The Dark Elf’s Secret Baby (Secret Babies For Prothekan Dark Elves Book 1)
The Dark Elf’s Secret Baby: Chapter 19

Iheru’s voice drones on unintelligibly as he waves a hand around at the rolling fields just outside the main village of Zerva. I have no doubt that he’s explaining something about the fields and their produce, or perhaps their production levels or some other self-important tidbit of information shared with the intent of inflating his ego or position as overseer.

Try as I might to actually listen to the elf, I can’t bring myself to pay attention for more than a few minutes. I came to Zerva under the guise of a work trip, citing my new position as Lieutenant as a reason to visit the island paradise, but Layla was my real motivation for sailing here.

And now I’m not sure she even wants to see me. No, I’mcertainshe doesn’t want to see me.

A sigh slips through my lips before I can think to suppress it, and Iheru stops mid-sentence.

“Perhaps the village will interest you more, Lieutenant,” He says quickly as he ushers me back up the gravel path, putting the thicket of the jungle and the crop fields behind us as we head back toward the village.

I don’t bother trying to explain anything to him or apologize. Out of everything on Zerva, save for Layla, the village is certainly the thing that interests me most. It’s where Layla has lived for the past few years, where her son- maybemyson- has been raised.

It’s likely where Layla will die.

I shake my head as if to clear it of that final thought. Amidst everything that happened last night, I didn’t even get a chance to ask her about her illness, about how she is. Everything devolved too quickly.

Gods, that fight was so stupid. I hadn’t meant to blurt out my questions about the identity of her son’s father, but I couldn’t help myself. The boy is a damned spitting image of me, and the timing of it all makes sense.

Why wouldn’t she tell me?

Images of the fire blazing behind Layla’s eyes during our fight last night sets my teeth grinding together. Gods, she can be sostubborn! Only I would replace myself so deeply entwined with such a fearless human woman.

Admittedly, the fight was as much my fault as Layla’s. My mouth moved faster than my mind, and I fumbled everything. It was so much easier between us in Camp Horizon, and now, I can’t help but feel like everything’s fallen apart. All I wanted was to see her, to try and help her in her last days, but it’s like we can’t even stand each other right now.

Did I do something to make her think that I would hurt her? Or hurt our son?

I wrack my mind, trying desperately to come up with any kind of explanation as to why she would so vehemently avoid any questions about her son’s paternity. I know I’d said that things needed to stay purely physical between us, but I never thought she’d take that as an admittance that I didn’t care about her, or worse, that I would actively try to hurt her!

The overseer’s voice drones on as we pass through the same bungalows I did last night, rocks skittering under our feet as we make our way up the path. The salt in the air seems exceptionally thick today, sticking in my lungs and making it even harder to breathe as we move up the path.

Distant sounds of laughter and the shouting voices of children draw me from my thoughts, and I look up to realize that we’re walking along a woven fence encircling a small field. A play area, for the little building beyond. The school.

My lungs stop working entirely when I see the same little boy from that day on the docks playing in the sand, a little wooden toy clutched in his tiny fist as he rolls it over small mounds of sand.

Layla’s son.

Even from a distance, our resemblance is undeniable. His violet eyes sparkle with mischief as he sends his little toy plowing through the sand, making silly sounds with his mouth as it goes. Dark hair hangs in his face as he leans down to build up another sand mound, and I can’t help but smile as I watch him play. He seems… happy.

“Ah, yes, the school,” Iheru says from over my shoulder, thinly veiled boredom dripping from his words.

“And how old must the children be, to attend this school?” I ask, never taking my eyes off the little boy.

“For true education, the children must be as young as five, but as you can see, even the younger ones attend some sort of preschool program. That boy there is just shy of three, I believe,” Iheru supplies with a lazy wave of his hand toward the little boy.

“Unfortunately, mixed children aren’t separate from the rest.”

My head snaps toward him at the derision in his words, the clear disdain he holds for children of mixed race igniting my rage. Iheru’s eyes widen slightly at my reaction, but before he can try to correct his misstep, I cut in.

“And why, pray tell, should they be kept separate?” I manage to grind out through gritted teeth. Iheru’s mouth opens and closes uselessly, like a fish on a line as he stares at me.

“M-m-my apologies, Lieutenant,” Iheru stammers, sinking away from me. There’s a rather large part of me that would relish in the feel of his windpipe in his hands, his blood spattering on my shoes, but I turn away from him, trying desperately to reign in my temper.

