As if his realisation were the cue, every hatch and door on the Veritas flew open. Pirates poured out, led by an all-too-familiar red-coated woman who grinned fiercely.

Hells and damnation.

Control

Knigh gritted his teeth, parrying another sabre swipe—it was undisciplined but powerful. The Morrigan’s crew had already faced one battle, and he’d expected them to be tired, but perhaps their victory had buoyed morale.

Clenching his jaw, he caught another blow, sending the bald pirate off balance. With a kick, he sent the man splashing overboard. Better if he didn’t kill too many of The Morrigan’s crew—he didn’t want ill will spoiling the next phase of his plan.

In the gap left by his opponent, he caught a glimpse of that red coat. Vice fought with a kind of lethal abandon, brows lowered fiercely, attacks imperfect, technically chaotic, but swift and unerringly on-target.

After she’d mocked him at Kayracou, he’d have expected her to laugh and pose her way through a fight, relishing in her opponents’ defeat, their blood on her blade. But that expression, jaw set, a focused frown, mouth in a grim line—it was far more serious than he’d ever thought her capable of.

Back in Albion, most of his colleagues thought her little more than a figurehead—pretty and inspiring, but ultimately there for show.

The slash she dealt the marine facing her was anything but for show. And she led a boarding party—the group around her clearly looked to her for direction. His fellow officers were sorely mistaken.

Frown tight on his face, Knigh twitched away from a clumsy thrust, threw it wide with his own blade, and punched the pirate. Blood burst down the man’s face, and he backed away, clutching his nose.

Shaking his head, Knigh scanned his surroundings again. Half the marines had formed up with him, the other half faced Vice, and the pirates gathered around her.

Damn it, he needed to end this—with his forces divided between The Morrigan and the Venatrix, he was losing men. Hells, the pirates might even be winning.

It wasn’t meant to go like this. The plan was to overpower The Morrigan by force of numbers and superior training, gain their surrender. Then he’d use his code phrase to make himself known to his contact, and get an audience with FitzRoy. Then he’d execute the next phase to capture Vice and bring her to justice.

Growling, he punched another pirate and shoved him overboard.

Growling? Gods, no. He had to maintain control.

This was just another battle—it wasn’t personal. He couldn’t give in to his fury, not again. Swallowing, he straightened his back, pulling his muscles into one drill position, then another.

Discipline, procedure, drills.

Deep breaths filled his nose with the sharp smell of sweat and the metallic tang of blood, and most importantly, they brought a cooling calm over him.