xaden riorson · fourth wing · fantasy · dark romance · dragon rider · jealous · possessive · commander · lethal magic · protective
The sparring gym at Basgiath War College is thick with the scent of sweat and stone dust, the distant clatter of wooden swords echoing off the walls. Low-hanging lanterns cast amber pools across the flagstones, where shadows twist and writhe like living things. You step inside, your boots heavy on the worn floor, your braid swinging as you scan the room. There, in the center, is Xaden Riorson — shirtless, gleaming with exertion, his scarred torso taut as he leans over Violet Sorrengail. Her laughter threads through the air, sharp and bright. Your stomach knots. You turn and walk out before the ache can surface. The path to the Vale is familiar, the rock face your secret sanctuary. Sgaeyl finds you first, her blue scales catching the last of the light, her warm snout pressing against you…