8. Zerion
ZERION
She eats like someone who expects the plate to vanish at any moment.
Small, deliberate bites followed by careful chewing, as if her body needs time to remember what proper nourishment feels like.
Between each morsel, her hazel eyes drift back to the ledger, fingers already reaching for the quill before she's finished swallowing.
I watch this ritual from behind my own papers, fascinated despite myself.
The way she savors the cheese, the reverent pause before tearing another piece of bread—every gesture speaks of someone who's known true hunger.
Not the fashionable fasting of court ladies or the occasional missed meal of the busy, but the gnawing emptiness that becomes a constant companion.
Something about her captivates me in a way I can't quite articulate.
Perhaps it's the stubborn tilt of her chin when she thinks I'm not looking, or how she unconsciously straightens her spine whenever our eyes meet.
She refuses to appear diminished, even seated in my study wearing clothes that hang loose on her too-thin frame.
But she belongs to me now. The thought settles into my mind with surprising comfort.
Not in the crude sense that some of my kind might claim ownership over humans, but in something more fundamental.
She needs what I can provide—security, food, shelter for those siblings she'd die protecting.
As long as I continue to meet those needs, she'll remain here.
The arrangement benefits us both, but the certainty of it pleases me more than it should.
I study the plain brown wool of her skirt, the simple cut of her linen blouse.
Practical garments chosen for durability rather than beauty, much like what she'd selected for the children during her trip to town.
But I find myself imagining different fabrics against her skin—deep blue silk that would bring out her eyes, perhaps, or emerald green that would complement her sun-touched complexion.
With proper feeding, her sharp angles will soften into curves.
The hollow beneath her cheekbones will fill, her wrists will lose that bird-like fragility.
Already I can see hints of the woman she'll become once her body no longer sacrifices itself to keep her siblings fed. The transformation will be remarkable.
She glances up, catching me watching, and heat flickers in those hazel depths before she looks away. Her hand trembles slightly as she reaches for the water goblet, though whether from my attention or simple fatigue, I can't tell.
The knock at my study door shatters the comfortable silence like a stone through glass.
"Enter."
Halvren enters with his customary bow, though something tight around his eyes betrays his usual composure.
"My lord, forgive the disturbance." His fingers worry his sleeve. "Lady Selmyra Dareth is here to see you. She insists the matter is urgent."
Irritation climbs up the back of my neck like a slow-burning fuse. Selmyra's timing has always been impeccable in the worst possible way. I nod stiffly, already calculating how quickly I can dispatch whatever manufactured crisis she's brought to my door.
As I stand, my chair scraping on the stone floor, Kessara glances up from the ledger. Her quill hovers above the page, a small drop of ink threatening to fall.
"Should I leave your study as well? Wait to resume until you return?"
I tilt my head, studying her earnest expression. The corner of my mouth lifts despite my annoyance.
"Do you intend to rob me blind?"
She balks, color flooding her cheeks as she scrambles to respond. "No! Of course not, I would never—"
My chuckle cuts through her flustered protests. "Then you may stay here and continue your duties."
"Lead the way, Halvren."
The parlor doors open to reveal Selmyra arranged on the velvet settee like a painting of aristocratic leisure.
Her midnight hair cascades over one shoulder in an elaborate braid threaded with silver ribbon, and her pale eyes are rimmed with the dark kohl that makes them appear luminous against her ash-toned skin.
The deep purple of her gown hugs her curves with calculated precision, the neckline low enough to be noticed but high enough to maintain respectability.
What catches my attention, however, is what she's not wearing. No black veil drapes her hair, no mourning jewelry adorns her throat. The absence speaks louder than any declaration.
"Lady Dareth." The greeting falls flat between us. "You're out of mourning already?"
Her smile curves like a blade wrapped in expensive silks. "Staying trapped in the past gets one killed, my lord. Especially a woman in my position."
She lifts her chin with practiced grace, as if dispensing wisdom rather than justifying her haste to abandon her husband's memory.
