Amanda Turek 💎 Writing Rushak
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acturek.bsky.social
Amanda Turek 💎 Writing Rushak
@acturek.bsky.social
990 followers 930 following 4.3K posts
Writes character driven adult fantasy.
WIP: Brother’s Keeper, epic fantasy sibling story
Lives with bipolar - @siegeofthespirit
Clinical Laboratory Scientist
Mountain backcountry horsewoman
🚫politics🚫
Every trail’s the one true home.
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acturek.bsky.social
Amanda Turek 💎 Writing Rushak @acturek.bsky.social · Nov 23
Two brothers—one accursed, one gifted—struggle with the Power of an empathic bond unseen for centuries. As Rushak seeks to escape his curse, Drisal must wield it as evil arises to threaten the world. But the prophesied Power can return only once, and the Shining One is … somebody else. #WIPPIT #F #A
Image: Mood board for Brother’s Keeper WIP: A block of seven images around a central one. Central image: white text on brown background that reads: “Born to be sacrificed: Drowned, shed, burnt and buried, a sin offering for his people. Had he been, all would be free. But he had not, and they weren't. He could never forget it. Brother’s Keeper (working title) A.C. Turek Surrounding images clockwise from center left: column of bonfire, running gray horse, green water, a hand holding a quartz crystal, a view looking up immense tree trunks, a waterfall, a view looking down on a vibrant green forest.
Reposted by Amanda Turek 💎 Writing Rushak
acturek.bsky.social
#fantasy #WritingCommunity #WriteSky #WIPSnips #storm

Bráthal’s Devouring Demon Dream

- From Brother’s Keeper, first book of my fantasy WIP about two brothers bound by a misunderstood power.
The shape flitted to another tree, and more calls answered it. A brief shudder, and the entire canopy above him ruptured into a clamorous STORM of beating wings and surly caws. The trees rumbled, and he heard Rushak's voice. Almost a whisper, it came from the wind, or was the wind. It had no words. It was the voices of the swirling crows. They formed a vortex. A terrible blackness leaked from its center, at first a seed, and then a plate, and then a treetop. The terrible blackness covered all, a roaring maw full of sharp, rotating teeth. Bráthal shrank away, but he was already flat against the earth. It came for him, a huge rapacity, immeasurable avarice, unfillable emptiness. He could not hide. Again Rushak's voice came, a wailing cry this time, and the beaks and talons of a thousand crows tore Bráthal to pieces, bit by bloody bit. Brother's Keeper A.C. Turek
January 27, 2026 at 1:14 PM
Reposted by Amanda Turek 💎 Writing Rushak
beyondtheonions.bsky.social
#WIPSnips #storm #writing - this snippet is at least 6-years-old. It's from my unfinished #wip Possession...ya...working title... it is a work of #horror fiction and is a sequel to an older #wip that is complete...sort of...lol... anyway... Happy #chooseday 🙂
They sipped their coffee some more, both feigning a sustained interest in the approaching storm. Small talk ensued, pleasant and unintrusive. Taz, out of respect, did not broach the topic again, but after a few minutes Padre did. “Ok. So look. You go on up to Satterville and visit this lady,” he reached into his inside coat pocket and produced a vial of clear liquid, returned to the same pocket and produced a folded piece of paper. “Holy water. Don’t tell her what it is and try not to let her notice when you sprinkle some on her. If she reacts, let me know.” He passed Taz the small vile who slipped it into his shirt pocket. “And this.” Padre held up the folded piece of paper. “Don’t unfold this. Ok? Don’t even read this until you see how she reacts to the holy water. If she reacts violently, open this piece of paper and read the words exactly, with strength, repeat them if you feel threatened, then get the hell out of there and let me know.” from #wip Possession (working title) by Ross McDermott
January 27, 2026 at 1:17 PM
Reposted by Amanda Turek 💎 Writing Rushak
siegeofthespirit.bsky.social
A place to heal the soul, if …

- From Siege of the Spirit

#fantasy #WIPSnips #storm #writesky #writingcommunity
"All ills may be healed here. Ills of the mind, the body, the soul-if the soul is willing to be healed. Seldom is the clarity of the water lost in STORM, in blue sky reflected, in fiery sunset or in that hour of perfect silence just before!" So said the Acolyte to the small assembly of pilgrims standing on the ledge overlooking River-source. Siege of the Spirit
January 27, 2026 at 1:24 PM
Reposted by Amanda Turek 💎 Writing Rushak
racthoh.bsky.social
#WIPSnips Storm. Posted this one before, but I like this part. Our hero reflects on death.

