Return of the General's Daughter-Chapter 294: The Dance Club

That Tuesday, Lara entered the palace because she received a summons from Princess Ceres. The gathering of the Dance Club, which she named White Swan, would be held at the Rose Pavilion in the palace. No matter how reluctant Lara was, she had no choice but to go with Mira and Amelia.

Princess Ceres has taken over the leadership of the dance club that Mira had spent so much effort establishing. She only became the deputy leader. This arrangement was finalized before Princess Ceres left the Norse Estate that Saturday.

"Don’t you think Princess Ceres is abusing her authority as a Princess? Why would she usurp your position as the leader of the dance club you created?" Amelia grumbled beside Mira.

Mira didn’t respond, but the subtle tremble in her clenched fists was enough. What could she say? Defy Ceres—Queen Helga’s golden daughter? That would be social suicide.

Lara glanced sideways at her friends as they walked the cobbled path to the Pavilion. Mira’s lips were pressed into a thin line, and her fingers clutched the hem of her skirt in silent frustration. Amelia, never one to hold back, voiced what they were all thinking.

When the three arrived at the Rose Pavilion—a sun-drenched structure draped in climbing roses of different colors—they found nearly a dozen noble ladies already assembled, seated on embroidered cushions or chatting beneath the carved arches.

"You’re early," Mira announced as they approached.

"You’re late," Janna retorted with a smug smile.

Several girls giggled behind gloved hands, though the tension in the air betrayed their forced levity. In truth, Lara, Mira, and Amelia had arrived at 2:30 p.m.—a full thirty minutes ahead of the 3:00 p.m. start. Yet even then, they were deemed late. Janna’s influence already warped the standards.

Wanting to make the most of her time, Lara decided to begin teaching the dance basics early.

"Hey Lara, do you think it’s alright to start without Princess Ceres?" asked Annabel, the daughter of the Duke of Silverstone, her tone hesitant as she smoothed the folds of her mint-green skirt.

"She was supposed to be here by now," Lara replied, gesturing at the shadows cast by the ornate sundial just outside the Pavilion. "We agreed on mid-afternoon. We can’t sit around waiting all day."

The noble ladies all became silent. How brave of her to talk like that to Princess Ceres. Isn’t she digging a hole for herself.

And so, with the reluctant approval of the others, she began to demonstrate the first positions—graceful, elegant movements that flowed like water through her limbs.

Half an hour passed before the doors burst open with a gust of wind and a flurry of fury. Princess Ceres strode in, silk skirts swirling, cheeks flushed with indignation.

"How dare you begin without me!" she snapped, her eyes blazing.

Lara’s right eyebrow arched. What a spoiled brat. She thought to herself.

"Apologies, Your Highness," Lara said, voice measured but firm. "But it’s already close to four o’clock. As you can see," she added, gesturing toward the sundial gleaming in the courtyard, "time waits for no one. The other ladies are already familiar with the steps—any of them can guide you."

"But I want you to teach me!" Ceres’s voice rose in a pitch of royal petulance, echoing off the Pavilion’s arched ceiling.

"Pardon, my sister, for she is throwing a tantrum." A familiar deep voice reached Lara’s ears, and she frowned.

Lara’s spine stiffened. She knew that voice.

"Brother!" Ceres turned toward the source, her tone sulky. She had clearly only just woken from an indulgent afternoon nap, her hair still tousled.

Prince Reuben entered the Pavilion like a tide rolling in. He wore a cloak of imperial purple that shimmered with golden thread, his presence unmistakably regal. As he passed, several of the noble ladies blushed, instinctively curtsying, and their eyes were wide in admiration.

"You invited these young ladies," he said, fixing Ceres with a steely gaze. "It was your responsibility to arrive on time, not theirs."

"But—"

He turned toward Amelia. "Lady Amelia, if you would be so kind as to assist my sister with the remainder of the session."

Then, his gaze swept toward Lara and Mira. "As for you two, I’d like to borrow you—there’s something I wish to show you."

"Brother!" Ceres opened her mouth to protest, but the sharpness in her brother’s glare silenced her.

"What do you need from us, Your Highness?" Mira asked enthusiastically. ƒreewebηoveℓ.com

"There is something I want to show you..." Prince Reuben’s voice held a mysterious calm, like a hidden tide beneath still waters. He extended a gloved hand toward Mira and Lara, his expression unreadable but somehow inviting.

Mira’s eyes lit up with instinctive curiosity — but just as quickly, the spark dimmed. She remembered the arrangement she’d made with the crown prince. She wasn’t supposed to entertain any overtures from Reuben. With a subtle nudge, she turned toward Lara and gave her a quick glance, a silent plea conveyed through the flick of her gaze.

Go. You take his hand.

But Lara, ever resistant to unspoken expectations, kept her hands to herself and her expression placid. She pretended not to see Mira’s signal, not out of defiance — not exactly — but because she didn’t like being offered like a prize.

Reuben didn’t seem to mind the silent tug-of-war. His faint smile deepened. "Come," he said again, voice smooth as silk. "You’ll see."

With that, he turned and exited the Rose Pavilion, his royal purple cloak trailing like a banner of dusk, catching glimmers of sunlight as he moved.

They followed the prince down a sun-dappled corridor, the scent of blooming roses and polished wood mingling in the air. Their footsteps echoed softly along the polished marble as they passed tall arched windows and gilded portraits of kings and queens long gone.

Eventually, they reached the West Wing, where a tall set of silver-inlaid doors stood ajar. Reuben pushed them open fully, revealing the Gallery — where paintings of different artists were displayed in the hall. Natural light poured in through stained glass skylights, casting ribbons of color across the polished floors.

Mira let out a small, unguarded gasp and almost stumbled — not because of the room’s beauty, but because of what was displayed in most visible part of the wall.

Before them stood a life-sized oil painting framed in dark mahogany. The subject: Lara in a beautiful gown and a dance move that looked like she was flying mid-air.