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no-phrogs-in-hats · 3 days ago

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Lifeboat 14

Pre-Avenger!Agatha x Pre-Avenger!Reader

Word count: 3,844

Chapter warnings: It's the Titanic; mass death, drowning, violence, non-explicit smut, reader vomits

Summary: Before you were an Avenger, you lived a much different life--one where you waited on hand and foot for the upper class. Being a stewardess, you've met plenty of fascinating people, but none more fascinating than first-class Titanic passenger, Agatha Harkness.

A/N: I was watching the new Titanic documentary and realized that's exactly how I want the reader and Agatha to meet. So I dug deep into my AuDHD and got out my books and looked up primary sources (both are linked below), and voila. Also I highly recommend listening to "Hard to Starboard", "The Sinking", and "Death of Titanic" from the Titanic soundtrack while reading this.

Link to the Titanic soundtrack

Link to Mary Sloan's letter to her sister after the sinking

Link to Violet Jessop's memoir

Information about Lifeboat 14

April 14th, 1912

8:00pm

You’re pressed against the wall of her first-class suite. Her hands grip and knead at the layers of your skirt as her lips brush down your neck.

“You left in the middle of dinner,” you breathe.

“I know,” she groans, “but when you looked at me like that when lacing up my corset, when your hand brushed mine serving my tea, well…I just couldn’t help myself.”

Agatha Harkness is like no other passenger you’ve served. No matter what ship you’re serving on, first-class passengers are always the same: stuck up, rude, and petty. And yes, she’s stuck up, sometimes rude, and sometimes petty, but your position now and the genuine care she seems to show you, sets her apart from the rest. The Titanic is called ‘The Ship of Dreams’ and gauging where you are right now, you might just have to agree with that name.

“The Astors, the Guggenheims, not even the chairman of White Star Line himself can compare to you, sweetheart,” she husks. “To them, wealth is double-breasted tuxedos and imported cigars. You, however, are worth much more than any material possession.”

You let out a breathy moan at her words and her lips press into yours, tongue brushing against yours. “You need to get back to the dining room.”

Agatha hums against your lips, “Dinner’s finished in fifteen minutes, my darling. Time goes by quickly when you’re having fun, doesn’t it?”

You pull away, running your hands over her waist, feeling the boning of the corset beneath her dinner dress. Time does indeed go by quickly when you’re having fun. “I need to go,” you say softly. “Quite a few female passengers like tea when they return to their rooms, and I don’t think they’d like it if I were late…again.”

With a smug look, she squeezes your hips through the fabric of your skirt. “You’re right. I’d hate to be responsible for any misconduct on your part…again.”

In your ten years of being a stewardess, every voyage had been uneventful. Every voyage had been filled with the same routine–wake up early, eat breakfast quickly, serve breakfast and morning tea to whatever cabins you were assigned to, tidy the rooms, and whatever else was asked of you afterwards. It could be tedious and boring, but many times you were overwhelmed with requests–of course, though, a little magic never hurt while making the beds, and darning dresses always went by quicker with a simple spell.

But no matter how exhausted you were, you had always been obedient, always arrived in a timely manner. You were the perfect stewardess. Polite, willing, everything a servant should be.

But now, you’re falling.

You’re making careless mistakes. You’re being reprimanded two days into the voyage because you blanked on a woman’s request after Agatha Harkness, the most impossible passenger you’ve ever encountered, made a flirty remark about not traveling with a maid. And now, four days into the seven day voyage, you woke up in this woman’s bed–a bed nicer than any mattress you’ll probably ever sleep on.

“I usually have some spare time around eleven,” you say.

Her hand comes up to hold your chin lightly. “Well, why don’t you meet me on the first-class starboard side boat deck at…let’s say, eleven-twenty, for a walk in the fresh air.”

“Just a walk?” you ask pointedly, smiling and raising an eyebrow.

“Just a walk,” she repeats, and tucks a piece of hair back into your bonnet.

“Alright,” you say. “Eleven-twenty, starboard side boat deck.”

You kiss her lightly on the lips and rush out of the room to prepare the tea for the other suites. The next three hours go by so painfully slowly. They’re filled with laundry and darning and polishing shoes, and it doesn’t help that you’re looking at the clock every five minutes.

By the time your duties are finished, and the women you’re assigned to have relieved you of your duties, it’s nearly eleven-fifteen. You hurry through the halls of B-Deck until you’re at the grand staircase, climbing each step quickly until you’re at the boat deck level.

