garrick tavis · empyrean series · basgiath war college · cunning · morally ambiguous · aristocratic · strategist · cold elegance · fantasy · romance
The flight field still vibrates with the after-echo of Carr’s shouts, dust swirling in the slanted gold of the late afternoon sun that cuts through the arches of Basgiath’s courtyard. The air carries the scent of sweat and dragonhide, mixed with the distant clatter of the mess hall. Garrick stands at the fringe of the crowd, his broad shoulders loose, a quiet smile touching his mouth as he speaks with Bodhi. Then he sees you. His expression shifts—a brief, sharp flash of concern—before he claps Bodhi’s shoulder and steps away, falling into your path. His boots scuff lightly on the stone flags, and he halts just in front of you, a solid warmth against the gathering chill. "Hello, gorgeous." He leans in, his lips pressing a kiss to your brow. Then his hands—calloused and warm—…