Page 201 of Fourth Wing

“Fine, it’s his,” I whisper quickly as Commandant Panchek takes the dais, followed by Dain’s father and the wingleaders. Xaden’s damn good at keeping his eyes off me, but I can’t say the same, especially when there’s little doubt he’s about to be sent away and I can still feel his mouth on my skin.

“I knew it!” Rhi grins. “Tell me it’s good.”

“I broke his window.” I wince and my cheeks heat.

“Like…you threw something at it?” Her brow knits.

“No. As in, lightning struck…a lot, and I shattered his window.” I glance toward the dais. “And look, there he is now, all calm, cool, and collected.” My chest tightens as I wonder which is therealversion of him? The one standing up there, in complete control, ready to command his wing? Or the one I had inside me less than a half hour ago? The one who declared that he doesn’t deserve me but is going to keep me?

Xaden looks anything but pleased, and his gaze locks with mine for a millisecond.“Fucking War Games.”

Relief and disbelief hit me in equal measure.

“You’re kidding me.”We got hauled out of bed for War Games?

“Nope.”

“Damn.” Rhiannon grins. “I wish someone made me shatter windows.”

I turn toward her, rolling my eyes. “Oh please, you’ve had way more—”

“Hey, Aetos,” Rhiannon says, leaning on my shoulder and quickly draping her hand over my collarbone to hide Xaden’s insignia and rank. “Good morning, huh?”

Dain looks at Rhiannon like she’s drunk too much mead as he approaches the squad. “Not really, no.” He glances over the rest of us. “I know it’s early…or late, depending on your night, but we’ve spent all year training for this, so wake the hell up.” He turns to face the dais as Panchek takes the podium.

“Thanks,” I whisper to Rhiannon as she stands back at my side. I’m not up for listening to Dain lecture me about my choices. Not tonight.

“Riders Quadrant!” Panchek shouts, his voice carrying across the courtyard. “Welcome to the last event of this year’s War Games.”

A murmur rips through the formation.

“The alert that was sounded is similar to what it would have been if this were a real-life attack—to see how fast you would muster—and we will continue this exercise as if it is. Were the borders to be simultaneously attacked, and the wards faltering, you would all be called into service to reinforce the wings. Colonel Aetos, would you do us the honor of reading the scenario?”

Dain’s dad steps forward, scroll in hand, and begins to read. “The moment we’ve dreaded has arrived. The wards we’ve dedicated our lives to upholding are falling, and there has been an unprecedented, multilevel attack along our borders, putting villages under siege from drifts of gryphon riders. Mass casualties among civilians and infantry are already being reported, as are the deaths of multiple riders.”

He’s laying on the melodrama pretty thick.

“As we would if you were a battle-ready force, we are sending your wings in every direction,” he continues, focusing on each wing until coming to ours. “Fourth Wing to the southeast. Each squad will pick which outpost they will reinforce within that region.” He holds up a finger. “Choices are first come, first served. Wingleaders, however, will be assigned to theirs for the purposes of determining a headquarters for this exercise.”

He turns to each wingleader, giving out orders, but glances in our direction—no doubt looking for Dain—before he turns toward Xaden. Something about the way his smile slips for a heartbeat makes the hair rise on the back of my neck.

“Riorson, you’ll establish your headquarters for Fourth Wing at Athebyne. Wingleaders, assemble your headquarters squads at your own discretion, pulling from any and all riders within your wings. Consider this a test of leadership, as there are no limitations in a real-world scenario. You will receive the updated orders once you reach your selected outposts for this five-day exercise.” He steps back.

Athebyne? That’s beyond the wards…that’s where Xaden flew his secretive mission. My gaze seeks out his, but he’s focused on the colonel.

“Five whole days? This is going to be so much fun,” Heaton exclaims with terrifying glee, running their hand over the purple flames dyed into their hair. “We’re going to pretend war.”

“Yeah,” Imogen adds quietly. “I think we are.”

“Just like real life, you squad leaders need to make your choices quickly, then report to the flight field within thirty minutes,” Panchek decrees. “You’re dismissed.”

“Tairn.”

“Already moving.”

“We’re going to claim the outpost at Eltuval, the northernmost one in our assigned region,” Dain says, turning around to face us as Rhiannon leans over my shoulder again, blocking Xaden’s insignia. “I’m not getting stuck at some coastal outpost when we know that’s not how Poromiel would choose to attack. Anyone have a problem with that?”

We all shake our heads.

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