When you walk outside it’s just past eleven-twenty and the cold, crisp air of the North Atlantic burns your nose. Despite the warm lights on the boat deck, the ship is engulfed in an inky blackness, steaming ahead through an endless void.

You spot Agatha almost immediately. She’s at least ten yards away, leaning forward on the parapet and looking out. Walking up behind her, your voice is small, “Hi.”

She turns around, her smile teasing, but the look of relief in her eyes softens her words. “I was beginning to think you had gone off to bed.”

“No rest for the wicked,” you muse, standing beside her.

The walk on the boat deck is slow and leisurely. Most passengers have retreated to the warmth of their rooms or the public lounges, and what remains on the deck is the crew. You look down the deck at the bridge where officers stand in the distance, talking quietly.

“There were six iceberg warnings today,” you mumble. “Apparently the wireless operators are stubborn asses when it comes to incoming messages from other ships.”

Agatha side-eyes you with a grin, her head held high. “Oh? And how would you know that?”

“A couple crew members are quite friendly with me,” you say matter-of-factly.

“Fraternizing with your colleagues?” she teases. “So unprofessional.”

You laugh quietly as she takes your hand and pulls you up a short set of steps and onto the raised platform. Being backed into a small, hidden nook, you giggle, “I’d argue that this is more unprofessional.”

Agatha kisses you lightly and her hands hold your waist. “And what is this?”

You open your mouth to respond but all that comes out is another giggle, “I…don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” she chuckles.

“I don’t,” you smile, kissing her again. Your next words are soft. “But…I do know that I want t–”

Three bells ring out and your blood runs cold.

It all happens in less than a minute.

“What is it?” Agatha asks, noticing the startled expression on your face.

“Three bells,” you mumble. “There’s something up ahead.”

You listen for the commotion that would be just yards away on the bridge. Your ears feel like a cat’s, turning in every direction for even the slightest bit of sound. And then you hear it.

“Hard-a-starboard!”

Officer Moody’s familiar voice shouts out in the night and a domino of other officers’ voices repeats the command. With the bridge being in your sight, you focus your eyes down the deck, watching as officers hurry over the bridge in the chaos.

“We need to get inside,” you affirm, adrenaline rushing your gut and making you nauseous as you take her hand. You rush the both of you toward the platform stairs, but when you’re at the railing you’re forced to stop.

The floorboards beneath your feet start to shake and the railing you’re holding onto begins to tremble in its divots. As Agatha braces herself beside you, hand still in yours, you look up–the night outside of the ship is vast and endless, but it’s disturbed by the towering figure of an iceberg.

It’s at least a hundred feet above the waterline, looming over the boat deck as the shaking slowly comes to a stop and pieces of ice litter the well deck. On the bridge, just in the distance, you can see Officer Moody standing as still as a statue and you notice how quiet it’s become.

“The engines are off,” you say, finally stepping down the stairs. You make the walk back to the first class passenger entry and when you’re back in her room you throw open the doors to the wardrobe and toss her a life vest. “Put this on and go back up to the starboard side boat deck. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

You don’t give her a chance to respond, simply leaving her with a kiss on the cheek and rushing out the door. You turn right down the hall of B-Deck, quick in your steps as you go from room to room, knocking on doors and rousing sleepers.

You have to practically beg them to put their life vests on. Most have no idea what’s happening, and in truth, you don’t know either. “Unsinkable” is a hard standard to live up to.

On your way to C-Deck, you almost run straight into the ship’s builder, apologizing profusely.

“Mr. Andrews,” you begin, your voice trying to keep steady as you notice the rolls of maps and blueprints tucked under his arm. “I saw the iceberg. The ship is sinking, isn’t it?”

He looks at you and his eyes are soft, almost pleading with you to not make him admit it aloud. But he relents, “The mailroom is afloat. Five compartments are flooded. Don’t cause a panic, but you need to get a life vest on and wake the other passengers. Get to a lifeboat as quickly as possible.”

“Yes, sir,” you say quietly, and watch as he rushes down the grand staircase. You continue through C-Deck, informing the other stewardesses of the situation at hand.

“Don’t cause a panic,” you tell them. “Captain’s orders–have them put on their life vests and go to the boat deck.”

By half-past midnight, you’re almost running through the halls. Crowds of passengers have formed at each landing of the staircase and you and other service staff hand out life vests to anyone without one.

