The Divorced Military Queen Awakens (by Sadie Baxter) novel Chapter 730

Chapter 730 Hidden Cards 
She forced steel into every syllable. “Bryce Whitethorn, I don’t care what schemes you’re spinning. Bring Verity home unharmed, or I promise you’ll regret ever crossing me.” 
He lifted both palms as though calming a skittish horse. “Relax. She’s my daughter too. Of course I want her safe.” The softness in his tone felt rehearsed. 
Yet the way his eyes skimmed over her, measuring and distant, told her he was already calculating what to do when she stopped being useful. 
***** 
A rough shove sent Verity stumbling into a metal–walled cabin. Dawn followed, her arm still pinned by the guard. The lock clicked, trapping them with the humming engines. 
He pressed his forehead to the small porthole; nothing waited outside but an endless sheet of gray water rising and falling under a colorless sky. 
His stomach twisted. What now? How could he shield Dawn when he could barely keep his own knees from shaking? 
A hot wave of self–loathing washed over him. If he hadn’t insisted on tagging along with her, if he’d thrown that cursed ring away sooner, maybe none of this would be happening. 
He clenched his fists. The thought wouldn’t stop looping: Without me, she might be home, laughing. Without that ring, maybe the kidnappers wouldn’t even know her name. 
A soft groan broke through his spiral of blame; Dawn’s eyelids fluttered, and she pushed herself upright against the wall. 
Relief crashed through him. “You’re awake?” The words came out louder than he intended. 
Dawn’s gaze drifted, unfocused, until the porthole caught her attention. The sea reflected in her dark eyes and she froze. “Where… where are we?” 
He swallowed. “A ship. They grabbed us, and I don’t know where they’re taking us.” 
She reached for his hand, surprisingly steady. “Don’t be scared. My mom and dad will come. Mom can fly a swarm of drones and rally an army if she has to.” 
Verity recognized the fierce certainty on her face; she was remembering Kandria, the night she’d survived because her mother had made miracles feel ordinary. 
He pictured Aunt Megan’s gentle voice, telling them it was Dawn’s mother’s courage that had kept them alive until Uncle Caleb and her father burst in. 
His lashes trembled. He was supposed to be her shield, yet here she was, smoothing fear from his forehead with a whisper. 
He drew a shaky breath. “Do you trust me?” 
“Always,” she answered without a second’s pause. 
The single word pooled like honey over the raw scrape of his nerves. 
He leaned closer, voice barely above the engine hum. “From now on, I’m Dawn, and you’re Verity. Okay?” His palms sweated as he waited. 
It was the only plan he had–an improvised shield made of names and hope. 
“Why?” Dawn blurted, the word scraping her throat before she could think. The rope at her wrists burned as she shifted and met Verity’s swollen eyes. 
“Th–they asked who I was,” Verity whispered, chest heaving. “I got scared and said I was you- Miss Whitethorn–because I thought they’d spare the rich girl.” “If I tell them now I’m just Verity, they’ll beat me. Dawn, I… I don’t want them to hit me!” 
The sentences tumbled out exactly the same way he’d been muttering since they were dragged inside; she heard the practiced rhythm beneath the panic. 
“I’m sorry, Dawn, I know stealing your name was wrong, but I’m terrified,” he sobbed, words sliding over each other. “Please help me. Be Verity for them, just until they’re gone. I’ll protect you–swear it–I won’t let the bad men hurt you.” 
He kept repeating promises, voice cracking, palms scrubbing at his own damp cheeks as though rubbing the fear away. 
“Stop crying,” she said, forcing steadiness she didn’t entirely feel. “Until my mom and dad get us out, you stay Dawn Whitethorn and I’ll answer to Verity, all right?” 
Back at the orphanage she had watched plenty of children cry–older, younger, boys, girls. 
None of their tears had ever curled under her skin the way Verity’s did just now. 
She’d always decided strength meant locking the tears behind her teeth. 
Auntie Megan had told her once that crying fixed nothing. 
So she almost never cried; Auntie Megan visited only a handful of times each year, and most days Dawn protected herself–and her mother–alone. 
Yet here was a boy her own age hiccupping through tears while vowing to shield her. 
The contradiction nudged something soft and wordless inside her chest. 
She decided she hated seeing Verity cry. 
She reached up, 
sleeves still damp from the floor, and smeared his tears away with the back of her hand. “Don’t cry, don’t be scared. If fear makes it easier, then stay Dawn a little longer and I’ll be Verity,” she murmured. 
Verity stared, lips parted, as though the promise were a coin too bright to touch. 
“You… you really agree? You’re not angry I used your name to keep myself safe?” 
“I don’t love the idea,” she admitted, shrugging the shoulder that wasn’t numb. “But you were scared, and friends lend things–even their names–when someone’s in trouble.” 
The dim room felt tame compared with the gunfire she’d heard in Kandria. 
Besides, Mom would come. 
Mom could do anything; Dawn carried that certainty like a hidden key. 
Uncle Caleb had painted her feats in dazzling colors–piloting sleek planes, commanding flocks of drones, dancing across keyboards faster than grown men could blink. 
Most vivid was the image of Mom hauling a rifle through smoke to pull strangers from rubble. 
Dawn’s heart had thrummed with worship at every tale. 
She had told Uncle, “I’ll be just as strong one day.”