Private Tales Poisoned Words For the Heart

[Greydon]

Greydon was blatantly staring now.

Fuck, Imogen looked too good. He had not been able to see her for so long it felt like, and now, here she was in the Plaza being paraded around by Ilir who did not even spare Grey a second glance. That part made him curious, since he knew he had been subjected to his cousin's ire for many years now.

Perhaps Ilir thought he had won.

Greydon smirked, approaching. Imogen was staring at him still, and Ilir was too busy conversing with the jeweller to notice his approach.

"Remnan, I am here to collect." He announced. The jeweller looked to him and grinned.

"Yes! Be one moment, Squad Leader. The perfect pearl..." he left Ilir's side to go to his cart, and from there produced a wooden box smoothed to perfection. It was a dark stain, and upon opening it, revealed the midnight blue velvet lining. Inside, a pearl hung from a silver chain.

It was handed to Greydon, who stared at Imogen a good moment before meeting Ilir's gaze. "Picking up for Eira." He said before shooting Imogen a wink. Fuck. He liked playing bold. It was unlike him, but there was a fire burning inside him ever since he left Imogen's room that night.

"Be sure to visit her, Lady Imogen. I know my cousin would enjoy having someone to speak about weddings and dresses. Tonight, perhaps? I can bring back word to Eira."

Ilir stiffened. "I am on patrol tonight with the Thunder, I will not be home..."

Greydon quirked a brow. "The ladies do not need someone to chaperone them. Let the brides have their time together." And with Ilir not around... perhaps Greydon could sneak to see Imogen again.

 

[Imogen Celreos]

Greydon’s presence was that quiet command that drew every part of her attention like a tide to the moon. She kept her expression schooled, smiling faintly at the jeweller as if nothing were amiss, though her pulse had begun to thrash beneath her skin.

“Silver would be lovely…” she murmured, voice soft and even, though her fingers trembled ever so slightly against Ilir’s arm.

And then Greydon was there.

Her pulse hitched the moment he spoke, and when his eyes met hers, when that wicked, knowing smirk tugged at his lips, it was all she could do not to betray herself entirely. What are you doing? she wanted to hiss, the panic flashing briefly in her eyes before she hid it behind another polite smile.

Her gaze fell to the box he opened, the silver chain catching the light, the pearl gleaming like a secret. The air seemed to thicken as she realised just how close he was standing. And then, he winked.

Imogen’s breath stuttered, and she turned her face slightly away, pretending to examine a tray of rings to disguise the flush that bloomed across her cheeks. Her throat was too tight to speak for a moment, but she cleared it delicately, summoning her best imitation of composure.

“I would love to catch up with Eira..” she said quietly. Her hand tightened around Ilir’s arm, the gesture soft but deliberate, a reassurance, a careful anchor. She tilted her face up to him with a small smile, perfectly sweet, perfectly composed.

“As you said, my lord, I’ve been cooped up too long. It would do me some good.”

Her smile didn’t falter, but her eyes flickered to Greydon for the briefest moment, a silent warning hidden in their depths.

 

[Greydon]

Whatever warning she had to give, Greydon chose to ignore it.

He liked seeing Ilir unsettled, trying to scramble for a way to seize power in this situation.

Greydon grins at Imogen, staring at her without any other care but to simply gaze upon her beauty. "Good. I think Eira will be pleased to see you. I will be sure to tell the kitchens to prepare some sweets and such for the both of you."

It was hard to tear his gaze from her, but Grey now looked to Ilir. "Always a pleasure, cousin." And moved on before Ilir could say anything else. The poor Lord stared after his cousin, watched as he moved all strength and dangerous, back towards his dragon that waited for him.

"Of course... my lady Imogen." Ilir frowned, but it softened when he looked to her. "Yes, I suppose you should spend time with my sister. A bond between brides..."

He turned back to stare at Greydon, wondering what this change in Tomyris was...

 

[Imogen Celreos]

Imogen swallowed hard, heat coiling low in her stomach as Greydon’s grin carved straight through her carefully maintained composure. Gods, she squirmed under it, unable to stop herself. She dipped her chin, lashes lowering, doing everything she could to hide the traitorous twitch of a smile threatening the corner of her mouth.

Her heart didn’t settle until he finally turned his back to them, and even then, she found herself glancing after him, breath loosening in a soft, helpless sigh.

Only when Greydon was far enough away did she shake her head, letting a quiet, incredulous laugh escape on the exhale.

“I can see how you might find him impossible,” she murmured.

She cast an apologetic smile up toward Ilir before turning back to the array of rings, reaching for the nearest silver band as though nothing at all had just stolen the breath from her lungs.

Imogen forced her focus back to the task at hand, but her fingers weren’t entirely steady

 

[Greydon]

Ilir snorted, "It does please me that you see him the way I do..." His eyes watched her hands as she perused. There was a gentleness, a preciseness, and Ilir wondered what it would be like to hold. "Perhaps you should find a way to... deal with him, tonight."

He stepped closer, a hand coming up to brush a strand of her hair behind her ear. "Get close to him and find a way, Imogen."