“Ma’am, please,” you beg one woman. “It’s Captain’s orders. You need to put on a life vest” Most of the passengers are convinced it’s simply a drill and you witness another woman send her own maid back to her room to start a fire and prepare tea.

It’s almost ten past one when you finally make it to the boat deck, starboard side just as you told Agatha. Your life vest provides no protection against the freezing air, and your breath comes out in bursts of white clouds as you look desperately over the heads of unruly passengers.

The deck has fallen into utter disrepair. Passengers push their way into lifeboats while others fall from the ship’s edge into the frigid water. Officers shout commands and seamen yell at the men trying to force themselves into boats, but through it all, the only thing you’re worried about is finding Agatha.

As you run through the crowd, pushing through people and tripping over ropes, you catch sight of Mr. Andrews one last time. In your few days of knowing him, you had never heard him raise his voice–and this time was no different, even in the midst of panic.

“Number five only had twelve, Mr. Lightoller! Twelve!” he huffs. “These boats are built to withstand the weight of sixty-four men!” When Officer Lightoller surrenders to the argument, he nods and Thomas Andrews begins helping him load more women and children into the boat one last time.

And still, as you continue, Agatha is nowhere to be found. By the time you’re on the port side, the ship has a noticeable list and there are even more people than the starboard side contains.

“Agatha!” you scream, voice raw with desperation. “Agatha!”

But from what you see, the majority of the passengers on the port side are second and third class. So many thoughts swim through your head–finding Agatha, getting a lifeboat, helping passengers, it was all so much.

You’re aft now, and push your way through the crowd. “Officer Lowe!” you shout, trying to get his attention through the deafening sounds of metal-on-metal and rocket flairs exploding mid-air. “Officer Lowe!”

He looks up, calling after you, and you run over. “Is there anything I can help with?” you ask, and he reaches forward to help you in the boat.

You begin helping the second and third class women and children into the boat. They’re hesitant, but seeing you so level-headed placates a few of them. Children curl into their mothers’ sides, wrapped in blankets and some holding stuffed animals. It takes almost fifteen minutes to fill the lifeboat.

During the process, a man jumps into the lifeboat and immediately hides under the seats. Thinking he was about to get away with it just as the lifeboat was being lowered, Officer Lowe stops the crew and retrieves his revolver.

“Leave the boat!” he commands. “I’ll throw you overboard!” When his words don’t work, he directly targets the man’s ego, “For God’s sake, be a man! We have women and children to save!”

And those words work, as he seems to finally leave the boat and await his fate on the boat deck.

Officer Lowe stands tall as you hold a crying child. Below, on the A-Deck promenade, tensions rise and passengers start climbing through the windows in an attempt to get on the boat. Lowe takes his revolver and fires three shots into the sky.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Passengers in the boat scream and on the promenade people run in different directions. Looking to your left, the ship’s tilt is much more obvious–water is up to the forward deck and just shy of flooding the well deck–and upwards the boat deck was becoming further and further away.

As the boat is in its final five feet, you’re jolted forward. The aft end of the boat has stopped lowering and the bow doesn’t stop until it reaches the water. The passengers in the boat, all leaning to the side on one another, begin panicking and screaming out.

Officer Lowe and the other seamen on board take out pocket knives and saw away at the thick ropes holding up the lifeboat. When they snap, the boat drops down and water starts filling the bottom.

The hole in the hull isn’t too big, but water floods in quickly and passengers draw their knees up to their chests as the water rises. By the time you and another woman find a spare life vest, the water is ankle deep. Officer Lowe hands you a pocket knife and you slice it open, digging out the cork material and wrapping it back in the canvas fabric to force it in the small hole.

At around eight inches, the water stops rising and you can finally let yourself breathe. With nothing to scoop the water out, all that you can do is sit back down as the Able Seamen row away from the boat. And as you get further and further, the water is up to the A-Deck promenade. You grab an oar, not only wanting to be useful, but wanting to focus on getting away rather than the horrors on display in front of you.

When Lowe checks his pocket watch next it’s almost two-fifteen in the morning. The bow of the ship is completely underwater now and it’s only sinking faster. Screams are heard even at the boat’s distance of almost 200 yards, and as passengers swim over the sunken bow, metal groans and the forward funnel falls forward.

The screams get louder as the ship’s bow sticks further and further out of the water. In the boat, mothers shield their children’s faces, holding them close beneath blankets. You continue rowing even as your arms become sore and tired, but everyone–even you– in the boat stops everything.

