Chapter 48
Evelyne sat with Kaldrek in the tent after the packs had eaten and settled into their camps for the night.
He knelt on the ground with a fistful of dirt in one hand, the other resting on his knee, while she watched him practice his wielding.
He had refused the books that were offered to him, insisting he had already memorized the spells and motions, and that if he could not learn it himself, he never would.
Though Evelyne suspected he was mostly being stubborn.
“Perhaps we could visit Charise Hallowell soon?” she said. “She may be able to help you practice, seeing as I am no help at all.”
“You are a great help,” Kaldrek replied. “I get to stare at a beautiful female every night while I fail miserably. At least one thing in my life is going well.”
He smirked just as the dirt lifted from his palm, hovered for a breath, then dropped unceremoniously onto his legs.
He huffed in disappointment and started crawling toward her.
Evelyne raised a hand. “Absolutely not. Back to practicing. It has been five minutes, and I will not be blamed for distracting you again.”
“I’d much rather be distracted.”
“You are making progress, you know,” Evelyne said, a touch of sarcasm in her voice. “When you actually remain focused on the task.”
Kaldrek’s brows lifted. “Are you mocking my poor witch abilities?”
“No. I am simply saying your concentration needs work. You know the spells. You know the techniques. I have watched you wield for longer each day, but you could do far more with the right teacher.”
He stood and crossed his arms, biceps flexing beneath tanned, inked skin. Evelyne could not help admiring the sheer size of him, even when she was meant to be serious.
“Do you truly want me to seek help?”
She did not have to think. “Yes. Absolutely. Do you not want to learn properly?”
Kaldrek shrugged. “I suppose. It feels more like a side hobby, you know?”
A side hobby? Evelyne did not believe that for a moment.
She had seen how much it frustrated him when he failed to master what he considered an easy technique.
And ever since she had been taken to the tunnels, something in him had seemed unsettled—frustrated, unfocused, as though he was desperate to summon the full force of his power but could not move past his own anger.
“Kaldrek,” she said firmly, drawing his attention back to her. “You seemed different today. At the grove.”
His head turned sharply, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “I do not know what you mean.”
“You seemed… off. As though Cillian’s magic disturbed you, or perhaps the tree itself.”
“Disturbed me?”
“Disturbed might not be the word for it,” she said carefully. “But you were curious. Almost entranced.”
Kaldrek frowned, tilting his head. “I thought we all were intrigued. I am sorry if I seemed too intense. His magic, the tree’s magic… It is fascinating. I nearly felt as though I could lose myself in it.”
Evelyne did not quite know what to make of that, but she dared not press further. If she did, he might begin asking whether she was having those dreams again. And the truth was, she was. Maybe she was reading too much into it.
“You are right,” she said softly. “Forgive me. It was strange, was it not?” She shook off the thought and reached for him. “I still cannot believe Cillian is its kin.”
It sounded absurd aloud. A tree, for heaven’s sake. And yet nothing about the magic she had witnessed could be denied. Cillian was part Sunweaver, part wolf, just as Kaldrek was part witch, part wolf.
“You and Cillian are hybrids, in a way.”
Kaldrek huffed. “I suppose. I have never heard such a name for it, but I imagine there must be others like us. I have simply never met one.” His expression turned thoughtful. “But his magic is not witch magic. His is… life.”
“And Alia,” Evelyne murmured. “How did she come to be with the Stonebridge family? It feels almost as though she was placed there intentionally.”
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.”
“You will not.”
Kaldrek let out a low, quiet laugh.
Aurelia turned on him instantly. “And you—do not encourage him.”
“I am merely observing,” Kaldrek replied, his tone far too calm to be entirely sincere.
Evelyne’s shoulders shook.
“Now,” Aurelia continued, regaining her composure, “gentlemen of status must be able to engage in proper conversation. You cannot simply sit in silence and glare at one another.”
“I don’t glare,” Holden muttered.
“You absolutely do.”
Cillian stepped forward. “You might speak of trade,” he offered. “Or agriculture. Land management. The movement of goods between territories.”
“Livestock,” Holden said at once. “I know livestock.”
Aurelia blinked. “That is… surprisingly useful.”
“I’ve killed plenty of it.”
“No.” Aurelia pressed her fingers to her temple. “We do not say that. You manage livestock. You oversee production. You—”
“Lie about it?” he asked, raising a brow.
“Refine it.”
Evelyne nearly lost it entirely. Her sister’s patience was visibly wearing thin.
“Now,” Aurelia said, turning toward Heidara, “you, at least, are doing quite well.”
Heidara sat upright, her posture stiff but determined, hands folded neatly in her lap just as instructed.
“You see?” Aurelia said, gesturing toward her. “Composure. Grace. Restraint.”
Heidara nodded slowly. “What do I talk about?” she asked.
“Your interests,” Aurelia replied. “Reading. Music. The piano, perhaps. Embroidery—”
“That sounds dreadful,” Heidara said immediately.
Aurelia froze.
“Dreadful?” she repeated.
“Yes. Is running considered a suitable interest? Or sparring?”
Aurelia inhaled sharply. “No.”
“I like both.”
“I gathered.”
Heidara tilted her head. “What if I speak about hunting?”
“You will not speak about hunting.”
“What if they ask?”
“They will not,” Aurelia said through clenched teeth, “and if they do, you will smile, and redirect the conversation.”
“To what?” Heidara pressed.
“To something appropriate.”
Heidara considered this.
“I do not know anything appropriate in your world.”
Aurelia swayed slightly. “Good heavens…”