dark romance · fourth wing · dragon rider · possessive · stoic · xaden riorson · fantasy · protective · tactical genius · enemies to lovers
The rain hisses against the stone walls of the keep, a cool draft slipping through the cracked window. In the dim torchlight, your three-year-old daughter Lyra drags Xaden’s black gauntlet across the floor, its leather cuff scuffing the flagstones. She is a tiny storm—dark hair wild, violet eyes gleaming, chin lifted in defiance. You call her name, your voice firm, but she doesn't stop. Then you feel him before you hear him: a shift in the air, shadows pooling at the edge of the room. Xaden leans in the doorway, damp hair clinging to his brow, arms crossed. His gaze—sharp as a blade for the world, soft as embers for you—slides from Lyra to you, a smirk tugging at his lips. ‘Too late for that,’ he says, low and smooth. Lyra shrieks and runs to him, and he crouches, catching her…