42. Blake
Blake
“ W hat the hell is she doing?” I growl.
Peter gives me a blank stare.
“Venetia,” I spit out. “Why is she on the wall?”
He shrugs.
Glaring at her form, training her weapon on some unseen target outside the walls, I consider calling her to tell her to move her arse away from the area where she is most vulnerable.
My fingers tighten on the edge of the desk.
Ordering her to move would be a waste of breath.
She is the heart of this war, and she will place herself at its most dangerous point as a matter of principle.
It’s infuriating. It’s tactically unsound.
And it’s exactly why I’m utterly captivated by her.
She isn’t a piece on my board to be moved; she’s the opposing queen who decided to play on my side.
A single, sharp crack echoes from the north tower, the sound swallowed almost instantly by the wind. My eyes flick to the drone feed I have live on the main screen. A flare of heat in the bushes near the moat winks out. One down. Rafferty, precise and silent as death itself.
Venetia doesn’t even flinch. She remains a fixed point of defiance, daring them to come for her.
It’s not just a defensive position; it’s a provocation.
She’s taunting Cravenmoor, challenging him to focus his rage directly on her.
The fool will take the bait. He’ll see her as an arrogant girl, not as the centrepiece of a trap.
My plan unfolds in my mind, a cascade of if-then statements and tactical responses. Her recklessness is no longer a liability. It’s the linchpin of our entire strategy.
“Cravenmoor will focus his main assault on the front gate, where she is. He’ll see it as an act of hubris. An easy decapitation strike. He’ll throw his best men at the most obvious point of entry, expecting a swift victory.”
Peter looks from the drone feed to me, his brow furrowed. “But that’s where most of our defences are concentrated.”
“Precisely,” I say, a cold smile touching my lips. “He’ll walk right into Viper’s meat grinder, all while Rafferty picks his men apart from the tower. All because he can’t resist the bait.” The bait that is my queen.
I lean over, staring at the screen, expecting this battle to begin, but nothing happens.
Minutes tick by. Whoever Raff shot was clearly a scout to pinpoint Raff’s location. Now they’re moving their pieces around to counter this knowledge.
My fingers tap a restless rhythm on the desk. “He’ll split his forces,” I say, more to myself than to Peter. “He’ll probe for weaknesses and create a diversion to draw our fire away from the main event.”
I switch the drone feed, sweeping the camera along the western wall.
The thermal imaging paints the cold stone in hues of blue and purple.
Nothing. I move the view to the southern perimeter, where the woods creep closest to the moat.
Still nothing. The silence is a weapon, designed to fray our nerves, to make us second-guess.
“There,” Peter breathes, pointing to a screen displaying the east side. My eyes snap to it. Four heat signatures, moving with stealth along the edge of the water. They’re carrying packs.
“Explosives,” I say, my voice devoid of emotion. “The diversion.” I send a text to Viper: Four. East wall. Planting charges. Let them.
A return text comes in: Let them? They’ll blow a hole in the fucking wall.
“That’s what they want us to think,” I counter, my gaze already scanning the opposite side of the grounds.
“The real attack won’t come from the breach.
It’s too obvious.” My drone pans over the dark woods to the north, and I find them.
A larger group. At least a dozen men, using the cover of the ancient oaks to advance on the north tower. On Rafferty.
I text him: A dozen, maybe more, headed your way.
I watch as Venetia shifts on the wall. She’s getting impatient, but so far, she is out of the line of fire.
The pop of Raff’s rifle echoes, and Peter and I exchange a look before all hell breaks loose.
The explosion rocks the castle walls, and the sound of gunfire reverberates around the academy grounds.
Peter dives for cover, his weapon drawn to shoot anyone who comes near us, but I keep looking at the screens.
They are nowhere near us. The explosion wasn’t even enough to make a crack in the walls.
The tremor is barely enough to rattle the pens on my desk. Pathetic. “The charge barely scorched the stone. It was a firecracker, meant to draw our eyes east.”
My attention snaps back to the north tower.
It’s a hornet’s nest of muzzle flashes. The dozen heat signatures are pinning Rafferty down, trying to neutralise our primary long-range threat before the real assault begins.
I see one, then two of their signatures wink out.
He’s holding them. He’s a ghost in the dark, and they’re shooting at shadows.
My gaze flicks to the screen showing Venetia. She hasn’t moved. She’s a statue of defiance, rifle raised, waiting. She knows the explosion was a diversion. She knows the real fight is coming to her.
They won’t get close to her with the moat in their way until they breach it. They will have to try to pick her off with bullets, unless the objective is to capture, not kill. At this point, it could be either.
I dismiss the thought. Capture or kill, the tactical response is the same: deny them access.
My eyes move from screen to screen, a conductor watching his orchestra warm up.
The firefight at the north tower is contained.
Rafferty is bleeding them, forcing them to expend ammunition and manpower on a ghost. The diversion at the east wall has failed to draw a single soldier from their post.
Now comes the main performance.
The drone feed from the front shows movement.
The main force. Two dozen, at least. They emerge from the tree line like wraiths, moving with a disciplined silence that speaks of extensive training.
They aren’t rushing. They can’t get across the moat without a boat, and even then, they have to scale an impregnable wall with no solid purchase.
As far as defences go, it’s a pretty good one, it has to be said.
They hunker down, getting into position to let loose an all-out assault on Venetia and whoever else they can set their sights on. They’re clustering, creating a kill box for themselves. Predictable. Arrogant.
“They think she’s alone,” I murmur, tracing their positions with a stylus. “They think they’re laying a siege.”
I don’t even need to say it.
Viper is already moving towards her, albeit slowly.
The response is instantaneous. The drone feed shows the battlements erupting in a coordinated volley of gunfire.
Muzzle flashes strobe across the darkness, a storm of lead tearing into the advancing force.
The disciplined formation breaks into chaos.
Bodies drop. They’re caught in the open, pinned down by a force they never anticipated.
My gaze snaps to the screen showing Venetia.
She’s not just waiting anymore. She’s leaning over the wall, her rifle spitting fire, her movements economical and deadly.
She’s not just bait; she’s a predator who has lured the prey into her den.
A thrill, cold and sharp, cuts through my strategic calm.
This is her in her element. A queen of violence, presiding over a symphony of destruction.
The enemy returns fire, a desperate, inaccurate spray of bullets that ricochets harmlessly off the ancient stone. They’re trapped, confused, and being decimated from above. This isn’t the battle they were expecting. It’s a fucking execution.