A cold wind brushed against Xanthos’s face, and his boots crushed against fallen leaves as he strode forward, each step heavier than the last, anger surging through him like fire.

"A feast? A toast? A public declaration?" He scoffed aloud, sharp and humorless.

"Phoenix wants to humiliate me. No, to tame me. Foolish girl. No one tamed Xanthos Blackwood. No one."

“Apologize…” he muttered, tightening his jaw. “Over my dead body.”

And yet, a strange restlessness tugged at him, a ...