19. Eva
Eva
“ M ira, fetch your grandfather. Now.”
She’s already moving before I finish speaking, racing down the stone steps toward the front door, on her way to Leon’s cottage on the grounds.
I turn to Robin and Dimi, both staring at me with wide eyes that reflect dawning terror. Robin looks stricken but alert, ready to follow orders even as fear tightens her features. Dimi has gone pale as parchment.
“We need to get Robin’s family up and dressed,” I say calmly, already moving down the corridor. “Dimi, you help Robin gather them. Move quickly but carefully—we don’t want to cause panic.”
“Of course,” Dimi agrees, his voice slightly hoarse. “But the guards—won’t they?—”
“I’m sure they’ll do their best,” I tell him.
I almost believe it. We do have guards that walk the perimeter, but not many of them.
And the truth is, Castle Blacklake has limited defenses beyond its medieval strength.
The Novaks have lived for generations on a reputation: threats turned away by rumor, enemies cowed before they even neared the village.
People assumed the castle was impenetrable, and so my ancestors, my father, even I—none of us have bothered to build a real defense around the walls, the kind that could stop a modern attack.
That arrogance, I see now, could mean our destruction.
“Eva,” Robin’s voice is steady despite everything. “What are we going to do?”
“First, we arm ourselves,” I tell her, pulling them both toward a side corridor.
While the outer defenses of the castle might be wanting, my father did not sleep on adding armories, weapons caches, and stockpiles within.
The stone walls here look identical to every other passageway in the castle, but they hide a secret.
My fingers find a particular brick beside a painting depicting some long-dead Novak’s military victory.
When I press in, mechanisms that haven’t moved in months grind to life.
A section of stone swings inward on hidden hinges, and cool air flows out, carrying the scent of gun oil and steel.
“Jesus Christ,” Dimi breathes, staring into the hidden armory. “Eva, I never knew this was here.”
“You never needed to,” I tell him, stepping into the narrow room lined with weapon racks. “Until now.”
Handguns mounted in precise rows, rifles secured behind steel mesh, ammunition sorted by caliber in military-grade containers. Everything cleaned, maintained, ready for use.
I select weapons with the same expertise I’d use to choose wine for dinner. Two Glock 19s for Dimi, reliable and simple to operate. Extra magazines, already loaded. For Robin, something smaller—a Sig Sauer P365, compact enough for her hands but with stopping power.
Robin hesitates when I press the gun into her palm, her fingers reluctant to close around the grip.
“Eva, I don’t know if I can?—”
“They won’t hesitate to kill the children,” I interrupt, my voice harder than I intend. “Don’t make it easy for them.”
The words have the desired effect. Robin’s grip tightens on the weapon, her jaw setting with grim determination.
“Safety’s here,” I show her. “Squeeze, don’t pull the trigger. Two hands, steady your stance. Aim center mass.”
“Who are they?” she asks quietly, making sure she understands how to put the safety on and off.
“I have no idea,” I admit. “But whoever they are, we shoot to kill. Hesitation will get us all killed.”
Footsteps echo from the main corridor—too heavy to be Mira returning alone. My hand moves instinctively to my own sidearm before I recognize the familiar rhythm of Adrian’s gait.
He appears in the doorway wearing only pajama pants, his hair mussed from sleep, eyes wide with confusion and growing alarm.
“What’s going on?” he demands, taking in the hidden armory, the weapons in our hands, the tension radiating from every line of my body. “I heard you all talking?—”
“We’re under attack,” I tell him bluntly.
Adrian goes white but doesn’t retreat. Instead, he steps forward, squaring his shoulders in a way that reminds me of Robin’s quiet courage.
“Then I need a gun too,” he says firmly.
“Adrian, no,” Robin starts, but he cuts her off.
“I’m an adult, Robin. And I’m not going to hide while someone tries to hurt the kids.” His voice wavers slightly but holds steady. “Besides, Mira said I was getting pretty good at target practice.”
I assess him quickly—untrained but determined, motivated by the fierce protectiveness that runs in the Rivers bloodline.
Not ideal, but we don’t have the luxury of ideal right now.