The ship is at a 45 degree angle.

All lifeboats have been deployed.

The lights on the ship flicker.

They grow dimmer as the seconds go by.

And then the ship groans. The metal cries.

The middle section of the ship begins fracturing in multiple places, and as the lights finally flicker one last time, it caves in on itself.

The entire middle of the ship sinks below the surface, following the bow down to the ocean floor. As the stern separates from the rest of the ship, it falls back into the water, crushing the passengers beneath it. It’s pitch black, but you can make out the silhouette of the ship, now sticking out of the water at a 90 degree angle.

Lowe shouts more commands to continue rowing and you only make it about ten feet before the water floods the stern of the Titanic and the pressure pulls it down.

The rowing ceases.

The night is a pit of black tar, with the only light being the stars above you. The screaming feels endless. 1,500 people are just 150 yards away, fighting for their lives in the middle of the North Atlantic.

And there’s only one thought on your mind: Agatha.

All you can think about is her being in the midst of it: clinging to a floating chair, her lips turning blue–those soft, warm lips that are now trembling in the cold–and the worst thought of them all, suffocating and freezing from the inside out because of how cold the water is.

You huddle side-by-side with another woman, sharing a blanket with her. It’s only been an hour since the ship went down, and your teeth are chattering. With Agatha still on your mind, you lean over to Officer Lowe. “I think we should go back for the survivors.”

He mulls it over for a minute. “Let’s wait for it to quiet down.”

And the screams are slowly fading. Minute by minute the strangled cries of the stranded passengers quiet, and eventually, they stop all together.

It’s eerie and off putting. It’s the worst silence you’ve ever heard. It pulls at your gut and you lean over the edge of the boat and vomit. The older woman beside you rubs your back and takes the oar from your hand.

“Here, sweetheart,” she says softly. “Let me switch places with you”

Lifeboat 4, 10, 12, and collapsable D are the closest boats around. The woman who took the oar from you helps row the boat toward them and passengers are dispersed evenly. From 14, you help Lowe transfer the women into the other boats, and when you help a woman who turns out to be a man in disguise, you make no move to help him when Lowe pushes him into the lifeboat.

While the other boats begin rowing in the direction of the resume ship, you remain in lifeboat 14 with Officer Lowe and the two Able Bodied Seamen. Despite Lowe telling you that you’ve done enough, you insist on coming. You genuinely want to help, but deep down, if Agatha is out there, you’d rather find her yourself than have someone find her for you.

Officer Lowe pans his flashlight across the field of bodies. “Oars!” he calls. “Be careful,” he says softly now. “Don’t hit any of them.”

You can hear the struggle in his voice as the boat continues forward. “We’re too late,” he sighs. “We waited too long.”

With your own flashlight, you peer across the expanse of floating bodies, looking at each one to see if it’s Agatha. And as you do, and you make eye contact with the lifeless, frozen bodies, you regret wanting to do this. You’re queasy again, looking at their faces frozen in time, hair solid with ice crystals. You swallow the bile that’s risen in your throat.

Four people are rescued from the water.

One of them doesn’t make it.

But you still tend to them. You wrap them in blankets. You make them as comfortable as possible.

With the mast of the boat now up, the boat sails through water easily. In the near distance, collapsible D is slowly bobbing through the water and when you reach it, Lowe and the man in charge of D tie them together.

The sun is just peaking above the horizon when collapsible A is spotted–on the verge of sinking with around a dozen people clinging to it. You help row 14 to collapsible A and when there, the men clinging to it are exhausted.

Your limbs ache with fatigue and cramp from the cold, but you don’t stop until you’re met with the Carpathia around seven o’clock. You never thought you’d be so happy to see the sun, even when it’s blinding you with its early morning rays. But seeing the Carpathia bathed in the golden light and reflecting off the water, you have a new sense of gratitude for life.

Inside the ship, it’s warm, and that cold ache in your bones begins to dissipate. The adrenaline is slowly leaving your body and you slowly eat a breakfast of hot broth and bread. It warms you, easing your upset stomach from the previous seven hours. But the only thing that will placate you is seeing her.

Knowing that Agatha is okay.

You accept a blanket from a stewardess in exchange for your life vest and wrap it around yourself. You walk around the ship, searching through both the first and second class groups before going back out to the boat deck with the third class passengers. By now, you’re in complete disarray. Your bonnet is missing, your hair is frizzy and sticking out of its pins, and there’s a tear in your skirt.