Text in the alt.

#WritingCommunity #WriteSky
I once thought I grasped the concept of stillness. Tree leaves overhead during the absence of wind, the waters below as they conned the eyes into believing the mirrored view. Gazes locked on the blackness of the night. These were my experiences. All of it was ignorance, of course, through the rush of the wind to rustle the leaves, or the storm clouds raining droplets to disrupt the pond. Sunrise would vanquish the darkness and welcome the morning. In truth, it was death; stillness was its cloak. I had been deceived into believing it was tranquility. Time and time again, the fallen reminded me of the word’s true meaning. My allies, my enemies. My family, my friends. In death, the rustle of the leaves fell on deaf ears. The waters of a river or great ocean reflected nothing back to the shut eye. Final, the end. Nothing was truly still until it was no more.
January 27, 2026 at 6:48 PM
Reposted by Amanda Turek 💎 Writing Rushak
professoremily.bsky.social
#WIPSnips #writingcommunity #writers #writesky

Mireia and Xa'aba have a disagreement on how best to deal with the cult who wants to overthrow Mireia...

From my upcoming book THE GODS OF ATALANTIS, Part 1 of my #Atlantis trilogy.
“Beliefs can be very dangerous things, young Mu’u,” said Xa’aba. “They spread like disease, and they can drive people—even good people—to do unimaginable things. Some beliefs are so dangerous, they may even cause an entire society to collapse. So, perhaps we may have to kill a few heretics, but we would be saving many more lives in the long run. A gangrenous limb must be amputated to save the rest of the body.” “I don’t want you to kill people.” Mireia’s words rang with authority, and for the first time she truly felt the weight of her own newfound power. “I forbid it.” Xa’aba sighed. “Sea Mother, be reasonable—” “We can fix this without killing anyone. We must find a way.” The priestess was silent, contemplating Mireia with an inscrutable expression. At last, she closed her eyes and pursed her lips. “You have been taught compassion,” she said. “That is a noble quality. But the Sea Mother has never been known to be merciful. She is good, certainly—generous with her bounties and liberal with her joys. But, she is also the bringer of storms and the devourer of ships. Even in her goodness, Mu’u is a dangerous goddess, wild and fierce and uncompromising.” She fixed Mireia with a stern stare. “You are Mu’u Mireia. You, too, must be wild and fierce and uncompromising. Do not let compassion make you weak. If these heretics wish to spread the lie that you are an impostor, then you must show them with force that you are the Sea Mother. You are the storm-bringer and the ship-devourer, and those who fail to show you the proper respect will always pay the price. If you show weakness now, you will only add more credence to their lies.”
January 27, 2026 at 2:01 PM
Reposted by Amanda Turek 💎 Writing Rushak
lousytshirt.bsky.social
#WIPSnips from Monah Bk. 1 -- Havva Terzi, Leader of the Fields Realm, receives a very strong message about the return of The Lost Royal.
#writesky #writingcommunity #queerwriters
Havva Terzi sat down hard in the middle of the tall grasses and mounds of loose dirt that surrounded her. Shade from the tall trees did little to offer her comfort, especially since the wind had basically been knocked out of her. Trembling fingertips found each side of her head. “What was that?” The leaves and grass moved in a breeze that moved nothing else. Her loose clothing sat still against her body, while vegetation moved as if a tropical storm kicked up around her. “Who is there?” She tried to stand up, face whatever was surrounding her, but the force that pushed her to the ground kept her there. Then, shoved her onto her back to look up at the thin swirling wisps of white far above her. Even as her eyes rolled back in her head, her line of sight stayed bright, keeping the sunlight in the front of her mind. It’s happening now, Havva. It’s happening now.
January 27, 2026 at 2:35 PM
Reposted by Amanda Turek 💎 Writing Rushak
alixcclay.bsky.social
"Above us, there was a storm of falling lights."
Windmill Keepers, Chapter 12: Drowning in the Shallows

