Chapter Text

Chapter 35 - Don’t Tempt Me With Obedience, Wingleader

“Hmmm,” I groan, keeping my eyes closed but snuggling deeper into Xaden’s chest. “I love waking up to your lips on my neck.”

“And I love waking up with you in my arms,” he murmurs into my ear.

I grin without opening my eyes. “Look at you getting all gushy. Big, scary wingleader but a total softie with me.”

“I’ll show you softie,” he rumbles, pulling me closer and nipping sharply at my neck.

I laugh softly, arching against him. “Oh, I do love a morning tussle.”

He groans, low and rough. “I did wake you up for a reason.”

“Mmm. Because you missed me, even in your dreams?” I tease, finally cracking one eye open to look at him.

He presses a kiss to my forehead, amused. “No. Because I have a present for you.”

“Is it the daggers in your drawer?” I ask innocently.

He stills. “Why were you in my underwear drawer?”

“I was looking for your chocolate stash.”

His brows furrow. “Why would chocolate be in my - ?”

“Ridoc keeps his super-secret stash in his underwear drawer,” I explain matter-of-factly. “Better stuff than the ones under his mattress. I thought it was a guy thing. Hide it with your underwear so no one wants to dig around further. So naturally, I checked yours.”

“And did you find anything?”

“Just daggers. And chocolate. You’re running low, by the way.”

He sighs. “I swear this college runs on chocolate as currency.” Then his eyes narrow. “So where’s your super-secret stash?”

“In my underwear drawer.”

He blinks. I sigh dramatically. “It’s the safest place. If someone opens it, they’ll get distracted by the lacy and silky underwear and forget why they were there.”

“What about women?” he asks, smirking.

I gesture to myself. “Have you seen me? Works on them too.”

He laughs, tugging me closer. “It would definitely work on me. But now I want to know - where is all this silky, lacy lingerie you’re bragging about?”

“Well, considering you rip half of it off me,” I murmur, brushing my lips along his jaw, “I’m saving the good stuff for when you really deserve it.”

“Haven’t I earned it yet?” he teases.

“Not yet,” I say sweetly. “Depends how good your present is and who the daggers are for if not for me” raising an eyebrow.

He chuckles and slips from the bed. I groan and drag the sheet up, already missing his warmth.

“Close your eyes,” he orders. “And no peeking.”

“Yes, Wingleader,” I sigh dramatically, covering my eyes. I peek. Shadows swallow the light instantly.

“I said no peeking.”

I laugh. “Fine.”

There’s movement. A soft clink. Leather. Metal. My heartbeat picks up.

‘Do you know what he’s giving me?’ I say to Syvaeryn.

‘Yes. Now hush. Some of us are trying to sleep,’ she grumbles.

“Stop interrogating your Syvaeryn about your present,” Xaden calls, amused. “And before you ask again, the daggers are for Sorrengail, a gift from Garrick, so don't tell her yet.”

“Okay, I promise I won’t tell. Can I look now?”

“Yes.”

I uncover my eyes - and freeze.

Xaden stands in front of me, holding the most beautiful sword I’ve ever seen. Silver gleaming in the morning light, Tyrrish runes etched down the blade. The hilt is elegant - silver twined with gold, small emeralds and jades embedded like stars.

I don’t speak. Can’t.

He shifts, suddenly uncertain. “Do you… like it? I know you prefer daggers for ease, but I’ve seen you with a sword. You - gods, Aelin - you move like you were born to wield one. I just… wanted you to have something worthy of you. The runes are for protection.”

“Xaden,” I breathe, sliding from the bed, stepping toward him. “It’s - gods, I don’t even have words. Can I?”

He places it in my hands.

The moment I touch it, something hums. Like recognition. Like it’s been waiting for me.

I step back, testing the weight, the balance. Perfect. I twirl it, block an invisible strike, pivot, slash through the air. It sings.

