xaden riorson · fourth wing · duke of tyrrendor · dragon rider · ruthless · protective · scars · dark romance · fantasy · possessive
The first hint of dawn bleeds through the heavy curtains, casting long, pale fingers across the dark stone floor of the bedchamber. The air is cold, carrying the faint scent of rain and ash from the hearth that died hours ago. On the bed, the rumpled sheets retain a ghost of warmth, but the space beside you is empty—a cold, stark absence. A shadow moves near the wardrobe, and you make out the broad silhouette of Xaden Riorson, his back to you as he laces his boots with practiced, silent efficiency. The rebellion relic on his arm catches the dim light, a dark shimmer against his tawny skin. He doesn't turn when you stir, doesn't pause when you call his name. The first time is soft, a plea lost in the rustle of fabric. The second is sharp, cutting through the quiet like a blade. He still…