She didn't feel the need to apologize, to minimize, to make herself small. She was allowed to have things. She was allowed to want things. She was allowed to be happy.
The realization settled into her bones like warmth on a cold day. She was going to be okay. No—more than okay. She was going to be wonderful.
A smile spread across her face, bright and unguarded. Then she set off down the street. She had a satyr to find.
He was waiting for her. He would always be waiting for her.
And she was finally, truly ready to be found.
CHAPTER 23
The grove was different in twilight.
Marigold picked her way along the familiar path, the undergrowth rustling softly around her ankles. She'd deliberately arrived early—partly because she'd been too restless to stay in her apartment any longer, and partly because she wanted a few minutes alone with the magic of this place before Thallos arrived.
The last light of day filtered through the canopy above, turning the air itself golden. Fireflies had begun their nightly dance, pinpricks of light drifting lazily between the ancient oaks. The scent of wild honeysuckle hung heavy in the stillness, sweet enough to taste on her tongue.
She stepped into the clearing and stopped, letting the atmosphere wash over her.
It was beautiful. Enchanted in the truest sense of the word. The first time Thallos had brought her here, she'd been too nervous to appreciate it fully—too focused on the prospect of dancingwith him, of being close to him, of making a fool of herself. Now she could see what he'd been trying to show her.
This place was special. Sacred, maybe. The kind of place where the boundary between the mundane and the magical wore thin.
And here I am,she thought wryly,in my third-best sundress, about to dance with a satyr.
Life had taken some unexpected turns lately.
She wandered toward the center of the clearing, her fingers trailing across the trunk of a massive oak. The bark was warm beneath her touch, almost alive in a way ordinary trees weren't. A faint hum seemed to vibrate through the wood, like a heartbeat or a distant song.
"It responds to emotion, you know."
She spun around, her heart leaping into her throat.
A satyr stood at the edge of the clearing. Not Thallos—the silhouette was wrong, leaner and sharper-edged. But the curling horns and powerful goat legs were unmistakable even in the fading light.
"I'm sorry?"
He stepped forward, and the remaining daylight caught his features. He was handsome in a precise, controlled way—dark hair neatly styled, angular face composed into an expression of polite interest. His eyes were darker than Thallos's, more calculated somehow. Where Thallos radiated warmth and chaos, this satyr projected something cooler. More contained.
"The grove," he clarified, gesturing at the trees around them. "It amplifies whatever you're feeling. Joy, desire, fear…" A slightsmile curved his lips. "One should be careful what emotions one brings to such a place."
"I… didn't realize anyone else would be here." Her hand dropped from the tree trunk. Something about this satyr made her want to step back, though she couldn't have explained why.
"Forgive me for startling you." He moved closer with that fluid grace all satyrs seemed to possess, his hooves making barely a sound on the soft earth. "You must be Marigold. The florist."
"That's right." She didn't offer her hand. "And you are?"
"Silas." He inclined his head in a gesture that felt more formal than friendly. "Thallos's brother."
Brother.
The word landed in her stomach like a stone. He had mentioned a brother. Once. But he’d clearly been reluctant to discuss him and she hadn’t pressed.
"He hasn’t told me about you," she said carefully.
"No?" Silas's smile widened, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "How like him. Thallos has always been… selective about what he shares."
The criticism was subtle, almost gentle. It still made her bristle.