I stop, staring at the runes glowing faintly along the blade. “It feels alive,” I whisper.

He’s watching me like I hung the stars.

I lower the sword, meeting his eyes. “You made this for me.”

“I had it forged,” he says softly. “Tyrrish steel, with a piece of Sgaeyl’s and Syvaeryn’s shed scales worked into the hilt cover  -  you can use it while you’re here, so people won’t…” He trails off, rubbing the back of his neck. “And I’ll challenge you for it tomorrow. That way, it’s officially yours. No rules broken.”

My throat tightens. “You are… impossible.”

His lips twitch. “Does that mean I’ve earned it?”

I sheathe the sword carefully and step close enough to feel his breath. “Tonight,” I say, voice low and promising, “you’ve absolutely earned the silky underwear.”

The next few months passed in a blur of training, meetings, and meditation. True to our word, Xaden and I threw ourselves back into it with the squad. Breaks weren’t in our vocabulary  -  too many lives were intertwined now, and the fight with Barlowe had been too close for comfort. We trained until we dropped, and it worked. Everyone got faster, sharper. Even Ridoc managed to land a few hits on Xaden, which he’s been bragging about ever since.

He also now carries an orange everywhere, swearing it’s “Barlowe repellent.” Liam’s got one too. I’m not saying it’s effective, but Barlowe hasn’t come within twenty feet of us since. I’ll take that as a win.

Dain’s been over the moon with our progress  -  especially with squad battles right around the corner. We even overheard him bragging to his father about how unstoppable we’ve become, which, frankly, feels like tempting fate.

The council’s been quiet, too quiet. Every time I’ve dropped by to see Cam, my parents are already gone. The only guaranteed chance I’ll have to see them again will be on Reunification Day  -  and if the council’s silence means anything, they’re planning something. I can feel it.

So, I focus on what I can control  -  keeping my squad together, strong, and ready for whatever comes next. 

“Tap out!” Rhiannon yells as a Second Wing rider claws at the mat, fingers digging into the canvas while Liam locks his legs around him, forcing his back into an unnatural arch.

My heart hammers in my chest. If Liam wins this, we climb to third on the leaderboard. If he doesn’t, I’ll have to face Mikael myself - but judging by the way Liam’s got him tied up, I doubt I’ll need to.

Mikael lets out a strangled cry, the sound sharp enough to cut through the crowd’s roar. Liam doesn’t even flinch.

“Fuck me, that looks painful,” Violet mutters.

“Yeah,” I wince. “That man’s spine just signed its resignation.”

“Good luck to Xaden’s legs if he ever hurts you,” Ridoc calls. “I’m not crossing Liam after this.”

With another cry, Mikael slaps the mat three times. The crowd explodes.

“Yes! Go Liam!” Sawyer shouts, as Liam drops Mikael and grins through the sweat, stumbling toward us. Our squad collapses around him in a mess of arms and cheers.

“Your winner!” Professor Emetterio booms, quieting the chaos. “Liam Mairi, Second Squad, Flame Section, Fourth Wing!”

Liam raises both hands, basking in the sound of our section chanting his name.

“Well technically,” the professor continues, “both Liam and Nyx are winners - they’re in the same squad, after all.”

“There should only be one winner,” Ridoc calls, wearing the most unholy look of innocence I’ve ever seen.

“Technically,” Rhiannon starts.

“But don’t you want to know who the ultimate winner is?” Ridoc cuts in, louder now. Heads turn.

I narrow my eyes. “What are you suggesting, Gamlyn?”

“Mairi versus Greycastle,” he says, grinning like the devil. “Come on, we all want to see it.”

The murmur spreads. He’s not wrong - we’re the two strongest fighters in the year. Liam’s strength. My strategy. And I do love a good fight.

I meet Liam’s eyes. “What do you say, Mairi? Fancy finding out who really tops the leaderboard?”

He offers his hand, smirking. “Heal me up, and you’re on.”

