Page 128 of A Sunwoven Ascent

“A potential mate?” Aurelia repeated.

Evelyne’s eyes widened. “No,” she said, a laugh slipping from her lips. “You cannot be serious.”

Aurelia’s gaze snapped toward Evelyne, who was now covering her mouth in a very poor attempt to suppress her amusement.

“Oh,” Evelyne said slowly, “this makes far too much sense… and yet none at all.”

“What is it?” Aurelia asked urgently.

“Do you remember when I tried to explain how I knew Kaldrek was my mate?”

Aurelia’s brow furrowed. “You said something about his scent being pleasant, I believe. And some sort of pull toward him. I do not recall every detail, sister. Can we please stop playing games?”

“This is not a game, Aurelia.” Evelyne leaned forward slightly. “Has anyone’s scent been particularly appealing to you of late? Someone you may have asked about the type of soap he uses, perhaps?” She paused. “Holden, for instance?”

Aurelia’s eyes widened. Then she stood abruptly, smoothing her skirts with sharp, furious hands.

“You are both lying,” she declared. “I am perfectly fine. I have no potential mate, I most certainly do not have a scent, and you will not mention that male to me again.”

She turned and stormed from the library.

Kaldrek watched her go, then looked back to Evelyne with a small shrug. “Well. That did not go terribly.”

Evelyne stared after her, lifting her teacup slowly. “I cannot believe this.”

“Yeah,” Kaldrek said. “Holden can’t either.”

Evelyne let out a breath. “The ball should be delightful. I suppose I shall be leading the dance lessons until then.”

Kaldrek’s mouth curved. “She didn’t even ask about the third stage.”

Chapter 52

Her mother had truly outdone herself. From the moment Evelyne stepped into the ballroom, it was clear no expense had been spared. The gowns alone had been a feat, with new fabrics secured for both her and Aurelia, each chosen with meticulous care. But the décor transformed the evening entirely.

It was breathtaking.

Rich autumn hues draped the room in deep merlot, hunter green, and soft burnt orange. Every table had been arranged with precision, adorned with dried florals, berries, and gilded leaves that glowed beneath the flicker of tall candelabras. Candlelight danced across polished silver and crystal, casting a golden warmth over the room.

The music was lively. Not the somber tone one might expect so soon after loss. This evening was meant to celebrate life, to shift the mood, to remind every guest that while Lord Aron Duskwood had passed, the family remained strong.

This was not mourning.

This was transition.

Cillian stood at the entrance beside their mother, and Evelyne could not help studying him. He had the polished bearing of a lord in deep autumn green threaded subtly with gold, his hair neatly styled, his face clean-shaven and calm. One arm supported their mother as they greeted each arriving guest, while his other rested behind his back, his posture steady and controlled.

Lady Celeste Duskwood was striking in black. Her gown shimmered faintly beneath the candlelight, silk moving elegantly with each step, while a delicate veil softened the upper half of her face. It was widow’s attire, yes, but there was nothing fragile about her presence. She commanded the room without raising her voice, greeting each guest with a smile that revealed none of the grief beneath it.

Evelyne stood beside Aurelia, watching. Thankfully, her sister showed no sign of her… condition. She appeared entirely restored, radiant even, in a crimson gown cut low at the neckline and threaded with silver that caught the light whenever she moved. Her hair fell in soft waves, pinned behind one ear with a diamond barrette, while bold red lips, shadowed eyes, and a faint shimmer along her collarbone completed the effect.

Heidara would make her entrance soon. Evelyne had already seen her prepared for the evening, her golden hair pinned loosely with soft strands framing her face and a jeweled necklace resting just above the neckline of her midnight-blue gown. She looked divine.

The first part of the evening would be carefully controlled: greetings, condolences, and restrained acknowledgments of Aron’s passing. There would be whispers, of course, about Evelyne’s broken betrothal to Alaric, but her mother would manage them. She always did.

A simple redirection. A well-placed phrase. “Evelyne is doing quite well… and has already found a new interest.”

White lies.