The Divorced Military Queen Awakens (by Sadie Baxter) novel Chapter 731

Chapter 731 Borrowed Names 
He’d smoothed her hair and promised, “When you’re older, you will be.” 
Now, dabbing at Verity’s cheeks, she teased, “See? If you start bawling every time, how are you going to protect me?” 
“Ah!” Verity’s tears halted mid–drop; his night–dark eyes blinked wide, rims still shiny. 
The door banged open without warning. Two kidnappers strode in, boots striking the concrete, like a countdown neither child could stop. 
A coarse male voice cracked through the dim cabin, words dripping amusement. “Well, look who’s awake–little brat finally opened her eyes!” Dawn’s lashes fluttered at the sound, stomach folding inward around a pocket of fear hot and sour. 
She tried to push herself upright, but Verity’s narrow shoulders slid in front of her like a stubborn shield. Dawn kept her face flat, every muscle wired tight, refusing to give the men a flicker of the panic that hammered behind her ribs. 
One of the men lunged, fist hooking into Verity’s collar, hoisting him clear off the floor with ugly ease. “Quit worrying about the brat,” he growled, “we came for Miss Whitethorn. That Lu kid is nothing but spare cargo.” The name hit Dawn like ice water. So they wanted her family’s heir, the girl she was pretending not to be. Guilt flared, painful and sharp, as Verity dangled because of the lie they shared. 
Dawn forced herself onto her knees, chin lifting. “Why are you after Miss Whitethorn?” The question scraped out of her throat before she could weigh the risk. 
The man sneered. “Since when do I answer to infants?” His boot surged forward, a blur of scuffed leather. Impact exploded against Dawn’s ribs, slinging her sideways into the wall. 
Breath wouldn’t come. She folded around the ache, cheek pressed to damp planks, vision pulsing white. Cold crept under her skin, draining color from her face until even the kidnappers looked distant, as if across fog. 
Verity jerked toward her, panic raw on his small features, but the man’s fist stayed wrapped around his collar, yanking him back like a misbehaving pup. 
Desperation snapped into teeth. Verity twisted and sank his mouth into the man’s wrist. Dawn heard the surprised grunt before she managed another breath. 
With a roar, the kidnapper flung the boy away. Verity’s body arced in the low cabin like a tossed doll, then crashed onto the boards. 
Wood thudded beneath him, a dull, sick sound. His limbs jerked once, pain clearly hijacking control. 
Still he scrabbled forward, fingertips scraping for purchase, eyes locked on Dawn as if nothing else existed. 
A shadow fell. Then a boot pinned his spine, grinding him flat, stopping the slow crawl cold. 
The same hand swung down, palm cracking across his check. The slap sounded wet, obscene. Verity’s head whipped sideways; Dawn saw the unfocused glaze in his eyes and heard his gasp drop into silence. 
“Bite me again and you’re dead, you hear?” the man snarled, voice vibrating with genuine threat. 
Through the dizziness Verity’s stare never left her. His lips shaped the same word over and over-“Verity… Verity!“–as though chanting could pull her closer. 
The name rasped out again, raw, each syllable thinner than the last, yet stubbornly alive. 
Dawn knew why he used that name–safety lived in the lie. Calling her real one would paint an even brighter target on her back. 
The earlier kick had blurred her senses, but his plea cut through the haze. Memory snapped into place: on this boat, she was the Lu child, not Whitethorn’s daughter. 
She raised her head. The sight of that boot crushing Verity’s back burned away the last traces of confusion. 
Pain lanced through her ribs, yet she forced her feet beneath her. Each step felt like walking on shards, but she crossed the gap anyway. 
“Stay down, runt.” The man shifted, boot drawing back to swing toward her a second time. 
Instinct spoke louder than fear. She dropped low; leather hissed over her head. Her hand landed on a seam–pocket, fingers closing around the steel needle her tutor insisted she carry. One flick, a sharp sting to his calf–then the man lurched, lost balance, and crashed to the floorboards. 
He gawked at her, disbelief twisting his features. “My leg… what did you do to my foot?” 
The question hung pointless; his knee was already giving out, muscle gone numb beneath the toxin–soaked tip. Dawn clenched the needle between trembling fingers, surprised herself by how steady her voice sounded in her own head: keep him down. 
The second kidnapper froze mid–step, eyes darting between his partner and the small weapon glinting in Dawn’s grip. 
Seizing the moment, she grabbed Verity’s wrist, hauling him upright. “Run.” The command slipped out as a ragged whisper, but the urgency behind it needed no volume. 
Together they bolted through the doorway, bare feet banging against the narrow passage. 
Three strides later a broad shadow flooded the corridor. An elderly giant stepped from the gloom, blocking every scrap of exit. 
“Resourceful kid,” he rumbled, fingers snatching the needle cleanly from her grasp before she could blink. Then the world inverted–he caught her by the ankle and lifted, body swinging upside down like a caught fish. 
Gravity shook loose her secrets; vials, string, and a folded lockpick set rained from her jacket, clattering around the old man’s boots. 
Dawn peeled open the canvas pouch with trembling thumbs. Thin silver spikes glinted in the dim light–acupuncture needles, not much thicker than hair. Beneath them lay a flat skeleton key, a scrambled Rubik’s cube, and two foil bricks of dry survival biscuit. 
Across the hold, the old man’s brows jerked upward, surprise sliding over his leathery face as she lifted each odd item into view. 
Boots pounded on the metal stairs; two of the hired thugs burst in, their breath fogging the night air behind them. 
The one she had jabbed earlier shoved forward, face red, and barked at Captain Bridger, “Boss, the brat stuck me with a needle–my leg’s still numb. I’m going to beat her senseless for it!” 
“No!” Before Dawn could find her voice, Verity darted between them, breath hitching. “You can’t hurt her. She’s innocent! She… she’s Verity, Louisa’s daughter. This ring–her mother gave it to me.” 
Dawn’s heart skipped. If these men really worked with Verity’s mother, maybe hearing that name would make them pause. Maybe that was what Verity was gambling on. 
Sure enough, at the mention of Louisa and the flash of the ring’s green stone, every thug’s expression tightened as though someone had kicked open a door they’d sworn to keep shut. 
Confusion pricked behind Dawn’s eyes. 
Verity’s mother had given that ring to Verity, not to Dawn. Yet Verity was standing there calling Dawn by her own name. None of it added up. 
Why would she lie now, of all times? 
The old man let go of Dawn’s collar, straightened, and stepped toward Verity. “So this Verity is your stand–in,” he mocked, voice thin and cutting. “Everything you have–she can steal. Yet you still shield her?” 
Verity’s eyes wavered, and she pressed a trembling hand to her right ear–as if the deck were suddenly roaring around her alone.