Chapter 24
The rage still burned in Thallos’s chest, hot and corrosive, but Marigold's hands on his face worked like cool water on a fever.
I choose you.
Three words. Such simple, ordinary words. But the way she'd said them—fierce and certain, her green eyes blazing in the twilight—had cracked something open inside him. Something that had been sealed shut for years.
He held her against him, breathing in the scent of wildflowers and something uniquely her, and felt the fury begin to ebb. Not disappear—Silas had ensured that wouldn't happen anytime soon—but recede enough that he could think clearly again.
"He'll be at my cabin," he said finally, his voice rough. "Waiting."
She pulled back just enough to look up at him. "You don't have to go tonight. Whatever's between you two—it can wait until morning."
"No." He shook his head, one hand still tangled in her hair. "It's been waiting too long already. Years. And now he's here, in my town, near you—" His jaw tightened. "I need to face this."
She studied him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. "What happened between you? And don't say 'nothing.' I saw his face, Thallos. I heard what he said. That wasn't just sibling rivalry."
The question hit somewhere tender, somewhere he'd spent considerable effort protecting. But she'd earned the truth. She'd stood beside him, chosen him, defended him against his own blood without knowing any of the history.
He owed her this.
"There was a woman," he began, then stopped. The words felt like glass in his throat. "Her name was Jen."
Her hand found his, her fingers interlacing with his own. She didn't speak. Didn't push. Just waited, patient as the ancient oaks surrounding them.
"I met her about five years ago, back in the city.
She was… everything I thought I wanted. Beautiful.
Clever. Ambitious." He laughed, the sound bitter even to his own ears.
"She made me feel like I was special. Like I was more than just charm and good looks and parties. Like she saw something real in me."
"What happened?"
"Silas happened." The name tasted like ash.
"He'd always been jealous of me—or so I thought.
I was the youngest but I was the one who inherited our father's gift for growing things, the one everyone expected to take over the family vineyards.
Silas got the brains, the business sense, but I got the magic. And in our world, magic matters."
He guided them both toward the massive oak at the clearing's edge, settling against its trunk with her tucked against his side. The bark was warm and welcoming, the grove's magic gentler now, responding to the shift in his emotions.
"Jen and I were together for almost a year.
I thought—" He broke off, shaking his head.
"It doesn't matter what I thought. What matters is that Silas approached her behind my back.
Told her things about me. Some true, some…
embellished. Painted a picture of a man who would never commit, never settle down, never be what she needed. "
"And she believed him?"
"She believed the part where he offered her something better.
" Thallos's voice hardened. "He seduced her.
Not just physically—emotionally. Made her think he was the stable, reliable brother while I was just a pretty face with no substance.
By the time I found out, they'd been carrying on for months. Everyone knew except me."
Her grip on his hand tightened. "That's… god, Thallos. I'm so sorry."
"The worst part wasn't the betrayal. It was the aftermath.
" He stared up at the stars beginning to pepper the darkening sky.
"Silas didn't even want her. Not really.
Once he'd proven he could take her from me, he lost interest. Dropped her within weeks.
The whole thing was just—" He struggled to find the word.
"An exercise. A demonstration. Proving that anything I had, he could take. "
"That's why you came here. To Harmony Glen."
"I ran." No point in dressing it up. "I couldn't stand watching them together, and then I couldn't stand watching her fall apart when he discarded her.
Couldn't stand the pity in everyone's eyes, the whispers. This vineyard was part of my family’s property, but it was small and insignificant, about as far from my old life as I could get. So I started over."
The confession hung between them, raw and unvarnished. He waited for her response, half-expecting her to pull away. After all, what did it say about him that he'd fled rather than fought? That his response to betrayal had been retreat rather than confrontation?
But she didn't pull away. Instead, she turned to face him fully, her expression thoughtful.
"Do you still have feelings for her? Jen?"
"No." The answer came immediately, sure and certain.
"Whatever I felt for her… it died when I found out.
And honestly? Looking back now, I don't think it was ever real.
I was in love with the idea of her, maybe.
With being chosen. But the actual woman?
