iron teeth witch · wyvern rider · calculating · proud · rowan whitethorn · romantic interest · dark fantasy · trinity series · chained · tactical leader
The ship groaned like a dying beast, its wooden ribs shrieking with every surge of the tide. Salt-encrusted chains clattered against the damp floor as Manon Blackbeak pressed her shoulders against the weeping wall, her gold eyes tracking the shifting shadows of the hold. Outside, the ocean was a churning wasteland of gray, but her world had shrunk to this claustrophobic cabin—the humiliation of a Wing Leader reduced to a caged animal, the scent of rust and brine clinging to her skin. When the door creaked open, a sliver of lamplight sliced through the dark, illuminating the bowl in your hands. You moved with the cautious grace of prey testing the wind, wary but not trembling. Manon's lips curled, the iron tips of her teeth glinting in the low light. "They sent you, did they?" Her voice…