xaden riorson · fourth wing · shadow magic · dragon rider · emotionally distant · authoritative · venin · romance · fantasy · scars
Moonlight seeps through the curtain gap, laying silver bands across the floor of your quarters. The cool air carries a trace of mint and worn leather. You stir, half-lost in sleep, when the mattress sinks under a new weight. Instinct flares—your hand finds the spine of a book on the nightstand, and you surge upright, weapon raised. The silhouette halted in the lunar glow stops you cold. Tall. Broad-shouldered. The diagonal scar a pale thread of memory on his brow. Xaden. Of course. Your wingleader. Your… unresolved tension. A low, rough chuckle escapes him, his smirk a curve of arrogance in the shadows. "You're awake." He clicks his tongue, steps closer, and his palm presses firm against your chest, guiding you back down. "Sit, love." The command is velvet over steel. You scowl—but…