" He shook his head. "We barely knew each other. Not really."
"But you never dealt with Silas."
"I never dealt with any of it." He met her eyes, forcing himself to hold her gaze despite the shame crawling through him. "I buried it. Told myself that if I just moved on, started fresh, it wouldn't matter anymore. And for a while, that worked. Until tonight, when I saw him with his hands on you—"
The rage flickered again, ember-hot.
"—and I realized that running doesn't fix anything. It just postpones the reckoning."
She reached up and touched his face, her fingers gentle against his jaw. "Then go have your reckoning. But Thallos—" She paused until he met her eyes. "Whatever he says, whatever poison he tries to spread—remember that I'm here. Waiting. Choosing you."
Something in his chest expanded, warm and terrifying.
"I don't know how long this will take."
"I'll be at my apartment." A small smile curved her lips. "Try not to break anything important."
"I make no promises." But he was smiling too, despite everything. "Tomorrow, after—I want you to meet me at the vineyard. Early. Before the chaos of festival prep takes over. I have something I want to show you."
"Mysterious."
"Devastatingly so." He leaned down and kissed her, soft and lingering. "Thank you. For believing in me."
"Always."
He walked her to the edge of the grove, watching until her silhouette disappeared down the path toward town. Then he turned and headed in the opposite direction, toward his cabin.
Toward Silas.
The cabin's windows glowed warm against the darkness. Silas had made himself at home, apparently. He could see movement inside—a shadow passing in front of the lamp, the suggestion of controlled pacing.
He paused at the door, taking a breath. Five years of avoidance, of pretending his brother didn't exist, of building a new life on a foundation of denial. It ended tonight.
He pushed open the door.
Silas stood by the fireplace, one arm resting on the mantle, a glass of wine dangling from his other hand. My wine, he noted with irritation. Of course.
"That was faster than I expected." Silas didn't turn around. "I assumed your… reconciliation with the florist would take somewhat longer."
"Her name is Marigold."
"Yes, I'm aware." Now Silas did turn, his dark eyes assessing. "She's not what I expected, you know. When I heard you'd found someone, I assumed—well. The usual type. Pretty, vapid, easily impressed."
"Shows how little you know me."
"Perhaps." Silas took a sip of wine, his expression unreadable. "She defended you quite fiercely. Even after I laid out the truth about your history."
"Your version of the truth."
"Isn't that the only version any of us have?" Silas gestured with his glass toward the sitting area. "Well? You came here to talk. Talk. I'm not going anywhere."
He didn't sit. Instead, he moved to the opposite end of the room, putting the width of the cabin between them. "Why are you here, Silas? Really. It's been five years. If this was about settling old scores, you'd have come sooner."
"Would I?"
"You're not a patient man."
"Neither are you, and yet here we are. Both of us pretending we don't recognize the other's games." Silas set down his wine glass on the mantle with deliberate care. "I came because I received word that our father is ill."
The words landed like a physical blow. His breath caught, his carefully constructed composure threatening to crack.
"What?"
"Nothing immediately life-threatening. Some kind of wasting sickness—the healers are managing it. But it's made him… reflective." Silas's mouth twisted. "He's been asking for you. Both of us, actually. Wants to see his sons reconciled before—" He waved a hand. "Well. Before."
"And you decided to come here first? To warn me? Or to ensure I wouldn't show up?"
"I came to see what you'd become." Silas met his eyes, and for just a moment, the sardonic mask slipped.
Something rawer showed through—something that might have been pain.
"To see if five years of exile had made you any different, or if you were still the same golden boy who never had to try for anything in his life. "
"Golden boy." Thallos laughed, the sound harsh. "Is that what you think? That everything came easy for me?"
"Didn't it?"
"Nothing came easy." The words burst out before he could stop them, five years of silence crumbling.
"Do you have any idea what it was like, growing up in your shadow?
You were the smart one, the clever one, the one Father actually respected.
I was just—decoration. A pretty face to trot out at parties.
Every time I tried to prove I was more than that, you made sure to remind everyone I wasn't."
Silas stared at him. "That's… not how I remember it."