Page 104 of A Sunwoven Ascent

Their mother had yet to enter the room, and the air had already begun to thicken with anticipation. No one spoke much. Even the servants moved more carefully than usual, as though aware that something of importance was about to unfold.

Cillian seemed the least affected. He had never cared for social gatherings, but he accepted the duty calmly, as if all the role required was his presence. He sat quiet and collected, dressed just like their father.

Alaric was similarly dressed, though his posture held a touch more awareness, like he understood the weight of the evening in a different way. Heidara, however, stood out in her own way. She wore one of Aurelia’s deep navy dresses, with her hair woven into a crown-like braid. Her golden waves fell freely down her back, softer than Evelyne had ever seen them. There was no corset, of course. Heidara would have torn it off within moments. Still, she looked beautiful. And surprisingly nervous.

She sat beside Alaric as he introduced her to his parents, her usual confidence slightly tempered. It was subtle, but Evelyne noticed the restless movement of her fingers in her lap and the small tightening of her posture.

Alia remained in her servant’s attire, her hair secured in a tight, neat bun. Yet even dressed so simply, there was something striking about her. Her attention lingered on Cillian with thoughtful calm, and his kept drifting back to her.

He had mentioned earlier that he intended to visit the Solwyn Grove in the morning and had asked Alia to guide him there. Evelyne had promptly invited herself along. There was too much she still needed to understand, and she wanted to see Charise Hallowell again—not only to thank the witch, but to warn her about what they had encountered beyond the southern lands.

More than that, Evelyne needed answers. About the covens. About the Duskwood bloodline. About what her ancestors might have known.

Across the table, Gaviel Stonebridge sat in reserved silence, offering polite smiles when needed, particularly to Heidara, though Evelyne could see the strain beneath them. He had only just learned of Lord Duskwood’s death, and Aron had been his dearest friend. To sit here now among that friend’s children, in their home, beside his widow, could not have been easy. Evelyne could scarcely imagine the weight of it.

Did they all truly need to be here for this?

Mauri moved around the table, filling glasses with wine, just as the doors opened once more and Lady Celeste Duskwood entered. She wore black, her silver-laced hair pinned at the nape of her neck, her gown simple but unmistakably—

A widow’s dress.

The sight struck Evelyne harder than she expected, making the loss feel suddenly real—not only what they had lost, but what it meant for their family now, and for whatever future waited ahead.

Celeste offered a composed nod to those gathered, then took her seat at the head of the table. At once, everyone seemed to straighten. Even without speaking, she commanded attention. Evelyne had always noticed the effect her mother had on a room—the lifted shoulders, aligned backs, hands settling into laps or beside plates. It was not fear, exactly, but something more instinctive: the need to meet her expectations.

Tonight was no different. Even Holden shifted slightly in his chair.

Kaldrek, however, did not move at all. Evelyne had expected as much. It was not defiance or disrespect; it would not occur to him to posture for anyone. He felt no need to impress, no pressure to conform.

It was simply who he was and precisely why she loved him.

“Thank you all for joining me this evening,” Celeste began. “I understand that each of you carries your own responsibilities and obligations.”

Her gaze shifted briefly to Evelyne.

“However,” she continued, lifting her glass after Mauri filled it, “this is not merely a dinner. It is a meeting, though I am certain you have all gathered as much.”

A silence followed.

“This is to be a discussion,” Celeste added, “regarding what comes next.” She took a small sip of wine before setting her glass aside. “As you are all aware, my husband, Lord Aron Duskwood, has passed. As such, Cillian will now assume his place as lord of this house.”

Evelyne and Aurelia both looked to their brother. Cillian sat steady, his expression calm. He had expected this, or perhaps he had already been told. Either way, he did not falter.

“As lady of the house,” Celeste continued, “it now falls to me to ensure that our family name remains both respected and prosperous. It is the only way to guarantee your safety… and the security of any future generations.”

Celeste lifted her hand before Evelyne could speak.

“I am not referring to marriage,” she said, her tone calm. “I am simply stating that, whether Cillian prefers it or not, he must now step fully into his role as lord. A responsibility he has been aware of since childhood.”

She looked to her daughters.

“As for you both, society has not yet been informed of your return. That will change shortly. Word of your father’s passing will spread, and with it, our family’s new standing. We shall hold a memorial in his honor and formally announce Cillian’s place as head of this house.” Celeste turned back to the table. “Cillian, you will be expected to appear in society next season. And now that you are one-and-twenty, it is time you begin considering your future lady of the house.”

One-and-twenty. The words struck Evelyne harder than anything else her mother had said. She had missed his birthday, one of the few days each year that had always belonged only to their family. She had always tried to make him feel special that day, and this year, she had forgotten.

Evelyne pressed a hand to her mouth and looked to Cillian, apology filling her eyes. He answered with a soft smile and a slight shake of his head, gently refusing her guilt.

Don’t, his look seemed to say.