardyn herself suggested I come help with wedding preparations, which should ease the knot of anxiety in my chest. Should, but doesn't entirely.

The zagfer who answers the door doesn't recognize me. His pale gray skin catches the afternoon light as he bows with mechanical precision. "You are expected. Lady Aurelia awaits in the sitting room."

"Thank you." I pause, glancing toward the corridor that leads to Caelric's study. "Is Lord Caelric available? I thought I might⁠—"

"The young lord is working in his study and is not to be disturbed." The zagfer's tone carries no inflection, no hint of whether this is unusual or routine. Just flat statement of fact.

Something cold settles in my stomach. Caelric has never been unavailable to me before, not since we began working together. But perhaps he's simply busy with estate matters. The investigation has been consuming both our time.

"Of course. Lady Aurelia, then."

The zagfer leads me through familiar corridors, though they feel different in daylight. Less intimate, more formal. The magical sconces burn with steady white flame, casting everything in sharp relief rather than the warm amber glow I remember from evening visits.

The sitting room doors open to reveal Aurelia surrounded by chaos. Fabric swatches cascade across every available surface—silk in deep emerald, brocade shot through with silver thread, delicate lace that must have cost more than most humans see in a lifetime. Flower arrangements compete for space on side tables, their perfume heavy in the air.

A young human girl kneels beside Aurelia's chair, holding up two nearly identical samples of ivory silk. The sight stops me short. Of course there are human servants here. This is one of the Great Houses of Vhoig, with lands and wealth that require dozens of staff. Why wouldn't there be humans among them?

But seeing her there—blonde hair braided simply, movements careful and deferential—reminds me exactly what I am in this world. What I've always been.

"Rosalie!" Aurelia's face brightens with genuine warmth. "Perfect timing. I'm drowning in choices and could use another opinion." She gestures toward the human girl. "Bridda, would you fetch tea for our guest?"

The girl rises gracefully. "Of course, my lady."

I watch her go, noting the quality of her simple cream dress, the way she moves through the room with confident familiarity. Well-treated, clearly, but still wearing the invisible collar of servitude that marks all of us.

"Please, sit." Aurelia indicates a chair beside hers. "I've been staring at these samples so long they're starting to blur together."

I settle into the offered seat, accepting the delicate porcelain cup Bridda brings moments later. The tea is perfectly brewed, fragrant steam rising in graceful spirals. Even their casual hospitality exceeds anything most nobles offer their own family members.

"The silver brocade is lovely," I venture, touching the edge of a particularly stunning sample. "The embroidery work is exquisite."

"Mm." Aurelia sets down her cup, then reaches for the emerald silk instead. "This one has more character."

The dismissal is so swift, so contrary to my actual suggestion, that I blink in confusion. She complimented the silver, then immediately chose its opposite. As if my opinion carried weight only in helping her decide what she didn't want.

"The green is beautiful too," I say carefully, watching her face for some clue about the strange interaction.

"Isn't it? Alaric mentioned preferring deeper colors." Her fingers smooth the fabric with absent attention. "Though I suppose it hardly matters what either of us prefers. Political marriages aren't about personal taste."