4. Rosalie
ROSALIE
The royal messenger arrives at midday, when the household has settled into the restless rhythm of waiting that follows sleepless nights. I'm folding linens in the main hall when his boots echo against marble, each step announcing importance with military precision.
"Lady Ardyn." His voice carries the formal cadence of palace protocol. "By order of His Majesty King Grymlock, you are summoned to appear before the Crown at the seventh hour this evening."
Lady Ardyn emerges from the morning room like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. Her hair catches the light streaming through tall windows, and genuine excitement animates her sharp features.
"The King wishes to see me personally?" Her lavender eyes brighten with hope that makes my heart ache. "About my husband?"
The messenger's expression remains diplomatically neutral. "I am instructed only to deliver the summons, my lady."
She accepts the sealed parchment with hands that tremble slightly—whether from anticipation or anxiety, I can't determine. The royal seal gleams like captured starlight against the cream-colored paper.
"Of course His Majesty would want to discuss Aethan's absence directly with me." Lady Ardyn's voice grows stronger as she speaks, as though convincing herself.
I continue folding linens, but my attention focuses entirely on this exchange. Something about the messenger's careful phrasing feels wrong, though I can't identify exactly what troubles me.
"The summons indicates you may bring a single attendant," the messenger adds. "Should you require assistance with court protocols."
"Naturally." Lady Ardyn turns toward me with sudden decision. "Rosalie will accompany me."
The folded sheet slips from my fingers. "My lady?"
"Don't look so surprised. You've attended more royal functions than anyone else in this household." Her tone carries the brisk efficiency she uses when organizing social events. "All those times my husband brought you along to palace meetings—surely you observed proper etiquette?"
Heat blooms in my cheeks. Those occasions weren't social visits where I studied ceremonial behavior. Aethan brought me because he valued my observations about people's reactions during political discussions. I spent those hours listening rather than learning curtsy protocols.
"I'm honored by your confidence, but perhaps—"
"Nonsense." Lady Ardyn waves away my protest. "You know the palace layout better than I do. Besides, who else would I bring? The cook? One of the stable boys?"
The messenger shifts his weight, clearly uncomfortable with our domestic arrangements but unwilling to comment on noble household decisions.
"The audience will be held in the palace," he continues. "Formal court dress is required."
"Of course." Lady Ardyn's smile could illuminate the entire hall. "Rosalie, you'll need something appropriate. Perhaps that blue gown from last winter's formal occasions?"
My stomach clenches. The blue gown hangs in my wardrobe like evidence of privileges that other servants resent. Aethan commissioned it specifically for palace visits, insisting I shouldn't appear shabby when accompanying him to important meetings.
"I'll make the necessary preparations, my lady."
"Excellent." She turns back to the messenger with renewed authority. "Please inform His Majesty that Lady Ardyn will attend as requested, accompanied by her personal attendant."
The messenger bows respectfully. "I shall convey your acceptance immediately."
After he departs, Lady Ardyn examines the summons again, her fingers tracing the royal seal with reverent care.
"Finally, some news about Aethan." Relief floods her voice.
I watch her retreat toward her chambers, already planning which jewelry will complement her finest court gown. Her excitement radiates like warmth from a hearth, but something cold settles in my stomach.
Royal summons don't typically include provisions for attendants unless the matter requires witnesses.
The palace rises before us like a monument to centuries of Dark Elf supremacy, its obsidian towers catching moonlight and throwing it back in sharp fragments.
Enchanted flames dance in crystalline sconces along the main entrance, casting shifting shadows that make the carved gargoyles appear to writhe against the stone.
Even after all my visits with Aethan, the sheer scale of the place makes me feel impossibly small.
"Magnificent, isn't it?" Lady Ardyn's voice carries the breathless quality of someone trying to convince herself she belongs here. "I should visit more often."
The guards recognize me—a small mercy that spares us awkward explanations. Their nods are professionally neutral, though I catch the brief flicker of curiosity in their eyes. They've seen me with Aethan countless times, but never walking beside Lady Ardyn.
Inside, the grand foyer stretches upward into darkness, its vaulted ceiling lost in shadow despite the floating orbs of magelight that drift like captured stars.
Tapestries depicting ancient victories hang between marble pillars, their threads shimmering with preservation spells that keep the colors vibrant after centuries.