#wipsnips #writingcommunity #yabooksky #booksky #writeSky #writingprompts

I always liked this chapter title. It felt fitting as a description for depression.
January 27, 2026 at 3:00 PM
Reposted by Amanda Turek 💎 Writing Rushak
isaacxisaac.bsky.social
For today's #WIPSnips one of my favorite similes from the 2nd half, which I've mostly avoided sharing but it's just too perfect for today's word.
Ingrave was too irate to think of how he had broken the commandment of that very lord father, of the warnings he had received. He was in a towering storm of anger, with no sight beyond the gunpowder-black clouds. Calver was already cowering. But Alexander was not. His blue eyes shone from his flushed face like candles of St. Elmo’s fire.
January 27, 2026 at 3:09 PM
Reposted by Amanda Turek 💎 Writing Rushak
aspen-rayne.bsky.social
#WIPSnips #Redspinet

Yeah I don't have much extra context to add today so simply enjoy!
Fira reached for their satchel and began laying out ingrediants with deliberate care. Ground leaf. Binder resin. A drop of neutralizer that burned faintly red when it hit the mixture. The movements were calming. Measured. Each step familiar enough to anchor them. As they worked, they felt the room like a pressure gradient. The parent's anger built in layers, each one adding heat. Fira's body responded before their mind named it. Their shoulders loosened. Their stance widened a fraction, weight settling even through their feet. Their breathing slowed. They were good at this part. They had been good at this part longer than they could remember. They had learned early how to stand in the center of a storm and keep it from breaking the wrong way.
January 27, 2026 at 3:18 PM
Reposted by Amanda Turek 💎 Writing Rushak
arachnereid.bsky.social
There are always seeds left, even after the most destructive #storm.

#WIPsnips
ALL would not be lost. There were always seeds left behind, even after the most destructive storm.
January 27, 2026 at 3:17 PM
Reposted by Amanda Turek 💎 Writing Rushak
maratearendel.bsky.social
The prose in Awaken, My Love is difficult to describe.

I would say it is unique.

#wipsnips #WriteSky #WritingPrompts #WritingCommunity
The cracking of shells. The breaking of twigs. Mending and soothing themselves, shouting the secrets of existence. The arches erect themselves into arcs-boutants. Air fills its space with the most ragged exhale, the sounds of a deafening storm. Torrential waters fill its place. Blood and air and power fight each other for dominion. But the power prevails as it must always prevail. Screams of love and sorrow come from every cell of its being. The giant sees nothing. Knows nothing. Only we are still here. We will always prevail. Come, my child, join us in allegory.
January 27, 2026 at 3:35 PM
Reposted by Amanda Turek 💎 Writing Rushak
susanbjames.bsky.social
#WIPSnips #WriteSky
This is my opening paragraph.
January 27, 2026 at 3:38 PM
Reposted by Amanda Turek 💎 Writing Rushak
tellthestory.bsky.social
It's 1984 in Honolulu. My twenty-two-year-old MC goes dancing. He's about to lose his virginity. #WIPsnips #storm #writesky
The next night, he and Quinn danced at The Wave until sweat ran down their faces and bodies. A different group was performing, this one featuring a woman belting out Pat Benatar. A cluster of buzzed military guys were at the bar, shouting and shoving each other. They were just playing, right? Some of his high school military-brat friends had been like that, loud, threatening, even a little violent sometimes, but ultimately benign. “Grab-ass” they called it. He stayed well clear of them anyway. When he and Quinn went outside to get some fresh air, the weather clear and dry like the storm had never happened, Quinn told Luke that her parents were out of town and asked him if he wanted to come over. On the couch at her parents’ townhouse, Quinn asked him if he wanted to smoke. He said he couldn’t smoke too much because it gave him migraines, a lie. But he took two hits, smoking weed for the second time in his life while they talked about cemeteries and whether or not ghosts have sex.
January 27, 2026 at 3:52 PM
Reposted by Amanda Turek 💎 Writing Rushak
kiraofthewind.com
#WIPSnips #WritingCommunity

On the night of one of the most holy days of the year, in which people honor a saint who died in the cold to save her brother, a boy stumbles into the inn, his extremities frostbitten.
Winter, 291 A snowstorm raged on the evening of St. Raeco’s Night, bringing the celebrants indoors to feast and pray where the inn’s hearth fire could toast their frozen bones. A boy near Garlic’s age came through the inn’s doors. Freezing, with frost stuck to his black hair, even his long eyelashes, the boy was close to death. He was a Noklopa-Subrika with rich brown skin, though his fingers were discolored from frostbite. His face was speckled with pink jewels in semicircles around his eyes, magenta lines down his chin and neck, and ears that looked like two wings sprouting from his head. Those ears were frostbitten, too, though Shallot knew Subrikan ears did not suffer from the cold as painfully as other species’ ears did. The boy wore only plain, threadbare clothing, hardly appropriate for winter, and sandals that had been wrapped up with leaves. His shirt was not properly fitted for a Subrika; the large wings sprouting from his lower back—also coated in frost—prevented his shirt from covering him entirely. Shallot’s breath caught in her throat as she laid eyes on this miserable, freezing teenager. He needed warmth immediately.
January 27, 2026 at 4:07 PM
Reposted by Amanda Turek 💎 Writing Rushak
midnightrose838.bsky.social
#WIPSnips Very few instances in Healing's Whisper, given my MC & myself share a love for storms.

