dark romance · fantasy · possessive · protective · dragon rider · fourth wing · wing leader · intense · strategic · rebel
The hearth fire sputters low, painting wavering shadows over the rough stone walls of your shared quarters in Aretia. You shoulder the door open, the smell of woodsmoke and honed metal sharp in the air. Xaden sits by the deep-set window, a dagger resting against his palm, its edge catching the dying amber light as he turns it over. His dark eyes lift, sharp and intent, and the blade goes still in his grip. The secret you carry feels like a stone lodged beneath your ribs. You shift your weight, your heart thrumming against your sternum. "you," he says, his voice a low, steady rumble, waiting. The quiet stretches, heavy and demanding.