Return of the General's Daughter-Chapter 272: The Morning After

The next morning, just after breakfast, Prince Alaric, accompanied by Agilus and a handful of his royal guards, made his way to General Odin’s manor. The air was cool and tinged with the sweet scent of dew-soaked grass, but Alaric’s mood was anything but light. Guilt sat heavy on his chest—he had left Lara the night before without a word. He hadn’t wanted to. But her brothers had cornered him with a mix of teasing and authority only siblings could wield.

"You’ve danced with her already," they had insisted, forming an unrelenting wall. "Now let us have our turn."

Alaric had reluctantly yielded, and afterward, he’d slipped away to visit his mother’s chamber. It was there he realized that twenty years of certainties had been upended. What he thought he knew—about himself, his father, the past—was now full of cracks.

The carriage rolled to a halt in front of the stately Norse manor, its stone façade dappled in morning light. As the door creaked open, a servant’s eyes widened at the unmistakable crest of the royal prince glinting on the carriage door. With a startled bow, he darted inside.

In the dining hall, the Odin family was gathered, enjoying the last bites of dessert—flaky pastries and ripe berries served with steaming cups of tea and coffee. Laughter echoed off the high ceilings until the servant entered, breathless.

"Prince Alaric is here for Lady Lara," he announced.

Silence fell like a sudden snowfall. All eyes shifted to Lara, whose spoon paused mid-air. Even Mira, seated across the table, stiffened, her gaze clouded with jealousy.

Lara coughed lightly and set down her cup. "Ah, I nearly forgot—I arranged to meet a metalsmith today, an acquaintance of Prince Alaric. He was to show us a sample piece."

Gideon tilted his head, eyes narrowing with suspicion. "Is that the same smith who crafted the mechanism you told me about? I’d like to come with you—see it myself."

"But I was the one who went with her last time!" Peredur protested, his tone petulant.

"Exactly why you shouldn’t come this time," Gideon said, a rare firmness in his voice. "Besides, I’m curious about the craftsmanship of that thing that sister has drawn."

It was rare for Gideon to assert himself so clearly, and Peredur, taken aback, fell silent.

The rest of the brothers began chiming in, each eager to join, but Gideon silenced them with a pointed reminder.

"Only one of us didn’t dance with Lara last night—me."

"Oh, please," Galahad scoffed. "That’s only because Amelia clung to you like ivy on a wall. And you didn’t seem to mind."

Gideon rolled his eyes. "I tolerated her because she’s Lara’s best friend."

Bener smirked. "I saw you smiling broadly when you danced with her. You did not mind not dancing with Lara at all."

"It was only because there are too many of you, and I know that Lara was already tired." Gideon defended, sighing.

As her brothers continued to squabble like territorial hawks, Lara stood up, her patience fraying. She noticed the servant still lingering by the door and cleared her throat again. "Excuse me," she said, rising with as much grace as she could muster.

She hadn’t expected Alaric so early—and certainly not before she’d had time to change. She followed the servant to the sitting room, her heart racing with a mix of anxiety and anticipation.

There, framed by the morning light spilling through tall windows, stood Alaric, gazing at the wall where a gallery of family portraits hung. He was quiet, reflective—his broad shoulders casting a solemn silhouette.

"Good morning, Your Highness," Lara said with a small curtsy.

Alaric turned, his frown gentle but insistent. "Lara, I’ve told you. Just call me Alaric—or Ari."

Their eyes locked, and Lara hesitated. Would he really be comfortable if others misunderstood their closeness?

"How about I call you Al?" She asked.

Alaric thought for a while. "Al sounds good." He said.

"I am sorry about last night." Alaric said softly.

"What?" Lara was confused. Was he talking about her seeing them in the garden?

"Your brothers ganged up on me. They asked me to stay away from you so they could dance with you."

A small, surprised laugh escaped her lips. So that was it. She had been stewing all night, wondering if he had left to spend time with someone else—especially when she’d caught sight of him with Ceres. A quiet pang of jealousy had pierced her heart, though she hadn’t wanted to admit it.

Now she exhaled slowly, relief spreading through her.

Still, a strange memory tugged at her. The way the servant had nudged her toward the garden last night—it hadn’t felt random. And hadn’t Percival and Peredur been together then? Was it truly a coincidence? Or was something more deliberate at play? ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom

Who was behind it? Why would they target her when it was her first time entering the palace?

Her thoughts were interrupted by Alaric’s gentle voice. "Are you ready to go?"

"I just need a few minutes to change." She turned quickly and ascended the stairs.

No sooner had she left than another voice drifted in, sweet and poised. "My prince," Mira said, gliding into the room with a tray. "Would you care for some tea?"

She placed a delicate porcelain cup on the low table beside him. Alaric gave her a polite smile.

"Thank you, Lady Mira," he replied absently. His eyes were drawn to a painting—a portrait of Lara as a toddler, her cheeks round and rosy, her tiny hands reaching up toward something unseen. He remembered that child—the way she’d crawled across the palace lawn, chasing butterflies with a squeal of laughter. The memory warmed him, and a smile tugged at his lips.

Mira, misreading the gesture, felt her heart flutter. She thought the smile was meant for her. She could hear her heart beat like a drum roll.

Just then, the atmosphere in the room shifted. General Odin entered with quiet authority, his wife Marchioness Freya at his side. Behind them, the six brothers filed in like a royal procession, their presence immediately crowding the space.

"To what do we owe this early visit from the crown prince of Northem?" the general asked, arching a brow with cool amusement.

"Good morning, General Odin. Marchioness Freya," Alaric greeted them with formal respect, then nodded at the siblings. "I’m here to accompany Lady Lara. She requested something from my metalsmith, and today we were meant to check on the design."

"Ah," the general replied with a glint in his eye. "I thought perhaps you came for something—or someone—else."

Freya shot him a sharp glare, her expression unreadable.