You wrap the blanket tighter around your shoulders as you lean against the railing, looking out at the ocean as the sun finishes rising. There’s passengers from the Titanic all over the deck. Many of them are crying and praying that their family is alive and that the officer is simply wrong.

But you, you stand by yourself. Four days. You had only known her four days, but you wouldn’t trade those days for all the money in the world. She wasn’t in the water, she wasn’t with first or second class, and somehow, you’re at peace with it. Even as you cry quietly, you’re at peace with it.

You’re okay.

You’ll be okay.

“Hi.”

You whirl around, eyes puffy and red with tears. A choked sob forces its way out of your throat and you run to her.

You run.

You throw your arms around her neck, blanket encasing you both in a cocoon of warmth and tears. Her hand cradles your head against her shoulder, arm wrapped tightly around your waist as you sob uncontrollably. “Oh my god–I–Oh, Agatha!”

She shushes you quietly, “It’s okay…”

“Where were you?” you sniffle, not looking up from her shoulder. “I–I couldn’t find you.”

“I know,” she whispers. “I know, I’m sorry. I’m here now.”

When the Carpathia arrives in New York City on April 18th at nine o’clock, it’s raining.

You stand on the forward deck, embracing the feeling of the cold rain on your skin when Agatha comes up beside you, shielding you with her umbrella. You lean your head on her shoulder and the both of you watch as the Statue of Liberty slowly comes into view.

“Do you want to come with me?”

The question is abrupt and you lift your head. “What?”

“When we get off,” she specifies. “Would you like to come with me?”

You smile softly, “I think after this week, I could use some time away from being a stewardess.”

#agatha all along #kathryn hahn #agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader

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fourthwingfan · 1 year ago

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Madness - Chapter 20

Hi, my dearest readers! I'm alive. The wedding was fantastic, but I'm soo tired. I barely slept the last few days. We decorated for 13 hours on Friday. Then the wedding on Saturday and we packed up everything on Sunday. And for some reason I thought that I didn't need to take a day off on Monday, I'll be fine. Well, I thought wrong. But thank you for your patience! ❤️ Here comes the new chapter. Enjoy! :)

Accusing a wingleader of wrongdoing is the most dangerous of all accusations. If you’re right, then we’ve failed as a quadrant to select the best wingleaders. If you’re wrong, you’re dead.

—My Time as a Cadet: A Memoir by General Augustine Melgren

„Jackson Marlowe.” Captain Fitzgibbons finishes reading the death roll and closes the scroll as we stand in formation the next morning, our breath creating clouds in the chilled air. “We commend their souls to Malek.”

There’s no room for sorrow in my heart for six of the eight names, not when I’m shifting my weight to soothe the ache of black-and-blue along my ribs and ignoring the way other riders stare at my face.

I went to Nolon this morning, and he mended my nose, but I wanted to keep my bruises. One of those who attacked Violet is alive. I want them to know I will not forgive. Never.

If Xaden won’t do anything about it, then I will. I’m a Melgren after all, I’m allowed to be a little crazy.

The two others on today’s list are third-years from Second Wing, killed on a training operation near the Braevick border, according to breakfast gossip, and I can’t help but wonder if that’s where Xaden had been before coming to our rescue last night.

“I can’t believe they tried to kill you while you were sleeping.” Liam’s still seething, at breakfast we told our table what happened.

“Even worse, I think I’m getting used to it. Either I have kick-ass compartmentalization skills or I really am acclimating to always being a target.” Violet says.

Captain Fitzgibbons makes some minor announcements, and I tune him out as someone strides our way, cutting through the space between the Flame and Tail Sections of our wing.

Just like it always does, my stupid, hormone-driven heart stutters at the first sight of Xaden. Even the most effective poisons come in pretty packages, and Xaden’s exactly that—as beautiful as he is lethal. He looks deceptively calm as he approaches, but I can feel his tension as if it’s my own, like a panther prowling toward his prey. The wind ruffles his hair, and I sigh at the completely unfair advantage he has over every man in this courtyard. He doesn’t even have to try to look sexy…he just is.

Oh shit. This feeling right here—the way my breath catches and my entire body draws tight when he’s near—is why I haven’t taken anyone to bed or celebrated like the rest of my perfectly normal friends. This feeling is why I haven’t wanted anyone…else.

Because I want him.

There aren’t enough curse words in the world for this.

