Page 113 of A Sunwoven Ascent

There was too much to unravel—too many truths tangled with lies, too many secrets buried beneath history. Evelyne’s twenty-three years had been little more than a carefully maintained facade, a glamour concealing what truly lived within and beyond their veil.

A visit to the witch was not merely wise. It was necessary.

Kaldrek drew her into a firm embrace and rested his chin atop her head. “I hate to admit it, but I have no fucking idea what is happening anymore. And tomorrow, I am meant to endure ‘proper lord’ training from your sister and Cillian. I may ask you to smother me with the wool blanket tonight.”

Evelyne laughed then. Truly laughed. Her life had become so absurd she could hardly do anything else. Tomorrow, Holden, Heidara, and Kaldrek would all be subjected to Aurelia’s carefully organized training. Evelyne had not been invited, but she had no intention of missing it.

“I can hardly wait.” She bit her lip to keep from laughing.

“If you expect me to fumble, you have no idea how much I enjoy a challenge,” he said, voice deepening.

Oh, she knew. She knew exactly how competitive he could be. She remembered his reaction when Obren first crossed their path, and from what she had gathered, Kaldrek had never once let him win. But a contest of manners? That was diabolical.

“I don’t know,” Evelyne said lightly. “Holden may have the better skill when it comes to ballroom dancing.”

Kaldrek stiffened. “Ballroom dancing?”

“Aw, does that frighten you, Alpha?”

“I cannot believe my life has come to this.” He swallowed hard. “But I will still win.”

“And why are you not this competitive with practicing your magic?”

Kaldrek groaned. She knew she had gotten beneath his skin, and the wicked smile that crossed her mouth could not be helped.

“You, my lady, are evil.”

“I am honest. And you need work, so be prepared to visit Velenshire again after tomorrow’s lessons.”

***

The Duskwood tea room had never felt so misused. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows in soft golden streams, catching on polished wood and delicate porcelain, illuminating the careful arrangement of low tables, upholstered chairs, and embroidered cushions that had once hosted only the quiet murmur of polite society. It was a room made for refinement—for whispered conversation and soft laughter hidden behind gloved hands.

Now, it had been overtaken entirely.

Evelyne sat back in one of the cushioned chairs, one hand covering her mouth as she attempted, quite unsuccessfully, to maintain her composure. Across the room, Aurelia stood at the center like a general preparing for battle.

“Posture,” she instructed sharply, gesturing with two fingers. “If you do nothing else this morning, you will sit properly.”

Kaldrek sat in a high-backed chair that looked far too small for him, his shoulders rigid, his hands resting awkwardly atop his knees as though he had been placed there against his will. Beside him, Holden slouched completely, one leg stretched out, arms folded, looking as though he might rather be dragged through the forest than endure another moment of this.

“No,” Aurelia said at once, turning toward him. “Absolutely not.”

Holden did not move. “I am comfortable.”

“You are not meant to be comfortable,” Aurelia replied crisply. “You are meant to be presentable.”

Evelyne bit down harder on her lip.

Cillian stood nearby, arms loosely crossed, doing very little to hide his amusement. He had, to his credit, managed to dress both men in something resembling proper attire, though even he had admitted the tailor would be required shortly, given the… scale of them.

“Back straight,” Aurelia continued, circling Holden like a hawk. “Shoulders aligned. Hands—”

“Where?” Holden interrupted, lifting them as though unsure what to do with them.

“Anywhere that does not suggest you are about to wrestle someone,” Aurelia snapped.

He frowned. “I might.”