I clasp his hand firmly. “Professor, permission for a match with Mairi?”

Emetterio crosses his arms, pretending to think. “Well… it would be educational. And entertaining. Step up, Cadet Greycastle and Cadet Mairi.”

The cheer that follows nearly shakes the rafters. Ridoc and Sawyer are already taking bets - I can hear Ridoc yell, “Two silvers on Nyx knocking him flat!” Dain’s absence flashes through my mind briefly, he wouldn’t miss this but I push it aside. Focus.

I take Liam’s hand, healing the last traces of exhaustion. “All healed. No excuses.”

He grins. “May the best fighter win.”

“Oh, I intend to,” I murmur, stepping into stance.

We circle the mat, the air buzzing with energy. The cheers are deafening - half the cadets shouting for Liam, the other half for me.

Liam grins, rolling his shoulders like he’s warming up for a casual stroll rather than a match. “Try not to cry when I put you on your back, Greycastle.”

I smirk. “Try not to cry when I make you eat the mat, Mairi.”

He lunges first, fast and direct, testing my reflexes. I block, pivot, and drive my elbow toward his ribs. He catches my arm, tries to use my momentum to flip me - but I twist out, ducking low before sweeping his leg. He hops back just in time, both of us grinning like idiots.

The crowd whoops.

Liam feints left, then hooks his arm around my shoulder. I grab his wrist, drop my weight, and flip him over my hip. He lands on his back, air whooshing out of him.

“Point to Nyx!” Ridoc yells like some self-appointed referee.

“Stay out of it, Gamlyn!” I shout, unable to stop the grin tugging at my lips.

Liam’s already up again, smirking. “Getting cocky, Greycastle?”

“Just confident,” I counter, shifting my stance.

He lunges again and this time, I meet him halfway. The impact is solid. We grapple, both straining for control, feet sliding across the mat. He’s strong - stronger than he looks - but I know his rhythm by now, the way he leads with his left when he’s getting tired.

So I fake a stumble, draw him in, then twist and bring him down again.

“Come on, Liam!” Sawyer shouts. “She’s making it look easy!”

“Oh, I’m just letting her show off!” Liam calls back, still breathless.

He’s quick to roll and catch my arm as I go for a pin, tugging me off balance so we both end up back on our feet. The movement flows fast now - strike, block, twist, parry. Neither of us backing down, neither willing to yield.

He grabs my shoulder, I hook his knee. We hit the mat together, roll, separate, stand.

It’s not just fighting anymore - it’s rhythm.

He’s slowing, though. His footwork’s a half-beat behind, his breath heavier. I press the advantage, aiming a sharp kick at his side that he just barely blocks.

Then he grins. That damn grin.

“Careful,” he says softly, only for me. “Your glamour’s slipping, Princess.”

My entire body stills. The word hits like lightning. Panic floods me - power surging, instinct roaring to life as I reach inward to check my glamour.

And in that single heartbeat of distraction, he strikes.

His arm hooks around my middle, sweeping my leg. The mat slams into my back before I even register the movement. He pins me neatly, one knee planted beside my hip, both hands braced above me.

“I win,” he says simply, panting. “You hesitated.”

I glare up at him, breathing just as hard. “You cheated.”

He grins, sweat dripping from his temple. “No. I looked for weaknesses.”

Ridoc whoops from the sidelines. “Hell of a fight! I nearly bet on Nyx too!”

“You still owe me from last time,” Rhiannon fires back, elbowing him.

Professor Emetterio raises his hand to quiet the chaos, though there’s amusement in his eyes. “Match to Cadet Mairi,” he declares. “And well fought, both of you.”

The squad cheers, and Liam stands, offering me his hand. I take it, tugging myself up.

“Good fight,” he says, still grinning.

“Next time we use weapons,” I mutter.

His smirk widens. “Guess you’re already thinking of a rematch.”

