Recent content by Imogen Celreos

Imogen felt the heat climb her neck in equal parts rage and revulsion as Ilir’s hand drifted higher along her thigh. Still she did not flinch. She would not. She’d sooner set fire to her own skin than give him that kind of satisfaction. Let him touch her. Let him believe her frozen smile was...

Imogen’s eyes remained fixed ahead, the edges of her smile ironed taut by sheer force of will. It was either that or let it twist into something far less polite, far more honest. She refrained from snorting only by biting down so hard on the inside of her cheek that she tasted blood. Of course...

Imogen glanced down the table at Greydon, feigning a look of disgust as she returned her attention to Ilir. "Bastard indeed. He certainly has audacity." she commented, managing not to smirk. She tilted her head as he leaned in, her lips curving around the rim of her glass before she took a...

Ilir’s hesitation was palpable, and Imogen felt it in the tautness of his muscles as her hand settled against his arm. Clever boy, she mused, resisting the urge to grin. A pity, truly, that she hadn’t tucked away even a single vial of poison. But she’d promised herself to behave tonight, or at...

Imogen’s spine had turned to iron beneath the weight of everything, every passing minute another nail driven into the facade they expected her to wear. She stood a little too straight, her expression stoic, her shoulders set like a soldier’s, not a bride’s. But when Eira said his name, Greydon...

Her gaze lingered on Greydon a moment longer before shifting to Eira, and then, to Ilir standing across the room. She listened, wine glass balanced lazily between her fingers, and let a smile play at her lips as she turned back to Eira with an indifferent shrug. “Rules?” she echoed, voice light...

And wasn’t that smile of his trouble? It wasn’t the performative kind that men wore to impress, or the strained one she often got from Ivan when he was pretending not to seeth. But a real, easy smile that softened something stern in Greydon’s face and set fire to something in her. Imogen drew...

Imogen felt the tension in her chest loosen the moment Eira’s hand curled around her arm. She let herself be steered with little resistance, only sparing Ilir the briefest flicker of a glance as he turned away, already speaking with Ivan in his dull, droning voice about matters no doubt more...

Ilir Malennis. Of all the pompous, preening pricks in this realm, it had to be him. She didn't know him as much as she knew of him. She knew how terrible he had been to Eira, she had heard whispers of what sort of a man he was. She had begged, but her brother had had enough. Imogen had...

Imogen didn’t speak. Her brows lifted faintly in surprise, the smallest hitch of breath at how casually he’d taken her wrist, how his lips brushed the same root she’d just smoked from as though it were nothing at all. His words lingered longer than the smoke, curling in her mind like the...

Imogen watched him as he spoke, her brow tightening ever so slightly with each word. He thought he might die. And maybe he would. The recent attack on the city had rattled her in ways she hadn’t admitted aloud. For the first time in her life, she had known helplessness. Real, gut-wrenching...

Imogen sobbed as she pressed her palm to the gaping wound in her father’s chest, as if she could stop the blood, as if she could undo what had been done. Her hand was slick with it, her sleeves soaked. His dragon screamed a long, breaking note of anguish. She turned her head away from the sound...

Imogen’s brows shot up, her expression cutting sharp as the word darling slid from his mouth. The audacity. Her lips twitched. “Well, then clearly you need to work on becoming more memorable, sweetheart,” she fired back, the mock-endearment dripping with cheek as she flicked him a sideways...

Imogen’s brow arched with dry amusement. “If I'd forgotten about you, I wouldn’t know you’re Eira’s cousin,” she shot back smartly, the corner of her mouth twitching in subtle challenge. Her gaze dropped to the root he offered, watching the smoke curl from its tip. She hesitated just a breath...

Imogen winced as the blood spilled. Bright, fast, and all too familiar. It was the third time she’d broken her brother’s nose, but the first time it had been deliberate. And still, it had always surprised her just how much blood spilled from his face. It flowed just like it had from her father's...