---

Greydon did not need to approach the viper's nest, but he came at the behest of his Mother. Lady Tomyris held onto his arm, and together they were clearly of Malennis descent. Melysa Tomyris always had a close resemblance to the late Lord Malennis, and Greydon favoured her in his own looks. It was his eyes, Tomyris grey, that set him apart.

"You truly do not need me here, Mother."

"And yet Eira insisted."

"Only because she knows something and I do not want her to ruin things." He sighed with exasperation as the tall home now blocked the moonsllight and shrouded them in darkness in the comfort of night.

"Ah, then." His mother smiled, failing to keep the glee from her voice. "It is a woman then. There was mention another guest would be present, and I have heard the family news..."

"You are a wicked mother. Gods, they should have given you a daughter instead." But Greydon matched her large grin. His mother knew when to not pursue a topic, and Grey was relieved she did not latch on and needle him for information.

They were early, or at least, that was how it felt stepping into the halls of the Malennis home. Eira stood waiting at the balconette of the entry hall, dressed in a grey so dark, it neared black. The embroidery was in gold, and detailed the most elaborate patterns across her bodice. Greydon noticed it straight away, stifling his knowing smile.

His cousin insisted on pretending to appear as if she were mourning still, but out of protest at being sold off to marry into the Solherres. It was to spite others in their family, and Grey knew Eira did not mind her match, for Leovold Solherre himself treated her better than others.

"Why do you look so glum, cousin?" Grey called from below, and Melysa lifted her head to peer up at her niece.

Eira's shoulders drooped. "I slept poorly last night and by the gods it is wearing on me now. I thought to postpone the dinner tonight..." But she would not. Eira would have planned and organised so much for this small dinner, she would see it as a waste of her time if she were to not go ahead with plans.

"Then have yourself an early night, Eira."

She frowned, "You should too." She turned and disappeared, but seconds later the sound of her heels clicking against the stone steps could be heard, and another two before she could be seen descending the stairs. "I need you to accompany me to the Market."

Grey nodded, knew she meant another location. It had something to do with her brother.

"Now, shall we wait in the receiving room for Imogen's arrival?"

 

[Imogen Celreos]

Imogen’s breath turned to stone the instant Ilir’s fingers brushed that single strand of hair behind her ear. His meaning was unmistakable. Cold, calculated, and laced with pressure she had no hope of escaping. She forced herself to meet his eyes, even as her pulse thrashed against her ribs.

“If the opportunity presents itself, my Lord…” she managed, her smile brittle as broken glass. “I’ll take it.”

The words tasted like ash.

---

The rest of the day unfurled in a knot of unease that refused to loosen. Imogen’s handmaidens were run near breathless as she demanded gown after gown, rejecting each one with a tight shake of her head until finally, she relented.

The gown she chose was a deep forest green, rich and dark as midnight pines beneath moonlight. Silver embroidery swept across the bodice in curling, delicate motifs reminiscent of unfurling leaves and starlit vines. The skirts shimmered faintly with threads of pale silver that caught every movement like faint frost on velvet. A narrow silver ribbon cinched the waist, subtle but elegant. The sleeves were soft and sheer, falling to her wrists like drifting mist.

Her hair was brushed until it gleamed, then pinned so it swept all to one side and spilled in a glossy cascade over her shoulder. Her lips were painted a soft rose, her eyes defined in shadowed greens and silver glints that made them seem sharper.

She arrived at the door pristine, her back straight, chin lifted, every line of her posture trained into serene poise as she stepped over the threshold. The house staff greeted her, and she allowed herself to be guided to the sitting room.

Her eyes found him instantly, a few sharp words on the tip of her tongue, but they were swallowed back at the sight of Eira and the unfamiliar woman at Greydon’s side. His mother, undoubtedly. Gods.

Her expression smoothed at once into the picture of courtly grace, and the escort announced her, bowed, and stepped away.

Imogen dipped into an elegant curtsy. “Apologies,” she said softly, lifting her gaze to meet theirs. “I hope you’ll forgive my lateness…”

 

[Greydon]

"You are quite right, for it is myself that is late." A woman waltzed into the room, followed by another. Eira nodded her head at each of them, as did Grey's mother. He smiled, bowing at the hips at the entrance of his aunt and cousin.

Sidonie Malennis chose to sit beside Eira, and although they only shared a father, their facial features were similar. Sidonie was taller and fairer than Eira. Even sporting hair of dark gold instead of the truly dark brown that Eira and Ilir had.

Kleio Malennis looked like the older version of Eira. Even their smile was the same. She was the image of a happier Ilir, if the Lord Malennis knew how to possibly be that at all. She approached Imogen, taking both her hands and giving them a squeeze. "It is our honour to host you in our home. You look lovely." A mother's approval.

Greydon nodded along with his aunt's conpliment, for it was all he could do without speaking and himself voicing his real thoughts on her attire. Those were words he wanted to whisper to her in a dark, quiet corner.

Eira patted the spot beside her, the side her sister did not take up. "Mother insisted on dinner being amongst us women." Her eyes flicked to Grey, and a small smirk lifted at her lips. "To welcome you to our family before your wedding day."

"I could go put on a dress if Sidonie wishes to part with one? Perhaps you lovely ladies can do my cosmetics so that I may look the part." Grey grinned.