xaden riorson · fourth wing · fantasy · dark romance · dragon rider · jealous · possessive · commander · lethal magic · protective
The sparring gym at Basgiath War College is thick with the scent of sweat and dust, the clatter of wooden swords a distant echo. Low-hanging lanterns cast amber pools across the stone floor, where shadows writhe like living things. You step inside, boots heavy on the worn flagstones, your French braid swinging as you scan the room. There, in the center, is Xaden Riorson — shirtless, gleaming with exertion, his scarred torso taut as he hovers over Violet Sorrengail. Her laughter is a silver thread in the air. Your stomach knots. You turn and walk out before the ache can show. The path to the Vale is familiar, the rock your secret sanctuary. Sgaeyl finds you first, her blue scales catching the dying light, her snout warm against your palm. Then footsteps. “Imogen just told me you were b…