The others rush in to clap him on the back, Ridoc already starting a loud debate about who would’ve won if I hadn’t hesitated. I just shake my head, trying - and failing - not to smile as Liam looks over his shoulder one last time.

Commandant Panchek steps onto the mat, and Liam and I join the rest of our squad, sweat still dripping down our skin.

“I know you were all expecting the last portion of Squad Battle to happen tomorrow,” he says, his grin already too wide, “but the cadre and I have a surprise.”

He has every rider’s attention now.

“Instead of telling you what the final, unknown task will be and giving you the night to plan for it… your task begins this hour.” He spreads his arms, clearly delighted with himself.

“Tonight?” Ridoc whispers.

My stomach sinks. “Dain isn’t here. Neither is Cianna.”

“Oh shit,” Imogen mutters, scanning the crowd.

“As you may have noticed,” Panchek continues, pacing in a slow circle, “your squad leaders and executive officers have been… shall we say, sequestered with your section leaders and wingleaders. And no - before someone asks - your task is not to find them.”

He stops, smile sharp. “You’ll split into squads and complete a unique mission without your leadership. Consider your leaders… demised.”

I mutter under my breath, “That explains why it’s been so peaceful without Xaden’s brooding.”

Liam snorts. Ridoc outright laughs.

“The purpose of a squad leader,” Panchek continues, “is to form a unit that can continue a mission after their demise. Your mission is simple: acquire, by any means necessary, one thing that would be most advantageous to our enemies. Leadership will judge the results. The winning squad earns sixty points.”

“That’s enough to put us in first,” Rhiannon whispers, yanking us into a huddle.

“What are the boundaries?” I ask.

“Anything within the walls of Basgiath,” Panchek says. “And don’t try hauling a dragon back. They’ll incinerate you out of sheer annoyance.”

“I don’t think Andarna will mind,” I whisper to the squad.

“Same. Aotrom will be all for it,” Ridoc says.

‘NO!’ a chorus of dragons bellows through our minds. I groan, grabbing my head.

“Okay, idea vetoed,” I say, just as Ridoc rubs his temple, grimacing.

“You have” - Panchek checks his watch - “three hours. Present your stolen treasures in Battle Brief when the clock runs out.”

Silence. This is so not what I expected for the final test.

“What are you waiting for?” Panchek snaps, shooing his hands at us. “Go!”

Pandemonium. Immediate, glorious pandemonium.

This is what happens when you remove leadership - we’re chaos in motion.

“Second Squad!” Imogen shouts, raising her hands. “Follow me!”

We trail after her like ducklings, Liam still catching his breath, Ridoc stealing water from someone’s pack.

“You two were incredible,” Violet says, grinning.

“It was epic,” Ridoc agrees, tossing Liam a waterskin. Liam drains it in one go.

“Fancy another healing session?” Liam asks.

“After the stunt you pulled on me? No,” I say, deadpan. His face falls. “Kidding.” I reach for his hand, healing him anyway.

“Hey, that’s not fair,” Ridoc pouts. “You’ve never healed one of my hangovers.”

“Beat me on the mat first.”

“Deal.”

Imogen gestures us into the room and locks the door behind us.

Alright,” Imogen says, scanning the room. “First thing - who’s in command?”

Ridoc shoots his hand up immediately.

Rhiannon swats it back down. “No. Absolutely not. You’ll turn this into a prank war before we even start.”

“Fair point.” He shrugs.

“Liam?” Quinn asks, raising her eyebrows.

“No.” He shakes his head quickly - but his eyes flick toward Violet, giving his reasoning away.

“No one’s going to try and kill her while we’re out tonight,” I point out, but he just shakes his head again.

“You keep command,” Rhiannon says to Imogen. “You’ve gotten us this far.”

A few nods of agreement ripple through the squad.

“Emery? Heaton?” Imogen asks. “You’re both third-years; it’s your right.”

“No thanks,” Heaton says, leaning back against the wall.

