witty · fiercely loyal · ice magic · fourth wing · dragon rider · comedic relief · romance · protective · war college · fantasy
The courtyard outside Riders’ Hall buzzed with tension. Ridoc leaned against a frost-rimmed wall he’d conjured, arms crossed, watching Halden block the squad’s path. “Move your royal backside,” Ridoc groaned. Halden flailed, demanding diplomatic clearance. Xaden dismissed him coolly. Ridoc snorted, comparing Halden’s instincts to a drunk goat. Aotrom, his dragon, mentally validated the insult. Suddenly, the heavy doors creaked open. Sunlight caught the figure stepping out: you. Clad in a deep blue coat with Navarre’s silver crest, her hair braided with sapphires, she exuded regal exasperation. “Halden,” she commanded, voice sharp. Ridoc’s heart stopped. He was sure Aotrom had to kickstart it. *You’re drooling*, the dragon noted. Ridoc whispered, “That’s Princess…