Return of the General's Daughter-Chapter 279: Mira Made A Move

Sometime during the revelry, as golden music spilled like honey from the ballroom doors and laughter floated beneath chandeliers, Prince Reuben arrived—late, and not by accident. He entered with the cool poise of a man who knew how to command a room without saying a word. But his expression darkened the moment he saw them: Prince Alaric and Lara, lost in their second dance, moving with a quiet intimacy that stoked something raw and unpleasant in his chest.

His eyes scanned the glittering crowd. There—Princess Ceres, sitting in the seat of honor on the elevated platform, her gaze locked on Lara with the precision of a blade thrown with deadly intent. And just beyond, Mira. At first glance, she was chatting lightly with Amelia, but Reuben saw through the performance. Her eyes, too, kept drifting toward the pair on the dance floor. Watching. Measuring.

Reuben recognized the look in her face. Hunger. Calculation. Familiar emotions.

He crossed the room like a stalking shadow. "May I have this dance?" he asked Mira, his voice low and smooth.

She was startled at first, then composed herself with a practiced curtsy. "Of course, Your Highness."

They joined the floor, moving in synchronized rhythm, their smiles polite, but their eyes alert. There was an undercurrent to their steps—an unspoken game already underway. When the music faded, Reuben offered her his arm again.

"Shall we take some air?"

Mira accepted.

They walked into the palace gardens, where the sunset had long been replaced by moonlight spilled like silver over the pond. Lanterns swayed gently from iron posts. The night had cooled, and the air held a whisper of roses and wet stone. For a while, their conversation stayed light—harmless jokes, half-smiles, a mention of politics or wine. But then the tide shifted.

Reuben’s voice lowered. "You’ve been watching her. And him."

Mira didn’t deny it. She looked him straight in the eye. "I can help you. And you can help me. We want the same thing."

Reuben tilted his head. "Do we?"

"You want Lara," she said without hesitation. "And I want Alaric. She did not reject the betrothal, you know. She is now with Alaric."

That caught his attention. His gaze sharpened, the edge of his mouth lifting. "Alaric," he repeated with a flicker of disdain. Reuben chuckled and swirled the wine in his glass. "So the elder brother got what he wanted. How poetic."

"I’m not here to gossip." Mira took a step closer. "I’m here to make you an offer."

Reuben’s interest sharpened. "Go on."

"I know her better than anyone. Her weaknesses. Her secrets. Her past. You want her Reuben? Then you need to strike fast—and smart. You’ll need a scalpel. I am that scalpel."

He studied her, the smirk on his lips slowly fading into something colder. Calculating.

"And what do you want in return?" he asked.

Mira’s voice was a whisper, but it sliced like a blade. "As I said earlier, I want Alaric." And I want Lara to disappear. She added silently.

There was a silence, thick with tension. A beat passed. The garden seemed to still.

Reuben looked away, then toward a reflecting pond, where the moon shimmered on its surface like a spilled coin. He took a slow sip from his wine, then glanced back at her. And then a slow, dangerous smile curled on the prince’s lips.

"You may be more useful than I thought. Are you always this straightforward?" he asked, voice smooth as silk but laced with steel.

Mira nodded.

"But I liked it. And you are bold, which I like even better."

Mira stepped forward, her posture straight, chin lifted. "Desperation makes people reckless. But I’m not desperate. I’m angry."

Reuben turned fully to face her. "Anger is good. It sharpens the mind. But why are you angry?"

"I thought I mattered," she said, voice tight. "Two years ago, I was the cherished daughter. But when Lara came back, everything changed. Suddenly, I was a stand-in. A replacement."

"Aren’t you?" Reuben studied Mira against the reflection of the lantern lights.

"They changed ever since Lara returned," Mira said with difficulty. "I felt neglected...unwanted."

Reuben’s smirk returned, slow and deliberate. "How tragic. Did they always treat you like the extra piece on the board, didn’t they?"

She didn’t flinch. "Yes."

There was a pause. A flicker of something dangerous passed between them. Reuben slowly approached her, each step echoing in the stillness of the garden. When he stopped, they were only a breath apart.

"So, what are you really offering?"

"I offer you access," she replied, her voice low. "I know Lara’s tells, her loyalties, her habits. I know how to shake her. I know how to break her. You want to stop the marriage to Alaric? You’ll need to divide them. I can help you do that."

He studied her. "And what about Alaric?"

Mira breathed heavily. "Shouldn’t that be your side of the bargain?"

Reuben studied her in silence for a long moment, the smile fading from his lips as he assessed her anew—not as a neglected girl from a noble house, but as something far more dangerous.

Reuben’s smirk but it faded into a colder expression, one carved from ambition and calculation. "You think you can manipulate a future king?"

Mira met his gaze without flinching. "Can’t you?"

"I underestimated you," he said finally. "Do you even know how capable Alaric is?"

"Aren’t you more capable?" Mira whispered.

Reuben moved past her and poured a second glass of wine. He held it out to her, his eyes locked on hers. "Then let’s make it official. An alliance, in blood and ambition."

Mira took the glass, her fingers brushing his. "And in secrets."

They drank.

The pact was sealed not in love or loyalty, but in something far stronger in the realm of power—mutual necessity. A prince and an ambitious and greedy woman, both cast in the shadows of their own goals now poised to steal the light. Power plays. Promises wrapped in riddles. He admired her ambition. She admired his crown.

Reuben leaned in close, his breath grazing her ear. "We’ll strike first where it hurts most. We won’t touch Lara—yet. First, we go after Alaric."

Mira’s smile was slow and cruel. She looked nothing like the soft, timid girl everyone mistook her for. "He has no idea what’s coming."

She looked dangerous.

If Lara would tie herself to Alaric... then Mira would play a different game.

A higher one.