The weather had a way of making him smile when nothing else could. He looked longingly into the dark rolling storm clouds, wishing somewhere deep within his body that he could be one with them.
Lawcket looked up into the sky. The pelting hail stuck in his hair and bounced off his face. The weather had a way of making him smile when nothing else could. He looked longingly into the dark rolling storm clouds, wishing somewhere deep within his body that he could be one with them. It was when his life was happy and free that he longed most strongly and happily for oneness with the mighty clouds of the wind, but now he longed for them not only in that free and wild happy way, but also that he might with them become like them, free from all his pains and sorrows, not that he wanted to leave what he loved. Given a choice he would have remained as he was.
January 27, 2026 at 4:34 PM
acturek.bsky.social
#fantasy #WritingCommunity #WriteSky #WIPSnips #storm

Bráthal’s Devouring Demon Dream

- From Brother’s Keeper, first book of my fantasy WIP about two brothers bound by a misunderstood power.
The shape flitted to another tree, and more calls answered it. A brief shudder, and the entire canopy above him ruptured into a clamorous STORM of beating wings and surly caws. The trees rumbled, and he heard Rushak's voice. Almost a whisper, it came from the wind, or was the wind. It had no words. It was the voices of the swirling crows. They formed a vortex. A terrible blackness leaked from its center, at first a seed, and then a plate, and then a treetop. The terrible blackness covered all, a roaring maw full of sharp, rotating teeth. Bráthal shrank away, but he was already flat against the earth. It came for him, a huge rapacity, immeasurable avarice, unfillable emptiness. He could not hide. Again Rushak's voice came, a wailing cry this time, and the beaks and talons of a thousand crows tore Bráthal to pieces, bit by bloody bit. Brother's Keeper A.C. Turek
January 27, 2026 at 1:14 PM
Reposted by Amanda Turek 💎 Writing Rushak
camalin.net
Even though storms play a major role in #Ellamir in later volumes, those aren't written yet, so it's vibes today. Maqine storms Mrs Knight's school to rescue Hannah from the clutches of Brother Nicholls

CW: Attempted forced marriage, and very un-Jane Austen language
A snippet from Ellamir by C A Malin: In the ruined portal, amid swirls of sunlit sawdust, stood the towering figure of Maqine: in her left hand were the burning remnants of a Spell of Force; in her right, a gigantic crossbow taut with a loaded bolt; and on her face, a look of contempt and purpose and hatred that Brother Nicholls could not hope to withstand. As he perceived her through the cloud of dust, he let out a strangled cry and staggered backwards. “Demon!” he screamed, his face contorted with terror, “Hellspawn!!” “You fucking bet,” said Maqine. She strode through the remains of the window, knocking away dangling lathe and plaster, and in a few steps, levelled the point of her arrow squarely between Brother Nicholl’s madly staring eyes. He immediately collapsed to the floor; Maqine’s aim followed him and never faltered as she stooped to pick up the scroll. “A Charm Spell,” she said. “The fucker was going to enchant you into marrying him. And then, of course, into his bed, against your will. There’s an ugly word for that, good Brother.” Hannah shuffled forward on trembling legs, an aghast expression upon a face paler even than usual and minutely etched with red scratches from the flying glass. The reality of this appalling eventuality was only now dawning upon her, that a Brother of an Order she once thought unimpeachable would, without a second thought, enslave her mind and then… it was too horrible a thought, and she quickly shut it out. “I should… I should never have thought he could…” she eventually stammered, almost overcome. “I should pin his head to this very fetching rug,” said Maqine.
January 27, 2026 at 8:34 AM
Reposted by Amanda Turek 💎 Writing Rushak
charliedeltawrites.bsky.social
January 27th – storm

Fox has been searching for a very particular stone.