“Yeah, hard pass,” Emery adds. “There’s a reason neither of us signed up for leadership.” He glances at Nadine. “You all right following Imogen’s orders for a few hours?”

Every eye turns toward the first-year, who’s done a terrible job hiding her distrust of marked riders. Knowing she’s from a northern village near Deaconshire and Tyrrendor, I can see her reasoning.

She swallows hard but nods. “I’m fine with it.”

“Good.” Imogen folds her arms, her rebellion relic flashing under her sleeve. “We’ve got less than three hours. Ideas?”

Ridoc’s hand shoots up again. “Weaponry. Maybe a cross-bolt? In enemy hands, it’d ruin a dragon.”

“Too big,” Quinn says instantly. “There’s only one in the museum, and it’s the launcher that’s dangerous, not the bolt itself.”

“Next?” Imogen asks.

“We could steal Panchek’s - ” I start.

“Underwear,” Ridoc interrupts.

Rhiannon slaps her hand over his mouth. “And that’s why you’re not in charge.”

Imogen groans. “Come on, people. Think! What’s the most useful thing for our enemies?”

“Information,” Liam says at once, his gaze flicking to Violet. “What about the news missives from the front? The ones in the Archives?”

Violet shakes her head. “After seven, the Archives are locked. That vault’s fire-sealed and wield-proof.”

“Damn.” Imogen sighs. “That was a good one.”

“What about kidnapping Bodhi and getting him drunk? He spills all his secrets then,” I suggest, only half-serious.

Ridoc snorts. “Please, Bodhi doesn’t need to be drunk to overshare - he once told me about a mole shaped like a raven just because I offered him a biscuit.”

Rhiannon pinches the bridge of her nose. “Focus, children. We’re not committing a felony or listening to Ridoc’s snack-based trauma.”

The room erupts again, everyone talking over each other, ideas flying fast and loud.

Information… If the mission’s about what could help the enemy most, the Palace would hold the best intel. But that’s definitely cheating. And my books - no.

‘Too risky,’ Syvaeryn warns in my head.

“Why do I feel you know something about those books?” I mutter back to her.

“Look - the silver one has an idea,” Syvaeryn interrupts, changing the subject.

I glance up to see Violet frowning in concentration.

“What are you thinking, Sorrengail?” Imogen asks. The room immediately goes quiet. “I can see those little gears turning.”

“It’s probably nothing.” Violet glances around nervously.

“Up here,” Imogen orders. “Work it out loud.”

“Seriously, it’s mad,” Violet says. “We’d be thrown in the brig if we’re caught.”

Imogen’s grin sharpens. “Sounds perfect.”

I smirk. “Yeah, tell us more.”

“Get. Up. Here,” Imogen repeats, tapping her boot.

Violet sighs and pushes off the bench, fingers brushing the hilts of her six daggers. “Okay: Ridoc wields ice, Rhiannon retrieves, Sawyer manipulates metal, Imogen can mind-wipe recent memories - Nyx can heal and manipulate starlight.”

Ridoc munches an apple, grinning. “And open portals, don’t forget.”

Every head turns to him.

“Well, that wasn’t common knowledge,” I say through gritted teeth.

Quinn blinks. “Wait - create portals? Like, to anywhere?”

I sigh. “Yes. Though I can only portal to places I’ve already been.” I glance at Ridoc. “Since the cat’s out of the bag…”

Starlight pours from my palms, liquid and alive, swirling outward until it twists into a doorway made of shimmering constellations. The air hums with magic as the stars pulse brighter, forming a perfect frame of night. I step through - straight into the palace wine cellar. The cool air smells like oak and aged spice. I grab four bottles of my favourite vintages - might as well make it worth the effort - and step back through the starlight. The portal folds in on itself with a soft sigh, the last specks of light winking out.

Everyone just…stares.

“What?” I ask, holding up the bottles. “You’d think you’d never seen someone use their powers for something practical.”

Ridoc immediately grabs one. Quinn snatches another.