"To what do I owe this unceremonious visit?"
Selmyra's laugh tinkles like breaking crystal as she waves a dismissive hand. "Oh, Zerion, you know I've never stood on ceremony with old friends."
The familiarity in her tone grates against my ears. We are not old friends. We are barely acquaintances bound by the tedious obligations of noble society.
"I've come because I'm concerned about you." Her silver eyes narrow with calculated sympathy. "There are whispers, darling. About the human woman you've taken into your household."
I settle in the chair across from her, keeping my expression neutral. "My household staff are hardly a matter for public discussion."
"Staff?" Her eyebrows arch with theatrical surprise. "Is that what we're calling her? Because the stories I'm hearing paint quite a different picture."
The silk of her gown rustles as she leans forward, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "They say she's young and pretty. That you've given her fine clothes and installed her children in your manor like... well, like family."
"I fail to see how my charitable impulses concern you, Lady Dareth."
Her mouth tightens at my refusal to elaborate, though she quickly smooths the expression away. "Charity is admirable, of course. But when that charity involves housing a young human woman under your roof..." She trails off meaningfully.
"Speak plainly or not at all."
"Very well." Steel enters her voice. "The noble houses are talking, Zerion. Lady Vespira mentioned it at tea yesterday. Lord Caelum brought it up during his visit to the Ashworth estate. They're saying you've taken a human mistress."
I study her face, noting the flush creeping up her elegant neck despite her composed demeanor. "And what business is it of theirs?"
"What business—" She catches herself, forcing another of those brittle smiles. "Darling, your reputation affects us all. When one of our most prominent lords behaves... eccentrically, it reflects on the entire community."
"Eccentrically." I taste the word like sour wine. "An interesting choice."
"You know what I mean." Her fingers twist in her lap, the first genuine emotion I've seen from her. "This scandal could damage your standing permanently. Is one human girl really worth that risk?"
The protective instinct that flares in my chest surprises me with its intensity. "There is no scandal, Lady Dareth. Only small minds with nothing better to occupy their time."
Selmyra's composure finally cracks, her carefully modulated voice rising. "Nothing better to—Zerion, be reasonable! Your name is being dragged through every drawing room in the province!"
"Then perhaps you should choose better drawing rooms."
She stares at me for a minute, her pale eyes glittering with something that might be fury or calculation. When she speaks again, her tone has turned dangerously sweet.
"I see. Well, I suppose I've said my piece.
" She rises gracefully, smoothing her skirts.
"I do hope you'll reconsider before this...
situation... becomes irreversible. I know this trend of human mistresses has been around for a little while now, but that doesn't mean we should stoop to the level of distasteful trends. "
"Halvren will see you out."
Her smile could cut glass. "Of course. Do give my regards to your... household staff."
The venom in those last words hangs in the air long after her footsteps fade down the corridor, echoing through the study like the lingering scent of poisoned honey.
I remain seated in my chair, posture deliberately unchanged, fingers steepled before me as I consider the full implications of her visit.
The afternoon light slants through the windows, casting long shadows across the floor, but I barely notice the passage of time as I turn the conversation over in my mind.
Selmyra's desperation has become palpable—a living thing I can almost taste in the air she's left behind.
It clings to the edges of her carefully crafted words, seeps through the cracks in her practiced composure.
The Dareth relatives circle like vultures around her late husband's estate, their greedy eyes fixed on properties and assets she controls only through the fragile courtesy of widowhood.
With no heir to cement her claim, no child to carry forward the family name and secure her position, her window for arranging an advantageous marriage grows narrower with each passing season.
Each gathering, each social event where she appears alone, chips away at her standing among the nobility who measure worth in bloodlines and alliances.
She's forced herself out of mourning and set her sights on a marriage that will save her standing—a marriage to Morvath house. And the human woman in my household threatens the fantasy she's constructed of our inevitable union.
How unfortunate for her that I care nothing for her imagined claims.
And should these rumors of a mistress keep knocking at my door… I just might consider making them true.