#DawnsBlood

#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts
“We can’t get through here, Fox. We should turn back.” She ignored him and knelt in the rubble, reaching in and tossing aside several of the rocks. “What, are you planning to clear this tunnel by hand?” he asked. She didn’t reply, silently tossing more of the stones across the corridor. Av’ry had to duck out of the way of a few errant pieces. He was just debating trying to pull her away before she hurt herself, when Fox reached into the pile and gently extracted one rock in particular. She held it up proudly. “This is it.” At first, Av’ry couldn’t see what was so special about the stone. It was certainly large, he supposed, but no larger than many of the rocks she had already cast aside. Then, he noticed the way it glimmered as the flames played across its surface, and his jaw dropped. That was the largest ruby he had ever seen. Uncut and unpolished, it lacked the sparkle of a typical gem, but there was still something about it…something magnificent. In her hand, it pulsed with power, fierce and intimidating, charging the air around them like a thunderstorm.
January 27, 2026 at 8:35 AM
Reposted by Amanda Turek 💎 Writing Rushak
ellielieberman.bsky.social
If love was a roof to protect from the barrage and constant downpour of life, their father gave them crumbling ruins in the face of the inevitable and ever dangerous storms.
He was the inevitable and ever dangerous storm they needed protecting from.
- my WIP, When Morning Comes
#WIPSnips
January 27, 2026 at 8:38 AM
Reposted by Amanda Turek 💎 Writing Rushak
saranadosfiction.com
#WIPSnips | storm

Kinda spoilt for choice here, since most of Silver in the Ashes takes place during a multi-day storm (also apposite given the weather outside right now), but here's Mortimer taking a brief moment to consider the current situation

( saranadosfiction.com/2023/09/23/s... )
The forest was quiet. Not unnaturally so – even with Mortimer’s years away from the Hall, he’d have caught *that* in an instant – but quiet enough that, if he strained his ears, he could hear the wingbeats of the birds flying overhead, their black forms silhouetted against the whirling white flakes of snow and the dull oppressive grey of the stormcloud-filled sky. *Almost certainly snowed in by now. Which I wouldn’t mind half as much if it weren’t for the company.* He’d weathered more than a few snowbound winters up here when he was younger, chopping wood and hauling water alongside Thomas and Cyra and his father to keep the place up and running while they ate through the stores they’d laid down over the previous year. It’d been an odd kind of feeling, as though time had gone suddenly out of joint, and he’d always found it almost… relaxing, in a strange sort of way. It hadn’t mattered what was going on in the city, or even in the next village over – all he’d had to care about was his people, the animals, and the Hall itself, and everything else could go hang. But now there was a Sinnlenst sneaking around the place, poking his nose into things he shouldn’t be touching and doing the gods knew what besides, and all that being snowed in meant was that there wasn’t any possibility of sending the bastard away if he actually did break something. *Although it does mean he’s got less of a chance to cause trouble back in the city. There’ll not be post for at least the next week, if this keeps up, and I’m not bloody volunteering to cut a path through to get his letters out.*
January 27, 2026 at 8:40 AM
Reposted by Amanda Turek 💎 Writing Rushak
kayleighdiaz.com
#WIPSnips | storm vibes✨

Bit of post-apocalyptic “snow.”

#WritingCommunity #WriteSky #amwriting
Writing snippet: A flurry of gray drifted over the pines, dusting the branches. She wished desperately that she could open her mouth to it, let the flakes catch on her tongue, but she knew better. That sort of innocence was best left to the withering pages of the children's books her mother sometimes used for kindling. Still. It was a quiet moment, the soot draping the woods in a cloak of silence. How could one feel so cut off, enclosed in all this wilderness? A speck of it caught on her wrist. She flicked it away. How would it feel to taste something pure? Sweet and cold, she imagined, and melting with promise. She licked her chapped lips, watching Micah set up camp under the swirl of rotten snow. Sweet like sugar, maybe. Sweet like ice cream.
January 27, 2026 at 8:44 AM
Reposted by Amanda Turek 💎 Writing Rushak
smoking-gnu.bsky.social
G'morning #WIPSnips! A shorter one from TLC today.
#WriteSky #WritingPrompts #WritingCommunity
I look up to see a dome of twinkly lights overhead, encompassing the vast industrial complex we just landed in the middle of. A massive metal structure loomed ahead, resembling a factory or oil refinery, or something along those lines. “What’s the twinkling up there?” I ask, pointing at the dome. “Energy field. Keeps a decent amount of atmosphere inside here and keeps the dust storms out. Makes working on a moon like this easier for him.”
January 27, 2026 at 8:46 AM
Reposted by Amanda Turek 💎 Writing Rushak
thebrambler13.bsky.social
With Caer y Môn going up on youtube soon, it's a good idea to share a #WIPSnips introducing my first story to y'all. This comes from The Knightbane's Prize. The full thing is free on youtube so let me know what y'all think!