“This is amazing!” Quinn laughs.

Imogen narrows her eyes. “Where exactly did you get those?”

“My house,” I say simply, popping the cork on one of the bottles. “I can create portals using the night sky - my power extends beyond just starlight. But I can only open them to places I’ve already been.”

Emery tilts their head. “What happens if someone tries to go through without you?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve never tested it.” I flick my wrist, and starlight spills from my palm, forming a smaller portal that shimmers across the room. “Let’s find out. Ridoc, toss the apple through.”

He blinks. “I was eating that.”

I give him a look.

“Fine.” He sighs dramatically and chucks it.

The apple vanishes into the light - then… nothing. No reappearance, no sound. Just air.

I frown, lowering my hand as the portal collapses with a soft pop. “That was supposed to land over there,” I say, nodding toward the empty corner. “Best not to go through alone for now.”

“Heaton, what about you?” Violet asks suddenly, clearly her brain is working something out.

“I can breathe underwater,” they say flatly.

“Useful,” Ridoc mutters. “If we ever want to drown our sorrows.”

“Emery?”

“Wind,” he says with a grin. “A lot of it.”

Quinn bounces slightly. “I can astral project. Keep my body here while I move somewhere else.”

My mouth drops open. “You can what?”

She shrugs. “Think ghost, but more useful.”

Ridoc smirks. “So you could haunt people?”

“Probably,” Quinn says, grinning.

“Don’t give her ideas,” Imogen groans. “Can we please circle back to Nyx being able to portal anywhere?”

“Only places I’ve already been,” I remind her, taking a slow sip of wine.

“So, technically,” Imogen presses, “you could go to the front lines. Or straight into the middle of the Vale. Or even the Palace?”

I pause, lowering the glass as every pair of eyes in the room lands on me. “Technically, yes,” I admit. “But I still need to have been there first to open the portal. So, for the Palace - no chance. I’ve never been, and somehow I doubt they’ll be handing me clearance to stroll into the royal wing anytime soon.”

I shrug. “If Violet’s got some super-secret hiding spot in Basgiath, that’s off-limits too. I can’t portal somewhere I’ve never stood before. Not exactly helpful right now.”

Imogen hums thoughtfully, then turns her sharp gaze to Violet, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “All right then, Sorrengail,” she says. “What are you thinking?”

Violet takes a breath. “You’re going to say I’ve lost my mind - but if we pull it off, we’ll win for sure.”

“And?” Imogen prompts.

Violet glances up, eyes gleaming. “We’re going to break into my mother’s office.”

“You are so fucking creepy,” Ridoc mutters two hours later, squirming away from Quinn - well, from Quinn’s astral form. Her body’s back with Heaton in the weight room, standing guard.

The rest of us creep through the dim hallways past the Healer Quadrant. We’ve already brushed past a Second Wing squad and another from Third - no time to stop or sabotage.

“I’ve never been this far,” Emery whispers as we pass the last clinic door.

“You’ve never even been to the Archives?” Imogen asks.

“I avoid that duty like the plague. Scribes freak me out. Quiet little know-it-alls who can ruin your life just by writing something down.”

Violet grins faintly. There’s more truth to that than most people realize - history is written by scribes, after all. What they write becomes what we know.

We reach a fork in the path - down to the Archives or up into the fortress itself.

“There’s no turning back from here,” Violet says, looking up the spiral staircase.

“Lead on!” Quinn booms, and we all jump a foot in the air.

“Shhh!” Imogen hisses. “Some of us can get caught, you know.”

“Right, sorry,” Quinn whispers.

“Everyone remember the plan,” Violet says quietly. “No deviations. No one goes rogue.”

We nod and begin our silent climb up the dark stairs, each step echoing faintly in the narrow stone shaft. The air grows colder as we ascend, torchlight flickering against the walls like the castle itself is holding its breath.

“Sure could use Xaden right about now,” Ridoc mutters.

