The Divorced Military Queen Awakens (by Sadie Baxter) novel Chapter 736

Chapter 736 Brave Friends 

She shook her head fiercely. “You were brave–so brave you’re my second hero.” 

“Second?” His brows knit. “Who’s the first?” 

“Bowen, a friend from Kandria. When bad men chased us, he stayed behind so I could run. He’s just a kid, but he was fearless.” 

A soft ache crept into her eyes at the memory. 

“I don’t know where they took him,” she murmured. “I wish I knew when I could see him again.” 

“When we get home, I’ll ask Uncle Wooley to find him.” 

“Uncle Gavin says Uncle Wooley is the best helper there is, so he’ll know what to do.” 

Verity’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth before he managed a whisper. “Bowen… he’s a boy?” The words floated between them like something forbidden, fragile as the sea hush beyond the cabin wall. 

Dawn nodded, easy and certain. “Mm–hmm. He’s the handsomest boy I’ve met in Kandria.” Her cheer sounded like sunlight. Verity felt its warmth–and the faint sting that followed. 

Before he could stop himself, the question slipped out, raw and small. “Then… between us, who looks better?” 

The moment the sound left his lips, his spine locked. Every muscle answered with a cold clamp, as though the cabin air had turned to ice. 

What was he thinking? Shame pulsed in his temples, hot and rhythmic, louder than the creak of the hull. 

He knew the answer: he couldn’t bear to be second best inside her eyes, not even to a memory of some faraway boy. 

Regret crawled up his throat, yet 

his throat, yet he held his breath, waiting, waiting, every aching beat of his heart counting the seconds she stayed silent. 

Dawn tipped her head, puzzled. “That’s such a strange question. You’re a girl, Verity. Bowen’s a boy.” The words were gentle, yet they struck like a miscast note. 

The floor seemed to tilt. Verity blinked once, then his gaze slid toward his shoes, shoulders folding inward as if to hide the whole of him. 

Of course. In her mind he was–and would always be–a girl stitched together by long hair and borrowed dresses. 

His mother’s voice echoed, sharper than seawind: snipping scissors forbidden, trousers forbidden, every wish to be a boy packed away like contraband. 

No matter how he pleaded, the verdict never changed: You will live as a daughter. 

She had knelt, palms cupping his cheeks, warning murmured like prayer: “Being a boy is our secret. If anyone learns, you’ll lose me.” 

So he swallowed the truth, wore silence like lace, and tried–really tried–to be the well- behaved girl his mother needed. 

Now Dawn’s voice cut through the gloom, bright as a lantern. “Still, you’re also the prettiest girl I’ve ever met.” 

The words lingered, brushing his ear as though they had weight, reshaping the darkness around him. 

He lifted his head. Those phoenix–shaped eyes–so like Master Whitethorn’s–were fixed on him with solemn care. 

The resemblance was uncanny, yet the feeling utterly different. 

When Master Whitethorn looked his way, cold fear prickled under Verity’s skin, urging him to vanish. 

But Dawn’s gaze held none of that ice; it poured warmth straight into his chest, and he felt improbably safe. 

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