Page 15 of Maid For The Dark Elf

But my eyes refuse to obey. They dart across the crowd, searching faces with barely concealed desperation. Three days have passed since our brief encounter, yet Caelric's unexpected kindness replays in my mind like a song I can't forget. The way he helped me up without hesitation, spoke to me as if I were worth speaking to, looked at me as if I were more than furniture in noble clothing.

Dangerous thoughts. Foolish thoughts. Yet they persist.

I spot Lord and Lady Vaerith near the fireplace, their easy laughter creating a warm circle that draws other nobles like moths to flame. Lord Maltheris gestures animatedly while describing something that makes his wife cover her mouth to hide her giggles. Even from across the room, their genuine affection radiates outward—so different from the careful politeness that governs most noble marriages.

"Lady Nerina approaches," Lady Ardyn whispers, her posture straightening with anticipation.

I follow her gaze and nearly stumble. The woman gliding toward us moves like liquid starlight, her sapphire gown trailing silver threads that catch the magical light. Nerina Vaerith possesses the kind of beauty that makes other women question the gods' sense of fairness—alabaster skin that seems to glow from within, violet eyes that sparkle with intelligence and mischief, hair so perfectly platinum it appears spun from moonbeams.

She's a reincarnated goddess. She has to be.

"Lady Sylvareth." Nerina's voice carries warmth that sounds completely genuine. "How lovely to see you again. That gown is absolutely stunning—the embroidery work must have taken months."

Lady Ardyn preens under the compliment, her earlier tension melting away. "The Velmont seamstresses are without equal. Though I confess your own dress puts mine to shame."

"Nonsense." Nerina laughs, the sound like silver bells in morning air. "Though I must ask—how are you managing during your husbands absense?"

As they settle into conversation, my attention drifts back to scanning the crowd. Where is he? Surely the heir to House Vaerith wouldn't miss such an important gathering. Perhaps he's in another room, or delayed by some pressing matter of state.

The disappointment tastes bitter on my tongue.

"You." Lady Ardyn's sharp voice cuts through my wandering thoughts. "Stop gawking and make yourself useful."

I snap to attention, noticing Nerina is gone. "My lady?"

"This wine is absolutely dreadful." She thrusts her goblet at me with obvious disdain. "Go to the kitchens and find something better. House Vaerith must have proper vintages somewhere in this palace."

My stomach drops. "My lady, I'm not certain I should⁠—"

"Are you questioning my orders?" Her lavender eyes flash with the dangerous light that precedes one of her tempers. "Perhaps you've forgotten your position here."

"No, my lady. Of course not."

"Then go. And don't return with anything less than their finest."

I accept the goblet with a curtsy. Heat burns my face as I back away from their conversation, navigating through clusters of nobles who part around me like water around a stone.

The main hallway stretches ahead, lined with portraits of Vaerith ancestors whose painted eyes seem to follow my movement. Servants' passages branch off at regular intervals, but I've never been in this part of the estate before. Each doorway looks identical, offering no clues about which might lead to the kitchens.

I choose a corridor at random, hoping it leads toward the back of the house where kitchens typically reside. The magical light grows dimmer here, replaced by ordinary torches that cast dancing shadows on the walls. Voices drift from behind closed doors—some carrying the formal cadence of political discussion, others the relaxed tones of private conversation.

One door stands slightly ajar, spilling golden light and raucous laughter into the hallway. I quicken my pace, hoping to pass unnoticed, but the sound of my footsteps on marble betrays my presence.

"Well, well." A male voice, slurred with wine and something else. "What have we here?"

I freeze as three young dark elves emerge from the doorway, their noble clothing disheveled and their eyes bright with chemical euphoria. Sweet, cloying smoke drifts around them—the distinctive scent of dreamleaf, an expensive intoxicant favored by wealthy young nobles seeking escape from their gilded cages.

"A little lost lamb," the tallest one says, his grin revealing teeth stained purple from wine. "Wandering far from the flock."

His companions flank me on either side, cutting off retreat. My heart hammers against my ribs as I press my back against the wall, clutching Lady Ardyn's goblet like a shield.

"Please," I manage, keeping my voice calm despite the fear crawling up my throat. "I'm simply looking for the kitchens. Lady Ardyn sent me⁠—"

"Lady Ardyn?" The second elf laughs, the sound harsh and grating. "That frigid bitch? No wonder she needs better wine—probably the only thing that makes her tolerable."

They close in like wolves scenting wounded prey.

Recognition dawns in the tallest one's bloodshot eyes, his grin widening into something predatory.