Page 504 - Fourth Wing

leading the way to my room?” He trudges up the steps behind me, shadows

curling from the wall as if they sense his mood and want nothing to do with
it. But his shadows don’t scare me. There’s nothing about this man that

scares me anymore, except the magnitude of my feelings for him.

“Point is, and now look at me.” I grin as we reach the third-year floor,
and I push open the arched door. “All but dancing on the parapet in a

dress.”

“Probably not a good time to remind me.” He follows me into the
hallway. It looks like the second-year floor, except there are fewer doors

and a high, vaulted roof.

“Which one is yours?”
“I should make you guess,” he mutters but keeps my fingers laced with

his as we walk to the end of the massively long hall. Of course it’s the last
one.

“Fourth Wing,” I scoff. “Always has to go the farthest.”

He unweaves his own wards and opens his door, standing back so I can
walk in first. “I’m going to have to either ward your new door before I go or

teach you how in the next ten days.”
I’m not thinking about the looming deadline of his departure as I step into

his room for the first time. It’s twice as big as mine—and so is the bed.

Surviving to third year has some serious perks. Or maybe the size reflects
his rank, who knows.

It’s immaculately clean, with a large armchair by the bed, dark-gray rug,

wide wooden armoire, tidy desk, and a bookshelf that gives me instant
envy. A sword rack consumes the area beside the door, complete with so

many daggers that I can’t possibly count them all, and across the space,

next to the desk, stands a throwing target just like I have in my room.
There’s a table and chairs in the corner, and his window faces Basgiath but

is framed by thick black curtains with Fourth Wing’s emblem on the
bottom.