Replies Welcome!
#Raven+Bear #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #BookSky #bookrecs
An excerpt from The Knightbane's Prize (Raven & Bear: 1) by Bramble, in black text on a white background. This describes a young girl being punished and humiliated by an angry mob in the middle of a storm, before a knight arrives.
January 27, 2026 at 8:57 AM
Reposted by Amanda Turek 💎 Writing Rushak
miss-winks.bsky.social
#WIPsnips #writesky #snippets #writing Mori having a panic attack during a rain storm.
Every part of Morianon was itchy. His wings, his back, his head. Pin feathers poked through his skin everywhere the old feathers had already fallen out. He scratched at them, removing the flaky keratin to free the soft new feathers as they grew in. But only the shortest feathers, the ones on his torso and the upper parts his wings, were losing their sheaths. All the longer feathers would remain covered for a while. Outside the study, the rain was pounding and the wind howled; a perfect spring storm. Between the noise and the itching, he found his eyes skimming words without reading any of them. Centaurs, he was trying to study centaur history. He tapped his pen on the blank notepad and frowned at the book in front of him. Some chapter on the wars that broke out when the centaurs decided to take revenge against the orcs. Waves of rain slammed into his window, making his feathers stand on end and sending a shiver through his memories. Sitla, curled at his feet, whuffed quietly and sat up to paw at his knees. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he muttered, standing and kicking his chair back. His mind felt like it was in two places at once; the warm study and the cold ruins of a small house torn by the wind. Shaking his head and pulling his ragged wings tight against his body, Morianon left his desk and moved to the center of the house, stumbling through the hall until he found the door he needed. A tiny room, hardly more than a closet, full of pillows. He curled up with Sitla and slammed the door shut, panting heavily in the darkness. Thick walls silenced the raging storm outside, though they couldn’t quiet the one that haunted his memories.
January 27, 2026 at 9:13 AM
Reposted by Amanda Turek 💎 Writing Rushak
cfranciswrites.bsky.social
Ess is a con artist with forbidden magic, able to control minds through touch in a world where skin is taboo. Forced into a plot to infiltrate the forum, her arrival is sabotaged by the son of her mark returning from the war at precisely the wrong moment for maximal disruption.

#WIPSnips
The two men separated, revealing Lysandra several paces back. Less tigress now, more overexcited spaniel, tail-waggingly besotted as she gazed at her betrothed. Ess couldn’t fault her. Who wouldn’t throw dignity to the wind if their intended burst into forum like the living embodiment of Libido? Yet for all her lovestruck adoration, the praetor gave Lysandra nothing but a brief nod before shifting his attention onto Ess. She ground her teeth, pulse hammering her throat as his gaze lingered. Gods, he couldn’t see past the veil could he? She didn’t trust what her face might be up to. It didn’t feel dignified. The silence stretched, thrumming with his scrutiny, but after a long moment—a painfully long moment—he broke off to acknowledge Galen with a calculating smile. “Galen.” The imperator clasped his hands behind his back, puffing out his chest. He outranked the praetor, no matter how much battle-weathered fury Caladon dragged into the room with him. “Cal. Always a pleasure to see you alive and well.” They smiled, broad and genuine, and the illusion of hostility collapsed under this obvious proof of their closeness. These two liked each other. No resentment over the fact Caladon had stormed back from the front in a barely contained temper, disrupting Galen’s plans. How odd. “Your timing is impeccable,” Galen said. “The praetessa was about to address the forum.” Caladon’s eyes landed on Ess again. All the warmth evaporated, leaving behind something far more dangerous. He set his jaw, then said through his teeth, “So I hear.” Ess’s knees betrayed her. Get it together, she wanted to scream at herself. So what if he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen? By far. He was also a complete pillock, his attempts to unnerve her as obvious as they were cruel. If he had a problem with her, he could have waited until she wasn’t standing in front of several hundred people.
January 27, 2026 at 9:21 AM