“Oh wait, I can do that,” I whisper, lifting a hand. The night stirs at my call - threads of darkness unravel from the air and curl around us like smoke. The shadows fold over the squad, cloaking us completely.

“Why didn’t you say that before?” Imogen hisses.

“I forgot,” I mutter back.

“How could you forget something this useful?” she snaps quietly.

“Because someone got a bee in their bonnet about the portals,” I whisper back.

“Shhhhhh!” Rhiannon hisses, smacking both of us lightly on the arms.

We trade silent grins beneath the shroud of shadow and move across the stone courtyard, nearly invisible under the night’s cover. When we reach the far steps, Liam leans just far enough to see down the corridor beyond.

“There are mage lights in sconces,” he whispers. “And you were right - only one guard.”

“Any light under the door?” Violet asks.

“No,” he replies, glancing back. “Guard’s about six feet, athletic build. The other stairwell’s down the left hall. Quinn, you’ll need to draw him off.”

Quinn nods. “No problem.”

“Everyone else - circle back down. If he looks this way, I don’t want him seeing us,” I whisper. My stomach tightens. We’re actually doing this. The General’s office.

We retreat as Quinn charges up the stairs. Her voice echoes faintly - then heavy boots thunder past.

“Get back here! You can’t be here!”

“Now,” Imogen orders.

We launch forward. Rhiannon and Emery stay in the stairwell while Sawyer darts to the far staircase, slamming the door and twisting the metal joints shut with his power.

Nadine’s already at the office door, her fingers glowing as she unravels the wards. Her signet - unweaving - suddenly feels invaluable. Most riders create wards. Nadine breaks them.

Liam steps into the guard’s spot, straightening to stand watch.

“Got it!” Nadine whispers, nudging the door open.

“If you hear me whistle - ” Liam starts.

“I’ll portal us out,” I promise, brushing past him. “Relax.”

Inside, the office is all sharp corners and silence.

“Don’t touch the mage lights,” Violet warns. “She’ll know. Make your own.” She flicks her wrist, and a soft blue flame blooms above us.

“How nice is this?” Ridoc sprawls dramatically on the red couch.

“We don’t have time for you to be you,” Sawyer hisses, rifling through the bookcase. “Help me search for something useful.”

Imogen and Nadine take the conference table, sorting through neat stacks of parchment.

“That leaves the desk,” I mutter, circling the massive piece of furniture like it might bite. Three folded missives sit in the center. I lift the top one - and freeze.

A dagger gleams beneath it. Alloy hilt. Tyrrish runes etched into the handle.

My stomach drops. Why would the General have this? She shouldn’t know. None of the generals should. That was supposed to stay buried - with the council.

I glance up at Violet. She meets my gaze, confused but curious, not suspicious. Imogen, though - Imogen is watching me too closely.

I drop the dagger back where it was and keep moving.

“These are all… numbers,” Imogen mutters, rifling through the conference table papers.

“It’s April,” Violet says, reaching for the next missive. “She’s working on next year’s budget.”

Everyone stops and stares at her, disbelief written across every face.

I roll my eyes. “What? Did you think this place ran itself?”

“Keep looking,” Imogen orders.

I scan the nearest map, eyes flicking over battlement markers and troop routes. There are more outposts along the active border zones, more soldiers where the fighting’s heaviest. The lines are detailed enough to make my skin crawl.

It’s all here - every stronghold, every supply line, every secret.

A slow grin spreads across my face. “Hey, ducklings. I know what we need to steal.”

It takes minutes to cut the map from its frame and roll it tight. Imogen pulls leather ties from her satchel, securing it neatly.

Then - Liam whistles.

My heart nearly leaps out of my chest.

“Shit!” Ridoc races to the door and cracks it open. “What’s going on out there?”

“I can’t portal us all and carry the map,” I hiss. “We’ll have to run for it.”