He stops next to us and he looks toward Liam then nods in Violet’s direction.

Oh shit. Violet will be sooo angry when she realizes…

„I do not need a bodyguard!” she snaps at Xaden.

He ignores her, still looking at Liam.

“Switch places with me.” Liam whispers to me.

I look at him questioningly but he doesn’t say another word.

“Fine.” I sigh and now he stands behind Violet.

„I. Do. Not. Need. A. Bodyguard!” she repeats, a little louder this time.

One of the first-years behind me gasps, mortified by her audacity, no doubt.

Imogen snorts. “Good luck with that approach.”

Xaden stands directly in front of Violet, leaning into her space. “You do, though, as we both learned last night. And I can’t be everywhere you are. But Liam here”—he points back to the blond Tyr—“he’s a first-year, so he can be in every class, at every challenge, and I even had him assigned to library duty, so I hope you get used to him, Sorrengail.”

“And what about Aelin?” She asks with a raised eyebrow. “She was with me too.”

“I don’t care about her.” Xaden replies without hesitation.

Ouch. It hurts.

Liam quickly grabs my hand and squeezes it before letting it go.

“And I don’t know if she will protect you at all costs.” Xaden continues.

“Now, that’s just a fucking excuse.” I mutter.

I will protect Violet. She’s one of the most important person in my life. And he knows it too. He’s not stupid.

“You’re overstepping.” Violet hisses at him.

“You haven’t begun to see overstepping,” he warns, his voice dropping low. “Any threat against you is a threat against me, and as we’ve already established, I have more important things to do than sleep on your floor.”

Heat flushes up her neck and stains her cheeks. “He is not sleeping in my room.”

Oh, Vi. I knew it that you like Liam.

“Of course not.” He freaking smirks. “I had him moved into the one next to yours. Wouldn’t want to overstep.” He turns on his heel and walks away, headed back to his place at the front of our formation.

“Fucking mated dragons,” Dain seethes, keeping his eyes forward.

“What? Did you move? When?” I ask Liam in shock.

“This morning. And I won’t be far. Just on the other side of Violet.” He smiles at me with a boyish grin and I can’t help it, I smile back.

“Fiinee. But I warn you, do not replace me with her.” I mock glare at him.

“How could I do it, Snappy? You’re my best friend.” He winks at me.

“Snappy? You didn’t call me that since… I don’t know.” I try to remember when was the last time.

“I call you that because you’re talking nonsense. Now pay attention.”

Fitzgibbons finishes his announcements and steps to the back of the dais, which would usually signal the end of formation, but Commandant Panchek takes the podium. He makes it a habit to avoid morning formation, which means something is up.

“What’s going on with Panchek?” Rhiannon asks at Violet’s side.

“Not sure.” I shrug.

“It has to be something big if he’s fumbling with a Codex up there,” Rhiannon says.

“Quiet,” Dain orders, glancing back over his shoulder at us for the first time this morning. He does a double-take, his eyes flaring wide as he catches sight of Violet’s neck. “Vi?”

„I’m fine,” she assures him, but he’s still staring at her throat, locked in shock. “Squad Leader Aetos, people are staring.” We hold way more than our share of the attention as Commandant Panchek begins to speak at the podium, telling us that there’s another matter to handle this morning, but Dain won’t look away. “Dain!”

He blinks, jerking his gaze to hers. “Is that what Riorson meant by last night?”

She nods.

“I didn’t know. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m fine,” she repeats, nodding toward the dais. “Later.”

He turns, but the motion is reluctant.

“It has been brought to my attention as your commandant that a breach of the Codex has occurred,” Panchek calls out over the courtyard.

“As you know, breaches of our most sacred laws are not to be tolerated,” Panchek continues. “This matter will be addressed here and now. Will the accuser please step forward.”

“Someone’s in trouble,” Rhiannon whispers. “Think Ridoc finally got caught in Tyvon Varen’s bed?”

“That’s hardly against the Codex,” Ridoc murmurs from behind us.

“He’s the executive officer for Second Wing.” I send a pointed look over my shoulder.

“And?” Ridoc shrugs, grinning without a touch of remorse. “Fraternizing with command is frowned upon, not unlawful.”

I sigh, facing forward. “I miss sex.” I really do, and it’s not just the physical gratification, either. There’s a sense of connection in those moments that I crave, a momentary banishment of loneliness.

