# CHAPTER 32: A Heart Laid Bare on the Parapet
Hello everyone, it’s me again! How are you all doing? Today I will continue to walk with you and review CHAPTER 32 of *Fourth Wing* — and trust me, this is one you don’t want to miss. We’re about to witness Violet Sorrengail do the bravest, most reckless thing she’s ever done: not cross a deadly stone bridge in the middle of the night, not face down a wingleader’s fury, but finally admit the truth she’s been running from all along. So grab your flight leathers, hold on tight, and let’s step onto the parapet together.
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Violet stood at the edge of the narrow stone bridge, the wind howling around her like a living thing, her heart pounding harder than it ever had during her Threshing. She knew this feeling now—she couldn't deny it, no matter how many walls she tried to build around it. She was in love with Xaden Riorson. Completely, hopelessly, recklessly in love.
It didn’t matter that he was leaving soon. It didn’t matter that he had warned her not to fall for him. It didn’t even matter that she had no idea if he felt the same. What mattered was that she had spent weeks keeping her distance—out of his bed, out of his arms—trying to protect herself. But the ship had already sailed. So why hold back? Why waste a single moment they had left?
She took her first step onto the bridge, arms out for balance. It was like walking along Tairn’s spine, something she had done hundreds of times. Except she was wearing a dress, and Tairn wasn’t going to catch her if she fell.
She could already hear his irritated voice in her head: *“Already am.”*
Xaden’s head snapped toward her. "Violence?"
She kept moving, step after careful step, muscle memory guiding her across the wind-swept stones. "Come with me!" she called over the gust, her skirt whipping against her legs. She muttered a curse about not wearing pants, but she didn’t stop.
He jumped to his feet, shouting for her to turn around, but she didn’t. Instead, he started toward her—long, confident strides on a bridge that would send most people crawling—until they met in the middle, his hands locking on her waist.
"What the fuck are you doing out here?" he demanded, his eyes wild, like he’d been pushed past every boundary of his carefully controlled calm.
She smiled, shaky but determined. "I could ask you the same thing."
He reminded her he wielded shadows, that he was perfectly safe out here. She admitted, perhaps she hadn't thought things through quite as thoroughly as he had. But she didn’t care. She wanted to be wherever he was.
"Only if you do," she said softly. "I want to be wherever you are."
And then she said the words she had been carrying like a live coal in her chest. "I know why you said you don't see a future for us." She listed every proof of his hidden feelings: the way he trusted her, the way his eyes lingered, the sparring lessons he didn’t have time for, the flight lessons that pulled him away from his own studies. The way he refused to touch her because he worried she didn’t truly want him—only to leave violet wildflowers by her door so she wouldn’t wake up feeling alone.
"You show it in a million different ways," she breathed. "Please don’t deny it."
He didn’t.
She told him she was scared too—scared of graduation, of heartbreak, of the unknown. But she refused to let fear kill what was growing between them. She lifted a hand to the back of his neck, her voice trembling with courage. "I told you that I was the one who would decide when I'm ready to risk my heart. And I'm saying it now."
He tried to deflect, bringing up her jealousy over Imogen. She admitted it—yes, she was jealous. She told him she thought Imogen was a better match for him. But he shook his head and gave her the truth: "Gods help me, I'm only looking at you." And as for Imogen? She wasn’t looking at him at all. She was looking at Garrick.
The jealousy dissolved like morning mist.
"There's only you, Violence," he said. "Is that what you needed to hear?"
She nodded.
"Even when I'm not with you, there's only you. Next time, just ask. You've never had a problem being bluntly honest with me." He sighed, long and hard, then finally admitted, "Yes. I can't make you any promises, Violence. But I'm tired of fighting it."
And when she pressed him about his own jealousy, he confessed: seeing Dain kiss her after Threshing had nearly driven him mad. He’d wanted her from the first second he saw her.
Her heart soared. She asked him to come with her, and after a tense moment, he nodded. They made it safely across the parapet—with him grumbling about her wearing a dress the entire time—and once they were on solid ground, he hauled her against him, ordering her to never risk her life over something as trivial as talking to him again.
She just laughed. "You're taking me to your room," she said, leading him toward the dormitory.
