She adores him. Lights up like a candle whenever he walks through the door, chattering about her day and showing off her newest accomplishments with the absolute confidence that he'll care about every word.
And he does. That's what unsettles me most. He listens to her with the same grave attention he'd give a fellow scholar, asking thoughtful questions, praising her progress, gently correcting her when she gets something wrong. There's genuine affection there, not the performance most adults put on around children.
But whenever Amisra runs off to fetch something to show him—which happens often—his attention shifts to me.
Watching. Always watching.
Not the way most dark elves watch humans. Not with contempt or hunger or that casual cruelty that says we're toys to be broken when they're bored. Something else. Something I can't name. Curious and patient and still as deep water.
It makes my skin prickle. Makes me want to run.
Instead, I meet his gaze and refuse to flinch, even though my heart hammers against my ribs.
"How are you settling in?" he asks now, accepting the cup of tea I've prepared. We're in the solarium, where late afternoon light pours through spelled glass and turns everything golden. Amisra is in her room, supposedly changing into her dinner clothes but more likely playing with the enchanted doll he brought her.
"Well enough." I keep my tone neutral. Professional. "Amisra is a joy to care for."
"She speaks highly of you." He sips his tea, eyes never leaving mine. "And she's tricky to win over."
"I enjoy her curiosity. She's intelligent."
"She is." A pause. "You're good with her. Patient in ways I imagine many wouldn't be."
I don't know what to say to that. Is it a compliment? An observation? Some kind of test? With dark elves, kindness is often the sharpest blade—you don't see it coming until it's already buried in your ribs.
"She makes it easy," I say finally.
"Still." He sets down his cup with deliberate care. "Daryn chose well when he hired you."
The mention of his friend—my employer—reminds me to maintain distance. Valas might be kind to Amisra, might speak to me like I'm a person instead of property, but I know better than to trust it. Dark elves don't befriend humans. Theyuseus. Sometimes gently, if we're fortunate. But always with purpose.
I need to remember that.
"I'm glad Lord Daryn is satisfied with my work," I say, injecting just enough formality to rebuild the walls between us.
Something flickers in his expression—amusement? Disappointment?—but it's gone before I can identify it. "Lord Daryn. So proper."
"It's appropriate."
"Is it?" He tilts his head, studying me like I'm a puzzle he's trying to solve. "You've been here two weeks. Surely you've noticed Daryn doesn't stand on ceremony with those in his household."
"He's kind," I acknowledge carefully. "But that doesn't change what I am. What he is."
"And what's that?"
"He's a dark elf of the miou caste. I'm human. A servant." I meet his eyes, letting him see the steel I usually keep hidden. "Those facts don't change no matter how kind he is. No matter how much I care for his daughter."
Valas is quiet for a long moment, his gaze intense in a way that makes me want to look away. I don't. Won't give him the satisfaction.
Finally, he nods. "Fair enough. But for what it's worth—you're more than just a servant here. Amisra loves you. That counts for something."
It does. But it also makes everything more dangerous. Love is a luxury slaves can't afford.
Before I can formulate a response that won't reveal too much, Amisra comes bounding back into the room, her dress on backwards and her hair escaping its braid. She climbs into Valas's lap without hesitation, already launching into some elaborate story about the doll's adventures while she was supposed to be getting ready.
He catches my eye over her head, and there's something in his expression I can't read. Something warm and almost... wistful?
I look away first, busying myself with straightening the tea service even though it doesn't need straightening.
