Victoria had outlined her plan to Lukas and Edward, and they had given it their approval. The intention was to destroy Luca and kill as many of those traitors on his side.
Victoria had never considered where she might die—never considered that one day she would face a war and become a warrior; that her hand would caress a sword handle rather than a paintbrush, and she never thought that a day would come where she would fear failure and death.
She never thought that she would be this thirsty for revenge and eager to kill.
There would be no marker to tell the world where she had fallen.
There would be no marker for any of them.
“You need to rest,” a rough male voice said from the tent entrance behind her.
Victoria looked over her shoulder, her unbound raven hair snagging on the intrica