He protested. Someone would see. She was a first-year and he her wingleader. But Violet didn’t care. Everyone already knew anyway—they’d set half a forest on fire together that night.
They climbed the spiral staircase, past the second-year floor, up to the third-year corridor. At the very end of the long hall was his door—of course it was the last one. He unwove his wards and let her in, muttering that he’d have to ward her new door before he left.
His room was twice the size of hers, immaculate, with a large bed, a bookshelf that made her envious, a sword rack bristling with daggers, and black curtains framing the window overlooking Basgiath. She wandered, touching his blades, joking about his ego. Then she sat on the edge of his bed and told him to sit.
He did.
"I'm sorry," she said softly, thinking of the anniversary of Brennan’s death—the loss they never spoke aloud. "You have nothing to be sorry about." She moved between his thighs and ran her fingers through his hair. "Now I take care of you."
She removed his boots, his flight leathers, his shirt, tracing the scar through his brow. She kissed it. He wrapped his arm around her hips and pulled her close. "I don't deserve you. But I'm going to keep you all the same."
And then she said it. The words she had been so terrified to speak. "I think I'm in love with you."
His eyes flared. "You think? Or you know?"
She swallowed her panic and chose bravery. "I know. I'm so wildly in love with you that I can't imagine what my life would even look like without you in it."
He crushed his mouth to hers and pulled her onto his lap. Then he was undressing her—his movements urgent, reverent, desperate. He begged her to make a choice: walk out the door, or stay. Because if she stayed, he was going to have her naked on her back in two minutes.
She stayed.
What followed was a storm made of flesh and fire. He worshipped her with his mouth, with his hands, driving her to the edge of oblivion until her power exploded outward with her climax—thunder booming, glass rattling. He didn’t stop. He carried her to the center of the bed and took her slow and deep, their bodies moving together in perfect rhythm. She cried out that she loved him, and his control snapped. He drove her into another release, her lightning shattering his window into a spray of sand.
"Explosive," he joked afterward, but she was horrified. He just shrugged and said he’d thrown up a shield. Then he suggested they clean up and go for three—maybe four, if she was still awake.
Somehow, impossibly, they went for five.
She was riding him slowly, tracing the black swirls of his relic, when someone pounded on the door. Xaden snarled for Garrick to go away, but Garrick's voice came through, sharp and urgent: "I think there're a lot of people dead, which is why they're calling the full quadrant to formation, jackass!"
Both of them froze.
"Grab your flight leathers, and you'd better bring Sorrengail with you, too," Garrick said. "We're under attack."
In that moment, the world shattered around them—not just the window, but everything they had believed safe. The wards were falling. Navarrians were dying. And with frantic hands and thundering hearts, Violet and Xaden dressed faster than they ever had in their lives.
He threw one of his flight jackets over her shoulders, buttoning it himself. "I can't stand the thought of you being cold." Which meant *he* would be leaving. Her heart somersaulted with fear and love as they rushed out the door into the dark, uncertain night.
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**Reader's Impressions & Star Rating:**
Oh, my heart. This chapter is everything—a raw, beautiful, devastating turning point. Watching Violet finally surrender to her feelings and cross that parapet to reach Xaden was both terrifying and breathtaking. Their emotional honesty felt earned, their chemistry absolutely volcanic, and the sweetness of her taking care of him on the anniversary of Brennan's death melted me completely. And then that ending—the sudden attack, the falling wards, the urgent call to formation—left me gasping. I laughed, I cried, I clutched my chest. This chapter is an emotional roller coaster wrapped in pure dragon-rider chaos.
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Rating: 5 / 5 Stars
**Next Chapter Prediction:**
Basgiath is under attack, and the wards are failing. Violet will be thrust into her first taste of real war—forced to use her lightning in life-or-death ways she’s never faced before. Xaden will almost certainly be sent to the front lines, and with him gone, Violet will have to rely on her own fierce intelligence, her dragons, and maybe a few unlikely allies. I predict we'll see devastating losses, a major revelation about the true nature of the enemy, and quite possibly the return of someone Violet thought was dead forever. She’s going to have to become the weapon she was always meant to be.
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