Page 106 of The Last Remaining Light

Korvel guided her smoothly through another turn, her dress twirling and billowing out around her. He had not taken his eyes off her once.

He leaned in close, lifting his mouth near her ear. “You are studying exits.”

“Pardon?” she said, rearing back slightly.

Korvel smirked, his gray eyes sparkling. He knew he’d caught her off guard. “You've glanced toward every major terrace entrance since arriving.” His expression remained composed. “That generally indicates either boredom or preparation to flee."

She narrowed her eyes, and he only smiled. She didn't offer any response to him, which was likely answer enough.

The music swelled around them and Elowynn studied him carefully while they danced.

He was beautiful, this was true. And Korvel was intelligent. But there was danger beneath that exterior. The Astrari was ambitious, and ambitious men frightened her far more than openly dangerous ones ever had. Open threats could be anticipated. Men like Korvel, however, he was the kind of man who would be willing to sacrifice almost anything once they decided something mattered enough to them.

The dance ended beneath applause and Korvel bowed toward her with practiced grace. Elowynn inclined her head in return and dipped into a small curtsy, as was the customary end of the celestial waltz.

Then she turned away from him and snatched another glass of wine from a passing servant because she deserved compensation for surviving that interaction.

The next few bells dissolved into political performance disguised as civilized conversation. Discussions of resonance instability morphed into trade negotiations, which then began leaning into observatory funding and border security while no one acknowledged the truth lurking beneath every polished exchange.

The Dimming was spreading faster; everyone knew it. But no one wanted to talk about it directly.

So instead, they spoke of “southern complications.” Of “increasing instability along the outer currents.” Of “unfortunate losses” and “temporary trade disruption.”

Pretty phrases wrapped carefully around a truth too chilling to confront head on.

Unfortunately, most people preferred comfortable lies over uncomfortable truths.

Elowynn had long since lost patience for that sort of cowardice.

She navigated the ballroom exactly as she had learned over the last five turnings:

Be graceful. Be careful. Be observant.

Studying the board.

And the more she observed tonight—the less she trusted Korvel Thorne.

She had known this deep down, but the final conclusion had arrived to her in fragments.

She had taken note of the way he redirected conversation with subtle ease and how he always seemed to be the one to guide introductions. She studied the way certain elite figures deferred toward him despite his relatively modest official standing.

And on top of all that, she noted how often he watched her when he thought she was not looking.

Never with affection or longing or fondness.

With intent.

He wanted something from her, she just wished she knew what. Was it power or notice? Or something she had yet to discover?

By the time the gala began thinning toward late bells, unease had sunk fully beneath her skin.

She was several glasses deep into the wine, though her poise remained perfectly intact. A lady never overindulges in spirits all at once; pacing was important. She had learned that the hard way after one too many drinks with Alyra and Lora late one evening after a rather dull symposium. Elowynn had been ill all night until the dawn bell, and even then, she stayed in bed the whole next sun.

The snow no longer fell beyond the crystalline windows while nobles slowly disappeared into upper terraces and observatory halls beyond the ballroom.

Elowynn decided she’d had enough.

“I need air,” she said finally, her cheeks and ear tips flushed from the wine.