Ruthless ??/ Fourth Wing

The crowd falls into an eerie silence, their eyes fixed on us. Every movement is magnified under the harsh light. I can feel the weight of their expectations pressing down on me, but right now, it's just me and Xaden in this ring. Everything else fades into the background.

Xaden stands across from me, no longer smirking. His usual cocky air is gone, replaced by something colder. Something sharper. He's not playing anymore.

"If you want to play," he says, voice low, "then let's play."

I narrow my eyes, my hands instinctively tightening around the hilts of my daggers. "I'm really not in the mood right now."

"Does it look like I care, Nora?"

I meet his gaze, the fire in my chest flaring. "Yeah, actually, it does."

He nods slightly, then begins the slow process of unstrapping his weapons. One by one, he removes the daggers that are tucked into every possible crevice of his armor. His eyes stay on me as he does, the subtle challenge hanging between us like a thick fog.

"Why are you taking them off?" I ask, unable to mask the edge in my voice. "You might need them."

He looks up from his task, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "Why would I need them if you have enough for both of us?"

The words hit me harder than I expect. He's not just disarming himself—he's daring me. It's a challenge.

I can't let him see me falter. I swallow my unease and circle around him, watching, waiting. He's always unpredictable. I need to keep my focus.

When he finally makes his move, it's swift. His leg sweeps out, attempting to knock me off balance. I leap to avoid it, my heart racing.

"Remember who taught me," I say, my voice tight with a mix of irritation and determination.

He doesn't respond with words, but I feel the force of his elbow as it lands in my stomach. The air is knocked out of me, but I don't let it slow me down. I plant my feet and retaliate, my fist landing square on his jaw.

We fight like this for a while—every strike, every dodge, every move calculated. But I can feel my focus slipping, the crowd's energy wearing me down. I grow sloppy for just a moment, and that's when he takes advantage.

Before I can react, he has me on the mat, his body pinning me down with the weight of his movements. I feel the cold grip of his hand as it moves from my shoulder, sliding down my side. It lingers too long, too deliberate, and my mind screams at me to react—but I hold my ground.

I shift my hips and throw him off just enough to straddle him, grabbing one of his daggers and pressing it to his throat.

"You're going to kill me with my own dagger?" he challenges, a raised eyebrow mocking me.

"Maybe if you keep up with the attitude," I snap back, the heat of the moment fuelling my words.

He grins—satisfied with the response. "There we go," he mutters, and before I can fully react, he pats my butt lightly, a taunting move meant to rattle me.

I barely have time to process it before he flips us over with expert ease, pressing my hands to the mat and trapping my body beneath his. His legs lock around mine, rendering me unable to kick, and I'm momentarily stuck. His weight is on me, and my back is pressed to the mat.

I struggle to move, but it's futile. He's in control now.

He grabs every dagger I carry, tossing them aside one by one, each motion a deliberate reminder of who's in charge. But there's one last dagger, the smallest of them all, tucked just under my corset. He knows it's there. I can see the way his eyes follow its outline, the challenge in them.

"If you're going to disarm me," I hiss, "disarm fully."

I know what he's about to do—he'll never back down from a challenge like that. But I still can't help the shock that rises in me when his hand slides down my arm, following the path of my relic.

His fingers brush across my corset, slipping under it with a careful precision, and my breath catches. He knows exactly what he's doing. He knows it'll throw me off, make me feel exposed in front of all these people.

When he pulls out the last dagger and tosses it aside, I'm stunned for a split second. I can't believe he just did that. He's never been this... bold before. His smirk is almost triumphant as he leans in closer, his voice low and dangerous in my ear.

"Don't test me, Nora," he whispers, his breath warm against my skin. "I always get what I want."

My heart races, and for the first time in this entire sparring match, I don't know how to respond. I feel exposed, but not just physically. He's pushed me past the point where I can just react. I've never felt this vulnerable around him before.

"What did you want, Xaden?" My voice comes out sharp, defensive, as if challenging him to say it aloud.

He doesn't answer right away. His eyes lock onto mine, and for a moment, there's no game. No taunting. Just the tension between us, thick enough to suffocate. He's not playing. Not anymore.

And then, he smirks again, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "for you to stay weak in there eyes" he says quietly, before finally letting me go and standing up.

"I will only surrender to myself " I say and roll to my feet, trying to ignore the rush of heat that floods my chest. I don't know what he means, but I'm not sure I want to find out. The fight is over for now, but I know this isn't the last time we'll clash like this. And the thought of that sends a thrill through me—one that I can't quite explain.

The crowd erupts into applause, but I barely hear it. My mind is still reeling, the quiet tension between me and Xaden louder than anything else.