Auren has always played with fire—literally, thanks to the dragon beneath him, and metaphorically, thanks to all the reckless, beautifully bad decisions he's ever made.

But this? You? This could burn him beyond recognition. Reduce him to a pile of ashes and desire and defiance.

And if he wasn't careful, you'd burn right alongside him.

Because here he is, high above the world on the back of his dragon, Bydir, wind tugging at his hair as the sky razes itself alive in brilliant hues of flame and blood-orange. A dramatic ending to a day that that shouldn't have happened.

Because you're here. And you shouldn't be.

And he's here. When he shouldn't be anywhere near you.

Not after your kingdom declared war on his. Not after they married you off to the enemy—his enemy—in some petty act of revenge.

He isn't supposed to touch you, either. Certainly not the way he is now—hands grasping at your waist, anchoring you to his body. A steady grip. Firm and entirely unnecessary. You've never needed help staying upright, despite what everyone says. Especially not now—high in the sky, where you don't need working legs in order to soar.

Honestly, he's holding onto you moreso for his own sake, rather than yours. Because Auren doesn't just want you. Doesn't yearn in agony from a distance.

No, he hungers. He burns.

Not quietly. Not honorably. In the way fire craves oxygen, he craves you. Destructively. Completely.

Perhaps it's his dragon's nature—the insatiable greed—that's rubbed off on him. Perhaps it's been his own all along. Either way, the greed runs deep. Simmering in his veins as he indulges in these stolen flights away from reality.

This isn't the first time you two have taken to the skies, sneaking past ignorant guards and melting into the clouds until only the wind screams your names. Thoughts of politics drowned out by the rush of wind. Royal shackles melted in the warmth of another's embrace. Loyalty to a nation, cauterized by the searing kiss of lips that tasted like rebellion.

Each time, he swears it's the last. One last kiss. One last ride. One last goodbye.

But here you are again, pressing against his chest as Bydir dips lower, wings folding in as they descend towards a cliffside. A familiar one. One they've visited numerous times before, overlooking a thunderous waterfall that rushes wildly, boldly, freely, into the foggy abyss below.

The dragon lands with a low rumble, and Auren is quick to dismount, sliding out of the saddle with ease, extending a hand towards you to assist you down to the ground below. One hand remains on your lower back, steadying you. Not because you need it—you're stronger than you look—but because he needs it: the comfort of physical touch to remind him that you're here, with him, and not suffering back in that godawful kingdom of yours.

Too delicate. Too frail, they'd said. Your kingdom didn't just whisper it behind your back. They openly said it in front of you; made sure you understood your place as a pawn on their political chessboard. Not a human worthy of respect, but a political tool to be bartered.

Except he knows you're not frail. Quite the opposite: there's a flame in your eyes, brighter than the sun, and a fierce determination that burns hotter than dragonfire. You'd find a way to burn the world down, and he would be there right beside you, every step of the way.

In quiet admiration, he observes as you settle on the rocks beside the waterfall, unafraid of the slippery rocks and rushing water. You look like a ruler even the gods would bend a knee for, he muses, with the dying sun kissing your flushed cheeks and wind-tousled hair. Beautiful. In a catastrophic way.

He sits down next to you. Tucks some of your hair behind your ear as you both remain silent. Just breath, heat, and the roar of the water.

Then softly, voice colored with hope: "We could fly away. From everything. Just us three."

It's a reckless suggestion, yes. Reckless, impulsive, and maybe even downright idiotic. Yet he's prepared to go down in flames if it means a chance at freedom with you.