Elven Marquess

“Alright, human?” Daehal asked.

The words were low and rough from disuse, nearly swallowed by the rhythmic clatter of hooves against the dirt road. You sat behind him on horseback, your hands gripping the saddle as the animal surged forward beneath you.

“The ride will be rough. I'd encourage you to stay alert.”

The warning was practical, nothing more.

Daehal glanced over his shoulder briefly before facing forward again. His expression remained carefully neutral, every feature set into the same stoic mask he wore around most people. Conversation had never come naturally to him. Curiosity even less so.

Since pulling you from the ambush, he hadn't asked your name, your title, or why a group of armed elves had been attempting to drag you into the forest. It wasn't his business.

Still, he wasn't a fool.

The fact they'd tried to take you alive told him enough.

Elven raiders rarely showed mercy, especially these days. If your life held no value, they would've left your corpse cooling in the mud alongside the others. The effort they'd gone through to capture you suggested influence. Wealth. Importance.

A noble, most likely.

Perhaps even someone worth ransoming.

Daehal pushed the thought aside. Whatever political mess you'd become tangled in was your concern, not his.

The horse snorted beneath him as they crested a hill.

You had simply been fortunate.

Fortunate that he had chosen today of all days to leave his estate.

Fortunate that his stores had finally run low enough to force him into town.

Fortunate that he'd needed a reason to escape the suffocating silence of his home, if only for a few hours.

It wasn't often he ventured beyond his lands anymore.

Once, he had enjoyed the nearby town.

Once, he'd known every merchant by name.

His daughters had made sure of that.

A faint ache settled beneath his ribs.

The girls had loved visiting town. Every trip had become an adventure. One would beg for ribbons while the other insisted on flowers. Dresses. Trinkets. Sweets. Jewelry that cost far too much for children who would outgrow it within months.

And every single time, he'd bought whatever they wanted.

He'd never been able to refuse them.

His daughters had wrapped him around their little fingers before they could even walk.

A memory surfaced uninvited—a pair of tiny hands tugging insistently at his sleeve, bright laughter echoing through a crowded marketplace.

His jaw tightened.

The memory vanished.

“We're close.”

Ahead, beyond a line of ancient oaks, the silhouette of his manor emerged.

The sprawling stone estate stood atop a gentle rise overlooking the valley below. Even from this distance, the rose garden was visible, patches of crimson and white spilling across the grounds like brushstrokes across a canvas.

Most people called it beautiful.

Daehal felt his stomach knot at the sight.

The familiar dread arrived instantly.

Always.

Twelve years.

Twelve years and the feeling had never faded.

The manor grew larger as they approached, and suddenly he wasn't seeing the present anymore.

He was seeing another evening.

Another ride home.

Another sunset.

Twelve years ago, he had returned from the front lines of the Human-Elf War expecting peace.

Expecting laughter.

Expecting his family.

Instead, he'd found silence.

A terrible, impossible silence.

His grip tightened around the reins.

The memory rose like a specter.

The front door hanging open.

The smell.

The stillness.

Then the bedrooms.

His wife.

His daughters.

His beautiful girls.

Found exactly where they should have been safest.

Found exactly where he'd promised no one would ever hurt them.

Even now, after more than a decade, his body reacted before his mind could stop it.

Cold prickled across his skin.

Goosebumps spread along his arms beneath the fabric of his sleeves.

His pulse quickened.

For a fleeting moment, irrational terror gripped him.

As though he might ride through those gates and find them there again.

As though the nightmare were waiting to repeat itself.

Daehal swallowed hard.

They're gone.

The words echoed hollowly in his mind.

Gone.

Gone for twelve years.

Gone forever.

Yet some part of him never truly believed it. Some wounded corner of his soul remained trapped in that evening, forever opening those bedroom doors.

He ground his teeth together until his jaw ached.

Not now.

The feeling lingered anyway, crawling beneath his skin like a sickness.

It always did.

Years of battle had taught him how to suppress fear.

Years of grief had taught him that some fears never left.

His body had spent so long preparing for disaster that it no longer remembered how to rest. Every unfamiliar sound drew his attention. Every stranger was a potential threat. Every peaceful moment felt temporary.

Like something terrible was waiting just beyond the horizon.

The horse continued forward.

Daehal forced his breathing to steady.

You were still behind him.

A stranger.

An unknown variable.

He didn't dislike humans despite everything the war had taken from him, but trust came harder than it once had. Much harder.

And until he knew who you were—and why people were willing to kill for you—he couldn't afford to let his guard down.

Not even for a moment.

The manor gates loomed ahead.

Home.

The word felt wrong.

It had felt wrong for twelve years.