“He’s pounding at the hall door - it’s going to give any second!” Liam whisper-shouts.

Sawyer and Imogen struggle with the map’s length as the guard kicks in the lower door. My stomach drops.

“...And we’re fucked,” Nadine mutters.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the guard bellows, sprinting toward us.

“We’re dead if he catches us with the map,” Ridoc says, bouncing on his toes. “I’m just saying - dying together is great for bonding.”

“We can’t hurt him,” Violet protests.

The guard barrels past the first stairwell. Rhiannon steps into the hall, arms wide.

“Please work, please work, please work,” Imogen chants.

The map vanishes from Imogen’s hands - then reappears in Rhiannon’s, halfway down the corridor.

It worked.

The guard stumbles but recovers, still charging. I don’t think. I move.

I portal behind him, slam into his back, and hook my arm around his neck. He claws at my grip, but I’m faster, stronger, and the surprise gives me the upper hand. His knees buckle.

He’s out cold.

“Imogen! Vi!” I call.

They rush over. Violet checks his pulse; Liam looms behind her, pale.

“Imogen, wipe his memory. Vi - give him that tonic. Liam, help me move him.”

“This was not part of the plan,” Liam mutters as Imogen leans down, her power shimmering faintly.

“Strong pulse,” Violet says, slipping the vial between the guard’s lips. “He’ll sleep through the night.”

Liam’s wide eyes meet mine. “You’re all kind of terrifying.”

“Thank you,” I grin.

We bolt.

Fifteen minutes later, our chests are still heaving as we skid into the Battle Brief room - just under the clock. We’re the last to arrive. Dain’s jaw ticks in irritation where he sits with the other leaders. Fantastic. Another lecture incoming.

We drop into our seats as the presentations begin.

A squad from First Wing stole Kaori’s handwritten manual on dragon habits. Impressive.

Another from Second Wing presents a stolen Infantry uniform - complete with a name tag. Gasps ripple through the crowd. That’s a death sentence in enemy hands.

Third Wing’s best offering is a stunned, wide-eyed scribe. Given his silent, open-mouthed horror, someone’s stolen his ability to talk.

Poor guy’s going to need therapy when they release him.

Then it’s our turn. Sawyer and Liam unroll the map between them, holding it wide so every rider and professor can see.

I stay a step behind Violet and Imogen, scanning the crowd until my gaze snags on the one I was looking for.

Xaden.

He’s leaning against the wall near the other wingleaders, watching me with a look that’s equal parts curiosity and pride. My pulse jumps.

“It was both your ideas,” Imogen whispers, nudging Violet and me forward. “Present.”

Markham’s eyes go wide. Devera’s jaw nearly hits the floor.

Violet clears her throat. “We have brought the ultimate weapon for our enemies - an updated map of all current Navarrian outposts, troop strengths, and active skirmishes.” She gestures to the highlighted border regions. “Including last night.”

A collective murmur ripples through the hall.

Kaori frowns. “And how do we know this map is current?”

I step forward, smile slow and sharp. “Because we stole it from General Sorrengail’s office.”

Chaos.

Riders shout, professors push toward the stage, and in the middle of it all - Xaden meets my gaze. He’s still leaning casually against the wall, arms folded, shadows licking at his boots. Then, slow as sin, he starts to clap.

One.
Two.
Three deliberate claps that somehow cut through the chaos like thunder.

That dangerous half-smile curves his mouth - equal parts pride, disbelief, and promise. My stomach flips, my heart hammering.

Then his voice slides across the bond - dark velvet and heat.

Whatever you want me to wear tonight. Whatever you want me to do, Princess. I’ll obey.

The grin that breaks over my face is utterly involuntary. I tilt my head just slightly, sending my thought back, sweet and sharp.

Careful, Wingleader. I might hold you to that. Literally. With my sword.

His chuckle ripples through my mind, low and wicked.

Satisfaction floods through me - warm, wild, unstoppable.

Totally worth it.