Ruthless 🗡️/ Fourth Wing

Chapter 47

I want to bang my head against a wall. A hard, cold metal one. Maybe I'll ask Liam to kill me—hell, I'd feel honored if he did. At least it'd end the constant..... Does it even matter who I am anymore? Not really.

I stand in the sparring room, surrounded by at least a hundred cadets, some from my wing, some from others. The tension in the air is thick, the stench of sweat and adrenaline mixing with something else—something darker. And then there's Xaden. The one person I can't escape, the one person I can't look at without feeling like I'm burning from the inside out. I walked past him this morning and could smell the potent smell of churum lingering. He only does that when he can't sleep.

He stands at the front of the room, his voice cutting through the air, harsh and commanding. "It's either kill or be killed." His eyes flicker over the room, resting on each of us with the same cold assessment. "Some of you have dragons, but no blood on your hands. Today, we're doing strength challenges. Only one of you will leave the mat alive. We're weeding out the weak."

His gaze settles on me, and for a moment, it feels like everything stops. His eyes darken, jaw tightening as if he's struggling to keep himself under control. It doesn't matter how many cadets are in this room. I only see him. The way his muscles flex under his black tight sparing shit, the barely restrained tension in his posture—it all says the same thing: He's pissed still holding a grudge. At me. I can feel it in my gut.

"Sorrengail and Grunter," Xaden calls out. Weak little Grunter. Easy fight. I can almost see Xaden's plan—setting up the weak.

"Mairi and McGrath," Xaden continues. A decent match. Both are strong in their own ways, but Mairi will win. No one's betting against him.

"Freysson and Wright."

Wright? The weakest link in all the wings. Of course. The one person who doesn't stand a chance. And I get stuck with him. The rest of the cadets exchange glances, some of them with pity, others with amusement.

The anger rises in me, hot and sharp. I want to scream at Xaden, tell him this is bullshit. I want a real fight. I need a real fight. But something about the way he looked at me, the way his voice trembled when he said my name, makes me wonder if this is his way of pushing me to see if I'll kill.

As I step onto the mat, ready to face Wright and get this over with, I hear a voice behind me, grating and insufferable.

"I challenge Nora."

Fucking Barlow.

I stop in my tracks. My heart sinks. Not now. Not Barlow.

ut it's not Barlow that pisses me off the most right now. It's the fact that Xaden—Xaden—is standing there, not even bothering to intervene right away. It's like he wants this. He wants to see me pushed to the edge, wants to see if I'll snap.

"No," Xaden says, his voice stern, a clear line in the sand. "I've already put the teams together."

Barlow doesn't back down. Of course he doesn't. He smirks, walking up to Xaden like he knows something we all don't. "According to the Codex," he says, his voice dripping with smugness, "You are allowed to challenge a cadet at any point during sparring if you do not think they're suitable. So no, Riorson, I don't believe it's your choice."

I can feel it—the shift. The way the room tightens, the breath everyone is holding as the tension between Xaden and Barlow grows. It's almost suffocating. Xaden's jaw clenches, the muscles in his neck twitching as he steps closer, his eyes narrowing.

"Step aside, Barlow," Xaden growls, the edge to his voice barely contained. He's pissed—livid—and I can tell he's struggling to control himself. I don't know if it's Barlow he's angry at or me. But either way, he's shaking with restraint. And I know, in that moment, that the last thing I need right now is for Xaden to lose control. Because if he does, he'll take me down with him.