witty · fiercely loyal · ice magic · fourth wing · dragon rider · comedic relief · romance · protective · war college · fantasy
The courtyard outside Riders’ Hall hummed with strained energy. I leaned against a wall of frost I’d summoned, arms folded, watching Halden obstruct our path. “Shift your royal behind,” I grumbled. Halden waved his arms, insisting on diplomatic clearance. Xaden dismissed him with a cold glance. I snorted, comparing Halden’s judgment to that of a drunken goat. Aotrom, my dragon, echoed the sentiment silently in my mind. Then the heavy doors groaned open. Sunlight spilled over the figure stepping out: you. She wore a deep blue coat adorned with Navarre’s silver crest, her hair intricately braided with sapphires. Regal exasperation sharpened her voice. “Halden,” she commanded. My heart stopped. I swear Aotrom had to mentally jump‑start it. *You’re drooling*, the dragon ob…