“Speaking of Mira, she should have reached Leon by now,” I say, selecting another pistol from the rack and handing it to Adrian.
His face shifts through several emotions. “She’s here? But?—”
“She brought the warning,” I explain tersely, showing him how to release the safety, how to engage it again. “She’s the reason we have any preparation time at all. And you don’t need to worry about Leon’s granddaughter any more than you need to worry about me.”
Before Adrian can respond, more footsteps pound up the foyer stairs, moving with urgent purpose. We all tense, weapons rising, until familiar voices reach us.
“Eva!” Mira’s voice, breathless from running.
“We’re here,” Leon’s deeper tone. They round the corner.
Leon takes in the situation with a single comprehensive glance, and I arm them quickly.
Leon takes his preferred rifle—an old friend he’s carried through dozens of conflicts.
Mira accepts a handgun, then points to the crossbow and quiver of arrows mounted on the far wall.
I hand them to her without question. The girl knows her strengths.
“Leon, you’re with me,” I say. “Mira, go with Robin, Dimi, and Adrian to secure the children.”
As we move toward the main corridor, I catch Leon’s arm for a crucial aside.
“The financial anomalies we discussed,” I say quickly. “Dane’s analysis confirmed it—all the suspicious transfers were made using Markov’s login credentials. Whoever is attacking now could be doing so under his command.”
Leon’s frown deepens. “Markov doesn’t have the influence or connections for an assault like this. If he’s involved, he’s not the one calling the shots.”
My stomach clenches. If Markov was just a pawn, then someone with serious resources has been playing a long game. Someone who waited until Robin’s entire family was here, bringing maximum potential for casualties...
And leverage.
We reach more windows overlooking the main approach just as headlights flare through the darkness. Black SUVs and army trucks park a distance from the castle, men dismounting with military precision that speaks of professional training and serious funding.
“They’re not friendlies,” Leon confirms grimly, his voice carrying the weight of decades spent identifying threats. “Black ops team. Mercenaries, probably ex-military. This is a professional job.”
Professional mercenaries don’t come cheap. Someone wants us dead badly enough to pay top dollar for our elimination.
The sound of running feet announces Robin’s return. She appears at my shoulder, her face flushed with exertion and fear.
“The children are all awake and dressed,” she whispers. “What do we do now?”
I capture her face in my hands, kissing her with desperate intensity. It might be the last time I ever taste her lips, feel her warmth against me, and I pour everything I can’t say into that moment of connection.
When I pull back, my voice is steady despite the chaos of emotion raging inside me.
“You follow Dimi. He knows the castle almost as well as I do. Kill anyone you don’t recognize. No hesitation.”
“But what about you?”
“I am staying here with Leon.”
She grabs my shoulders desperately. “I won’t leave you here to die.”
“I have no intention of dying,” I reply, allowing steel to creep into my tone. “But having you here will distract me from keeping us all alive. You need to leave. Now.”
“Eva—”
“Now, Robin!”
She backs away slowly, her eyes blazing with fear and fury and desperate love. At the doorway, she stops and turns back to face me one last time.
“I love you, Eva,” she tells me. “Come back to me alive.”
Then she’s gone, her footsteps fading as she races toward the children she’ll protect with her life if necessary.
It’s her job to protect them. It’s my job to make sure she won’t have to.
Leon and I turn back to the window as the first wave of mercenaries files into the courtyard below, weapons ready, moving with the coordinated efficiency of a team that has done this many times before.
“How many?” I ask, though I’m already counting—a dozen visible, more in reserve.
“Enough,” Leon replies grimly.
An old familiar calm settles over me. Fear for Robin and her family burns bright, but I lock it away.
Right now, I can’t afford to think like a woman in love.
I need to think like a Novak.
The first mercenary reaches the main entrance and disappears from view, but I hear the sound of lock picks working.
“This way,” I murmur to Leon, and we melt back into shadows. We can’t hold a front line, not with just the two of us. That means we need guerrilla tactics.
We need to use our superior knowledge of the castle to our advantage. And first of all, we need to cut the lights.