“You’re dismissed,” I reply coldly, gripping the top of the fence so tightly in my hands that the reeds groan. “Don’t let me see your face for the rest of the day.”

The only reply I get is the quickly receding sound of footfalls. Good- his fear might help him control his tongue next time. I suck in a cooling breath, letting my eyes fall back on Layla’s little boy, an instant calm enveloping the raging inferno in my ribs as I watch him play.

There’s no way he’s not my son- the resemblance is too uncanny, and given what Iheru has to say about his age, the math lines up. He’s my son, but I don’t even know his name.

A sudden urge to approach the boy, to simply be close to him, crashes over me. I should know his name if I’m his father- he should know me, should know that I want to have some kind of relationship with him.

I try to smother the urge, gripping the fence even harder beneath my hands. Layla would kill me if she found out I approached her son without permission, especially with things being the way they are between us right now. She wouldn’t even let me inside the house last night, and I can’t help but feel like that was because her son was somewhere sleeping inside.

Despite my overwhelming desire for answers, to just have a conversation with the child, the last thing I want to do is betray her trust- what little I have left of it.

Even in light of my conclusion, however, it still seems so incredibly unfair, to have to watch someone who may potentially be my child grow up without me, to never be given the opportunity to know them or love them. Even without knowing the little boy, my heart aches to be near him.

I sigh, steeling myself. It wouldn’t be right for me to go behind Layla’s back or against her wishes as his mother, no matter who I may be to the child. I allow myself one last glance at the boy before I go, only to replace he’s already looking at me.

The second our violet eyes lock, the little boy is on his feet, running at me in a mad dash with a silly grin on his face. My heart melts in my chest, becoming nothing but a sopping pile of goo as I watch his fine hair bounce around his face until he’s standing before me, nothing but a thin fence of reeds separating us as he cranes his neck to look up at me.

“Play?” He asks excitedly, waving his little toy around enthusiastically. “Play with me?”

I couldn’t say no to that face if I wanted to, consequences be damned.

The little boy squeals with delight as I nod, and my heart reforms just to melt all over again. Hopping over the fence, I let him grab my hand, leading me back toward the little sandpit he’d been playing in a few moments earlier.

At his rather vehement direction, I help build up little sandpiles for him to crash his toy through, his intensity pulling laughs from me. He’s thrilled with my reaction, making his movements even more dramatic and looking at me expectantly, waiting for me to smile or laugh for him.

“What’s your name?” I ask him after a few moments. I’d tried to avoid saying much, if only to respect what’s left of Layla’s wishes, but I’ve already come too far. I have to know.

“Jasper,” The little boy replies, pausing his game to look up at me. “What’s your name?”

“Kerym,” I smile back at him. Jasper nods thoughtfully, as if I’ve just confirmed something he’s long suspected, before going back to his game. This little boy has thoroughly claimed my heart, in every sense of the word.

I love him, I would kill and die for him- he has to be my son, there’s no other explanation. What’s going to happen to him when Layla inevitably succumbs to her bronchite marias? Who will take care of him?

It wouldn’t surprise me to know that Layla has kept her illness a secret from him, trying to protect him from the uglier truths of the world. He’s so young, so full of joy- I would understand if she’d tried to preserve that in the face of such a damning situation, but at the same time, should he not know that there will come a time, possibly one day soon, where he has to be without his mother?

“Can you do magic?” Jasper asks. The sound of his little voice helps to chase away the dark heaviness that had crept into my chest, thinking about Layla’s diagnosis and what it may mean for Jasper. I smile and nod conspiratorially at him, and his eyes widen as a matching smile spreads over his face.

“Show me!” He shrieks excitedly, his toy instantly forgotten as he plops down inches away from my lap, staring up at me. With a snap of my fingers, I produce an enlarged snowflake that hives over my hand, the intricate design of the ice glistening in the hot island sun. Jasper gasps animatedly, reaching out his little fingers to feel the snowflake and retracting them at the chill.

“It’s cold!” He squeals, his eyes darting between mine and the snowflake. My smile widens as I watch him stare in wonder before I launch the snowflake up, letting it flutter to the ground and melt hardly a second later.

“Again! Again!” Jasper chants, and I’m about to oblige him when I see a blur of brown and tan racing toward us over his shoulder.

It’s Layla, her eyes ablaze with the promise of violence, striding toward us.