Page 65 of Maid For The Dark Elf

It's time to tell Lady Ardyn the truth.

"Lady Ardyn has visitors," Marta announces unnecessarily, her voice tight with nervous energy.

I force my legs to carry me forward despite the trembling that threatens to buckle my knees. "Lady Ardyn, you have guests."

She looks up from her embroidery hoop, her lavender eyes brightening with sudden hope. The expression transforms her face completely, erasing weeks of worry and replacing them with eager anticipation.

"House Vaerith? How wonderful!" She sets aside her needlework with careful precision, smoothing her platinum hair into perfect order. "Surely they bring news of my husband's return. I knew the Crown's business wouldn't keep him away much longer."

The hope in her voice cuts through me like a blade. I watch Caelric's jaw tighten almost imperceptibly, see the way Aurelia's violet eyes fill with compassionate sorrow. Lady Vaerith steps forward with the measured grace of someone prepared to catch whatever falls.

"Please, sit wherever you're comfortable," Lady Ardyn continues, gesturing toward the plush chairs arranged around the sunroom's center table. "Rosalie, fetch the good tea service. And those almond cakes from yesterday—our guests deserve proper refreshment."

"That won't be necessary," Lady Vaerith says gently, settling into the chair directly beside Lady Ardyn's favorite seat. "We're not here for a social call."

The words hang like a death knell. Lady Ardyn's smile falters slightly, confusion creeping into her expression as she registers the somber atmosphere that follows House Vaerith like a shadow.

"I don't understand." Her voice grows smaller, more uncertain. "If this isn't about Aethan's return, then what⁠—"

"Sylvareth." Lady Vaerith reaches out to take her hands, the gesture both protective and anchoring. "We found him."

The silence stretches like a taut bowstring. Lady Ardyn's face cycles through confusion, hope, and finally the dawning horror of understanding. Her platinum hair trembles as she shakes her head in violent denial.

"No. No, that's impossible. He's away on Crown business. The Chancellor assured me personally that⁠—"

"He's dead, Sylva."

The words fall like stones into still water. Lady Ardyn's composure shatters completely, a wail of anguish tearing from her throat as she collapses into Lady Vaerith's waiting embrace. Her carefully arranged hair spills across her face as sobs wrack her entire frame.

I press my back against the sunroom wall, my own grief threatening to overwhelm me as I watch the woman who tormented me for years break apart with genuine devastation. Whatever jealousy and bitterness existed between us, her love for Lord Aethan was real.

Through my tears, I catch Caelric watching me with an expression I can't quite read. For just a moment, his carefully maintained distance wavers, replaced by something that might be concern or regret.

But the moment passes quickly. His indigo eyes shift away, and I'm left wondering if I imagined the softness entirely.

"How?" Lady Ardyn whispers between sobs, her voice muffled against Lady Vaerith's shoulder.

"His own family," Aurelia answers quietly. "Therovar, Velryssa, and Darion. They've confessed to everything."

Lady Ardyn pulls back sharply, her lavender eyes wide with shock and growing horror. "No, it can't be⁠—"

"They believed he planned to destroy the succession," Alaric explains, his voice carrying gentle authority despite the terrible news he delivers.

The political implications crash over Lady Ardyn's grief like a second wave. Her face goes ashen as understanding dawns completely.

"I have no children," she whispers, the words barely audible. "No heir. Without Aethan..."

She doesn't finish the sentence, but everyone in the room understands. A childless widow holds no political power in noble society. The relatives who murdered her husband will circle like vultures, eager to claim whatever pieces of House Ardyn they can tear away.

"There's something else you need to understand," Aurelia says gently, her violet eyes meeting Lady Ardyn's tear-stained gaze. "About who Alaric truly is."

Lady Ardyn looks up in confusion, her platinum hair disheveled from grief. "I don't understand. He's Aethan's cousin, isn't he? From the distant branch⁠—"

"No." Alaric steps forward, his calm violet eyes—so remarkably similar to Lord Aethan's—filled with quiet compassion. "I'm your husband's nephew. The son of his older brother, Valdris."

The words seem to take Lady Ardyn’s breath right from her lungs. Her lavender eyes widen in shock as she stares at Alaric's face with new understanding.

"But that's impossible. Valdris died without issue⁠—"