The first is something I’m sure Xaden would be more than capable of providing, if he ever thought of me that way, but the second? He’s the last person I should be craving, but lust and logic never seem to go hand in hand.

“If you’re looking for a little fun, I’m happy to oblige—” Ridoc starts, shoving his floppy brown hair off his forehead with a wink.

“I miss good sex,” I counter, smothering a smile as someone walks from the front of formation toward the dais, indistinguishable through the rows of the squads ahead of us. “Besides, apparently you’re spoken for.” Have to admit, it feels good to tease a friend about something so trivial. It’s a tiny slice of normalcy in an otherwise macabre environment.

“We’re not exclusive,” Ridoc counters. “It’s like Rhiannon and what’s-her-name…”

“Tara,” Rhiannon offers.

“Will you all shut the hell up?” Dain barks in his superior-officer voice.

Our mouths snap shut, and I roll my eyes.

Mine drops open again when I realize it’s Xaden climbing the steps to the dais. “This is about you,” I whisper to Vi.

Dain glances back at me, confusion furrowing his brow before whipping his attention toward the dais, where Xaden now stands at the podium, somehow managing to fill the entire stage with his presence.

From what I remember reading, his father had that same magnetism, the ability to hold and capture a crowd with nothing but his words…words that led to Brennan’s death.

“Early this morning,” he begins, his deep voice carrying over the formation, “a rider in my wing was brutally, illegally attacked in her sleep with the intent of murder by a group primarily composed of unbondeds. When another rider rushed to her aid after hearing the commotion, she were attacked too.”

A collection of murmurs and gasps fills the air, and Dain’s shoulders stiffen.

“As we all know, the first act is a violation of Article Three, Section Two of the Dragon Rider’s Codex and, in addition to being dishonorable, is a capital offense.”

I feel the weight of a dozen glances, but it’s Xaden’s I feel most of all.

His hands clench the sides of the podium. “Having been alerted by my dragon, I interrupted the attack along with two other Fourth Wing riders.” He dips his chin toward our wing, and two riders—Garrick and Bodhi—break formation, then climb the steps to stand behind Xaden, their hands at their sides. “As it was a matter of life and death, I personally executed six of the would-be murderers, as witnessed by Flame Section Leader Garrick Tavis and Tail Section Executive Officer Bodhi Durran.”

“Both Tyrs. How convenient,” Nadine, one of the new additions to the squad, says from the row behind Ridoc.

I look back over my shoulder and pin her with a glare.

Liam keeps his eyes forward.

“But the attack was orchestrated by a rider who fled before I arrived,” Xaden continues, his voice rising. “A rider who had access to the map of where all first-years are assigned to sleep, and that rider must be brought to swift justice.

Shit. This is about to get ugly.

“I call you to answer for your crime against Cadet Sorrengail, and indirectly against Cadet Melgren.” Xaden’s focus shifts to the center of the formation. “Wingleader Amber Mavis.”

The quadrant draws a collective breath before an uproar rips through the crowd.

“What the hell?” Dain bites out.

Every rider in the courtyard’s attention pivots between Xaden, Amber, me…and Violet.

I squeeze her shoulder. She hates the attention.

“She’s a Tyr, too, Nadine,” Ridoc says over his shoulder. “Or are you only biased against marked ones?”

Amber’s family stayed loyal to Navarre, so she wasn’t forced to watch her parents executed and wasn’t marked by a rebellion relic.

“Amber would never.” Dain shakes his head. “A wingleader would never.” He turns completely to face us. “Get up there and tell everyone that he’s lying, Vi.”

“But he’s not,” I say as gently as I can. I know he cares about her.

“It’s impossible.” His cheeks flush a mottled shade of red.

“I was there, Dain.” Violet confirms it.

„Wingleaders are beyond reproach—”

“Then why are you so quick to call our own wingleader a liar?” My brows rise in challenge, daring him to say what he’s so careful to keep quiet.

Behind him, Amber steps forward, separating herself from the formation. “I have committed no such crime!”

“See?” Dain swings his arm, pointing toward the redhead. “Put a stop to this right now, Violet.”

“She was with them in my room,” she says simply. Shouting won’t convince him. Nothing will.

„That’s impossible.” He lifts his hands, as though ready to cup her face. “Let me see.”

I quickly grab Violet’ shoulder and pull her back toward me, farther away from Dain.

After the Jeremiah incident she told me about Dain’s signet, that he can read memories.

I can’t let him see the memory of Amber’s participation, it will also show him that Violet stopped time.

