Madison faced the pitiless invader that seemed determined to work her into an early grave, the paintbrush in her hand feeling as if it was made of lead. He loomed over her and, around them, everyone went quiet.
She wouldn't allow him to intimidate her. Not unless he had a sword in his hand. "I was only chatting with her a few moments. I assume that is allowed." Around her everyone stilled and watched them. Only Clarkson ever stood up to him and after almost being choked to death he'd taken to shouting his demands from a distance.
He put his hand on the back of her neck and turned her to face the wall. Shivers went down her spine, spiraling outward from where his hand touched the back of her head. "No, it is not. You will paint now."
Aware that he stood with his feet planted and his arms crossed over his chest watching her, she gripped the brush tighter and winced when her blisters burned.