The comment landed like a slap. She stumbled, missing a step, and Silas caught her smoothly—pulling her closer in the process.
"Careful." His breath was warm against her temple. Too close. "The roots here can be treacherous."
"I'm fine." She tried to create distance between them, but his hold had tightened imperceptibly. "Actually, I think I'd like to wait for Thallos after all."
"We've barely begun." He spun her out and back in again, faster than the rhythm required. She collided with his chest, momentarily winded. "Surely a few more minutes won't hurt?"
"I said I'd rather stop."
But he didn't release her. Instead, his hand slid lower on her back, settling into the curve of her spine in a way that felt possessive rather than supportive. His eyes held hers, and there was something predatory in their depths now. Something she'd been too polite to acknowledge before.
"My brother is a fortunate man," Silas murmured. "Though I suspect he doesn't fully appreciate what he has. He never does."
"Let me go."
"In a moment. I just wanted to?—"
"She said let her go."
The voice cut through the clearing like a blade.
Thallos stood at the edge of the trees, his golden eyes blazing in the dim light. Every line of his body radiated fury—his shoulders squared, his hands clenched at his sides, his jaw set so tight it looked painful. Even his hooves seemed to dig into the earth with barely-contained violence.
She had never seen him like this. Not playful, not seductive, not even the controlled intensity she'd glimpsed during their more passionate moments. This was something else entirely.
This was rage.
"Brother." Silas released her at last, stepping back with unhurried grace. His expression remained maddeningly composed. "You're earlier than I expected."
"Get away from her."
"We were only dancing. You did send me to keep her company, after all."
"I sent you nothing." Thallos stalked forward, placing himself between her and his brother. "Your message said Tuesday. It's Sunday."
"I found myself with an unexpected opening in my schedule." Silas straightened his cuffs, the gesture deliberately casual. "And when I heard you had a… lady friend, I simply couldn't resist making her acquaintance."
"Marigold." Thallos didn't turn around, keeping his eyes fixed on Silas. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine." Her voice came out steadier than she felt. "He didn't hurt me."
"He shouldn't have touched you at all."
"Now, now." Silas's tone was light, almost teasing. "Is that any way to speak to family? I was simply being hospitable. Welcoming your latest conquest to the fold, as it were."
"Don't."
"Don't what? Tell the truth?" Silas's smile sharpened. "How many has it been now, brother? Since you fled to this charming little backwater? A dozen? Two dozen? I lost count."
The words hit their mark. She could see it in the way Thallos's shoulders went rigid, in the slight falter of his aggressive stance. Old wounds, she realized. Old weapons, long since sharpened.
"This isn't the place," Thallos said through gritted teeth.
"Isn't it? I find it rather appropriate, actually. The sacred grove where you've been… tutoring your florist." Silas's gaze slid to Marigold, knowing and cruel. "Did he tell you about themagic here? How it lowers inhibitions, amplifies desire? Rather convenient, wouldn't you say?"
"That's enough." Thallos moved before she could blink, closing the distance between himself and Silas with predatory speed. He grabbed his brother by the collar, hauling him close. "You want to hurt me? Fine. I'm used to it. But you don't get to touch her. You don't get to poison what we have with your jealousy and your bitter little games."
For one tense moment, the brothers stood locked together, their faces inches apart. Something passed between them—years of history, of rivalry, of wounds that had never healed.