I can’t let that happen!

“Give me the memory,” he orders.

“Touch me without permission, and you’ll spend the rest of your life regretting it.” She glares at him.

Maybe Violence is a fitting nickname, after all.

Surprise ripples over his features.

“Wingleaders.” Xaden projects his voice over the chaos. “We need a quorum.”

Both Nyra and Septon Izar—the wingleaders for First and Second Wing—climb the stairs to the dais, passing by Amber as she stands utterly exposed in the courtyard.

A familiar chaos fills the air, and we all look toward the ridgeline as seven dragons curve along the mountain, flying straight for us.

In a matter of seconds, they reach the citadel and hover over the courtyard walls. Wind from the strong beats of their wings blasts through the courtyard.

Then, one by one, they land on their perch, Tairn at the center of the grouping, Aon is next to him.

Every line of his frame exudes menace as his talons crush the masonry under his grip, and his narrowed, angry eyes focus on Amber.

Sgaeyl is perched to Tairn’s right, taking her position behind Xaden. She’s just as terrifying as she was that first day, but I still find her beautiful. Nyra’s Red Scorpiontail looms behind her as well, and Septon’s Brown Daggertail mirrors the stance to the left. On the ends, puffing blasts of steam, are Commandant Panchek’s Green Clubtail and Amber’s Orange Daggertail is next to Aon.

“Shit’s about to get real,” Sawyer says, breaking formation to stand at Violet’s side, and I feel Ridoc at my back as he steps closer.

“You can stop this all right now, Violet. You have to,” Dain implores. “I don’t know what you saw last night, but it wasn’t Amber. She cares too much about the rules to break them.”

“You’re using this to get your revenge on my family!” Amber shouts at Xaden. “For not supporting your father’s rebellion!”

That’s a low fucking blow.

Xaden doesn’t even acknowledge it as he turns to the other wingleaders.

He isn’t demanding proof like Dain. He believes her, and he’s ready to execute a wingleader on nothing more than her word. As surely as if they’re a physical structure, I feel my defenses crack on Xaden’s behalf.

Tairn chuffs and every dragon besides Sgaeyl stiffens on the wall, even Amber’s. The riders are quick to follow, silence filling the courtyard.

I know what they see.

Aon showes me what happened last night, in Violet’s point of view.

Amber, the fight before I arrived, and then I see… myself. It’s really strange. I can see myself but in someone else point of view. I was pretty…terrifying. Blood all over my face, my cold gaze.

„That’s why I chose you, little one. You’re ruthless, and you protect those who are weaker than you.”

„Thanks, you know how to compliment someone.” I laugh. Yep, he’s definitely a big softie.

“That spineless wretch,” Rhiannon seethes in front of me.

Dain pales.

“Believe me now?” Vi hurles it like the accusation it is. “You’re supposed to be my oldest friend, Dain. One of my best friends. There’s a reason I didn’t tell you.”

He staggers backward.

“The wingleaders have formed a quorum and are in unanimous agreement,” Xaden announces, flanked by Nyra and Septon while the commandant hangs back. “We find you guilty, Amber Mavis.”

“No!” she shouts. “It is no crime to rid the quadrant of the weakest rider! I did it to protect the integrity of the wings!” She paces in panic, looking to everyone—anyone for help.

As a whole, the formation moves backward.

“And as is our law, your sentence will be carried out by fire,” Nyra states.

“No!” Amber looks to her dragon. “Claidh!”

Amber’s Orange Daggertail snarls at the other dragons and lifts a claw.

Aon swivels his massive head toward Claidh, his roar shaking the ground beneath my feet. Then he snaps his teeth at the smaller orange, and she retreats, her head hanging as she grips the wall again.

“Please don’t,” I hear Violet as she begs.

I can feel the sadness inside me. She’s too merciful.

She turns to Xaden and begs again, her voice breaking by the end. “Please give her a chance.”

He holds her gaze but doesn’t so much as show a flicker of emotion.

Justice is not always merciful.

„Claidh,” Amber whimpers, the courtyard so unbelievably silent that the sound carries.

The formation splits at the center.

Tairn leans low, extending his head and neck past the dais toward where Amber stands. Then his teeth part, he curls his tongue, and he incinerates her with a blast of fire so hot, I can feel it from here. It’s over in a heartbeat.

A gruesome scream rends the air, shattering a window in the academic wing, and every rider slams their hands over their ears as Claidh mourns.

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