Page 103 of The Last Remaining Light

For one impossible moment, every sound in the ballroom disappeared.

She stole the breath from his lungs.

She was divine and would rival the beauty of any goddess.

Caelyn had to cling to the nearby pillar to keep himself from running over to her, and instead, eased himself back behind it, watching her from a distance.

She looked older in a way that didn't have anything to do with age. Veylspire had carved confidence directly into her bones. Scholars gathered around her instinctively like she was a beacon. She towered over many of them, her frame lithe and tall. Regal and elegant.

His heart threatened to burst from his chest any time she smiled, and his breath was stuck in his lungs. He felt like he was drowning.

Nobles and Spire elites turned their attention toward her when she spoke.

Power recognized power. Like calls to like. Evidence was standing right in front of him.

And standing beside her—Korvel Thorne.

He was shorter than Elowynn by a small margin, which pleased Caelyn greatly. But he was no less polished or refined. Caelyn’s jaw clenched hard enough to ache when Korvel leaned slightly toward her, saying something low enough to earn a laugh from Elowynn.

A laugh! Something dark pulled violently at Caelyn’s stomach.

The chandeliers directly overhead flickered, and several nearby servants glanced upward nervously. Caelyn stepped backward into the shadow of an archway on instinct before the resonance around him reacted further.

Breathe, he told himself, and he forced his body to still.

Across the ballroom, Elowynn lifted her wine glass with grace while listening to Korvel speak, wholly unaware that Caelyn stood less than sixty paces away, watching her from the dark.

But as he watched her more, Caelyn realized something that bothered him.

She was… performing. None of her behaviors were genuine.

Her smiles were practiced. Her laugh was for show. Her eyes didn't crinkle and sparkle in true amusement when either of those things happened. And whenever a conversation turned somewhere she didn't wish it to go, she lifted her wineglass.

Caelyn remained hidden within the shadows at the edge of the ballroom, broad shoulders half-concealed beneath black formal attire while his gaze never left Elowynn for even a single heartbeat.

Five turnings.

Five bloody damn turnings.

And he still knew which smiles were real.

Chapter Twenty-Two

“The deadliest courts are not ruled by kings. They are ruled by information.”

— Notes of Senior Archivist Arcturus Thalvio

Elowynn had been to a few of the Frostfall Galas over the turnings and had learned they were less a celebration and more a battlefield camouflaged in silk and crystal.

There were conversations of treaties and alliances, rivalries and buried threats. All disguised beneath smiles and pleasantries. Neither the music nor the splendor that was the Zenith Hall could mask it fully. Every conversation was carefully choreographed.

It was a game, and Elowynn had been studying it for a while now.

“Your eyes are as sharp as a hidden dagger this night,” Korvel murmured in her ear from beside her. “What might you be considering in that head of yours?”

Elowynn lifted her wine glass to her lips before answering.

“I am considering several options, if you must know.”