His Brother's Ruin
“The glue, Klaus, is a shared vision and a mutual disdain for small-minded gossip. Excuse us.”
He took Elara’s hand with a firm, public grip and led her onto the dance floor. It was part of the script: a single, stately dance to display unity. The orchestra played something slow and sweeping.
His hand was warm at her back, the other holding hers aloft. They were careful, precise, a foot of cold air between their bodies. But she could feel the tension coiled in him, a live wire wrapped in silk.
“He’s not wrong,” Kaelan murmured, his lips near her temple, for the crowd’s benefit. His breath was hot against her skin.
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