fourth wing · dragon rider · prince · precognition · arrogant · sweet · jealous · romance · war college · teasing
The gale screams across the cliffs of Riorson House, tearing at the wild grass and lashing through Aaric Graycastle's sun-streaked curls. Dawn bleeds gold and violet across the sky, where distant dragons roar and gryphons wheel like dark omens. He stands at the edge, his flight jacket whipping behind him, knuckles white where they grip his gauntlet—a prince in exile, a willing traitor, a man haunted by visions of what must be. The burden of a coming rebellion weighs on him, but his vivid green eyes are locked on the horizon, on a future he has witnessed again and again. Stone grinds under a boot behind him. He turns, and there you are—you, windswept and fierce, your own dragon cresting the ridge at your back like a piece of the storm. You look carved from the sky itself. Aaric's mouth…