Page 66 of Maid For The Dark Elf

"The scandal forced my parentage to be hidden," Alaric explains, his voice gentle but steady. "When I was just a child, political necessity demanded I be raised publicly as a distant cousin. Uncle Aethan protected me, provided for me, ensured I received proper education and training. He never forgot his brother or abandoned his brother's son."

Lady Ardyn's hands tremble as she processes this revelation. "You're the legitimate heir. You've always been the legitimate heir."

"Yes."

"Which means—" Her voice cracks with fresh grief and dawning realization. "He was never going to set aside Therovar's branch. He was protecting you. All those years, he was protecting you."

The weight of understanding settles over the sunroom like a heavy blanket. Lady Ardyn buries her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with renewed sobs.

"They killed him for nothing," she whispers. "All those fears, all that paranoia—it was for nothing."

Alaric kneels beside her chair, taking her hands in his larger ones. "Aunt Sylva, look at me."

She raises her tear-streaked face to meet his earnest gaze.

"You will never want for anything. I promise you that. This estate, your home—it remains yours for as long as you wish. I won't force you to leave what you love."

"But surely you'll want to establish yourself here in Vhoig⁠—"

"No." Alaric's voice carries quiet certainty. "I'm moving House Ardyn's primary seat to Orthani."

The announcement sends shock rippling through the room. I see Lady Vaerith's eyebrows rise slightly, catch the way Caelric's indigo eyes sharpen with surprise. This is news to all of us.

"Orthani?" Lady Ardyn asks weakly.

"Uncle Aethan was murdered here in Vhoig," Alaric says simply. "Too many servants throughout these lands may still harbor loyalty to rival branches. Too many members of the extended family remain scattered across the surrounding estates, carrying their resentments and ambitions. Orthani is clean. It's where I've built my life, where I understand every soul who serves the family."

Lady Ardyn's relief is palpable, her entire frame relaxing as understanding dawns. "You mean I can stay here? In my own home?"

"This is your sanctuary, Aunt. Being raised as an orphaned cousin taught me how precious true family connection really is. Uncle Aethan cared for me out of love and respect for my father—I won't dishonor that by abandoning you to face this grief alone."

Fresh tears spill down Lady Ardyn's cheeks, but these carry gratitude rather than despair. "Thank you," she whispers, reaching out to clasp his hands. "Thank you, Alaric."

Lady Ardyn's voice holds genuine warmth instead of forced politeness. Despite years of jealousy and bitter words between us, I see the kindness that Lord Aethan must have fallen in love with centuries ago.

Lady Vaerith rises gracefully from her chair, smoothing her midnight blue gown. "We should give you time to process everything, Sylva. This is an enormous amount to absorb."

The others follow her lead, Aurelia squeezing Lady Ardyn's shoulder gently before stepping back. Alaric remains kneeling beside her chair for a moment longer.

"I'll return tomorrow to discuss arrangements," he promises. "Whatever you need, whenever you need it."

Lady Ardyn nods, unable to speak past the emotion choking her voice.

I move toward the sunroom entrance to escort our guests to the door, my movements automatic despite the turmoil churning through my thoughts. Orthani. Alaric plans to move the entire house to Orthani, leaving Vhoig behind.

Leaving me behind.

As we reach the foyer, Caelric's hand closes gently around my wrist, stopping my forward momentum. His touch sends familiar electricity racing up my arm despite everything that's happened between us.

"Wait," he says quietly, his indigo eyes meeting mine. "Let them go ahead. I need to speak with you."

I take him into the library and shut the door to avoid any prying eyes and ears. Caelric's touch burns against my wrist where his fingers still circle my skin.

"What could you possibly have left to say?"

My voice carries more venom than I intended, but weeks of hurt and confusion have crystallized into something sharp and cutting. His eyes flinch at my tone, though his grip remains gentle.

"Everything." He releases my wrist, his hand falling to his side. "Everything I should have said weeks ago instead of⁠—"