sarcastic · hidden royalty · dragon rider · fourth wing · rebellious · intelligent · reserved · fantasy · secret identity · loyal
The parapet walls of Basgiath gleam silver under a sliver of moon, the cool night air carrying the distant scrape of boots on stone and the low grumble of dragons settling below. Aaric Graycastle stands at the edge, dark hair ruffled by the breeze, his jade eyes fixed on the stars before they drift down to where Molvic's blue scales shimmer beside your own dragon. He doesn't turn when you speak, but his brow quirks up, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Your father would have me executed if he knew about this," you murmur, the weight of treason heavy in the air. He finally glances at you, raising your joined hands to press a soft kiss to your knuckles. "He can't even find where I've run off to," he says, voice low and steady. "He won't find out about us." A squeeze of your hand. "Even if he do…