"Lady Ardyn." A voice smooth as aged wine draws our attention. "How lovely to see you again."
Lord Chancellor Vorian Selkareth approaches with the measured grace of someone completely at ease in these halls. His understated black robes make him appear scholarly rather than imposing, and his warm violet eyes immediately focus on Lady Ardyn with genuine concern.
"Lord Chancellor." Lady Ardyn's relief is palpable. "I was expecting to meet with His Majesty directly."
"The King asked me to receive you personally." Vorian's smile radiates reassurance. "Please, shall we speak somewhere more private?"
He leads us to a smaller chamber off the main hall, its walls lined with books and warmed by a fireplace that crackles with enchanted flames. The intimacy of the space seems designed to encourage confidential conversations.
"My husband—" Lady Ardyn begins the moment we're seated.
"Is perfectly safe," Vorian interrupts gently, his hands folded calmly. "Lord Aethan has been sent on confidential Crown business. I apologize for the suddenness, but matters of state sometimes require immediate departure."
"Crown business?" Lady Ardyn leans forward eagerly. "What sort of—"
"I'm afraid I cannot discuss the specifics." Vorian's expression remains kindly but firm. "You understand how sensitive these diplomatic matters can be."
I settle into the background, adopting the invisible posture that years of service have perfected. But something about the Chancellor's careful phrasing makes my skin prickle. His words feel rehearsed, polished smooth by repetition.
"When will he return?" Lady Ardyn's voice carries a note of desperation she's trying to hide.
"These assignments rarely have fixed timelines." Vorian spreads his hands apologetically. "But rest assured, the Crown values Lord Aethan's service immensely. He volunteered for this duty specifically because of his unique qualifications."
"Volunteered?" Lady Ardyn's eyebrows draw together. "He said nothing about—"
"Discretion was paramount." The Chancellor's interruption flows seamlessly, as though he anticipated this exact question. "Even family members couldn't be informed beforehand."
Lady Ardyn clutches her hands together, the gesture betraying nerves she's trying to conceal. "But surely you can tell me something more? Where he's gone? How long these missions typically last?"
"I understand your concern completely." Vorian's voice maintains its soothing cadence, but I notice how he sidesteps each specific question with the grace of someone well-practiced in deflection. "Lord Aethan's expertise in certain diplomatic matters makes him invaluable for delicate negotiations."
From my position near the window, I watch this careful dance of non-answers.
The Chancellor speaks with the polished assurance of someone delivering well-rehearsed lines, each response designed to comfort without revealing anything substantial.
His words flow like honey over stone—sweet, but leaving no lasting impression.
"When did he depart?" Lady Ardyn's voice grows smaller with each deflected question.
"Several days ago, as you've undoubtedly noticed." Vorian spreads his hands in a gesture of sympathetic helplessness. "The Crown apologizes for any inconvenience this sudden departure may have caused your household."
I bite my tongue to keep from speaking. Inconvenience seems a peculiar word choice for a wife's distress over her husband's unexplained absence.
"I see." Lady Ardyn's shoulders sag slightly. "And there's truly nothing more you can tell me?"
"Only that Lord Aethan serves the Crown with distinction, as he always has." Vorian rises smoothly from his chair. "But please, allow me to arrange some refreshments before your journey home. The evening air can be quite brisk."
"That's very kind." Lady Ardyn accepts his offer with the gracious politeness expected of nobility, though disappointment shadows her features.
Vorian signals to a nearby servant, who materializes with the silent efficiency palace staff have perfected. "Some warm spiced wine and perhaps some of those excellent honey cakes from the kitchens?"
As we wait for refreshments, the Chancellor fills the silence with gentle inquiries about the estate, the weather, anything except the topic that brought us here. His conversation feels like silk draped over steel—beautiful on the surface but concealing something harder underneath.
The wine arrives in delicate crystal goblets that catch the firelight, accompanied by pastries arranged on silver platters. Lady Ardyn sips politely while Vorian maintains his stream of pleasant, meaningless chatter.
But something gnaws at me as I stand quietly by the door. Aethan trusted me with everything—his correspondence, his meeting schedules, his private concerns about various court intrigues. We spent countless hours discussing the political undercurrents that shaped kingdom policy.
If the Crown had truly assigned him to some crucial diplomatic mission, why wouldn't he have mentioned it to me, even in passing?