Return of the General's Daughter-Chapter 299: Reuben’s Schemes 2

"I will not force her," Reuben said.

The response hung like frost in the air. Ceres looked down at her plate, suddenly fascinated with her bread.

A servant appeared with a fresh pot of tea, moving as silently as a ghost through the tension-laden hall.

King Heimdal pushed back his plate and rose to his feet. The legs of his chair scraped against the marble floor like a blade drawn from its sheath.

"If the woman chose you, then do as you will," he said at last, voice low. "But know this, Reuben: if you divide this family for the sake of a woman, even one so worthy... you had best be sure she is worth the kingdom you risk."

And with that, he left the hall, his cloak sweeping behind him like the shadow of a storm.

Reuben stood there, hands clenched at his sides, heart pounding in his chest like a drum of war.

He had won nothing. Not yet. But he had not lost, either.

There was one thing he forgot to ask his father.

"Mother, can you tell Father to push forward, Alaric’s banishment?"

"Reuben, you are already the crown prince, and yet, sometimes you act like a child." Queen Helga chided her, but her voice was soft.

...

It was another scheduled meet-up of the Swan Dance group.

The sun hung low in the sky, caught behind pale clouds that filtered the light into a soft haze. The palace gardens, bright and blooming with spring, were now drowsy with the weight of summer’s approach. The tall hedges whispered in the breeze, and the scent of crushed lavender rose gently from beneath Reuben’s boots as he followed the narrow path toward the northern terrace.

This part of the castle grounds was quiet—intentionally so. It was where the court’s daughters came to study music or poetry, away from politics and prying eyes. But that wasn’t why Reuben came.

She was already there.

Lara stood beneath the twisted bough of an ancient iron rose tree, its blackened branches thorned and heavy with blood-red blossoms. Her riding gloves hung loosely from her belt, and the breeze teased dark hair strands from her braid. She didn’t turn when she heard him approach. She didn’t need to. She always knew when it was him.

"You shouldn’t be here," she said, softly.

Reuben stopped a few paces behind her, hands behind his back. "Why shouldn’t I? I was the one who invited you here."

Lara sighed, tilting her head just enough for the light to catch her cheek. "Mira said that it was Prince Alaric who sent for me."

"I did," he replied. "Why, if you knew that it wasn’t Alaic, will you not see me?"

That earned a faint smile from her—brief and bittersweet. She reached up and touched one of the rose petals, careful not to bleed.

"And yet you came anyway."

"I had to." She murmured.

Then, she turned to face him, finally, her eyes the color amber as the light from the sun reflected into them. There was something in her expression—not fear, not surprise, but a quiet strength.

"Do you like me? Your Highness?" Lara asked in a gentle voice.

Prince Reuben laughed.

"Didn’t I tell you that I want you to be my queen?" he said with conviction.

"But I am already betrothed!" Her voice trembled, just a little.

"You were a child," he said, stepping closer. "A pawn in a game none of us understood."

"I understand it now," she said. "And I know how the court will see this. If I choose you, it won’t be the love they whisper about. It’ll be a betrayal. Ambition. Scandal."

"I don’t care what they say."

"But I do," she said sharply. "Not because I believe it, but because I know how deeply words can wound, how slowly they rot trust. You’re the Crown Prince, Your Highness. Every move you make echoes for generations."

Prince Reuben was taken aback by Lara’s words. Weren’t they words of wisdom?

He was close enough now to see the fire beneath her calm. The way she squared her shoulders, even when she was afraid. The way her voice steadied even when her heart warred with her duty.

"And what if I’m willing to bear it?" he asked. "What if I’m willing to be seen as the villain—if it means I get to live honestly?"

She looked away, her voice dropping. "And what if I’m not?"

Reuben didn’t answer at first. The garden felt impossibly quiet, the hush of the hedges suddenly deafening.

Then, gently, he stepped forward and looked her in the eyes.

"If you tell me to leave," he said, "I will. And I’ll say no more about how I feel about you."

"I don’t know if I’m brave enough," Lara whispered, her voice barely louder than the breeze.

Who was she to defy a crown prince and tell him to leave?

She dipped into a slow curtsy, her head lowered more out of instinct than protocol, and turned to leave. But no more than two steps into her retreat, she collided—hard—into something unyielding. A wall of a massive chest.

Arms reached out to steady her.

When she looked up, she was looking into that familiar pair of obsidian orbs.

He caught her hand possessively, his grip firm as steel wrapped in silk. His expression was calm, but his eyes simmered.

He turned his gaze to Reuben, and when he spoke, his voice was deliberate—every syllable shaped like a dagger.

"You already know Lara is my fiancée. Promised to me since she was young. So tell me, brother... why are you still circling her like a hawk chasing something that’s already been caught?"

"Flirting." That was the word he used.

Reuben blinked.

Flirting?Was that what Alaric thought this was?

The crown prince stood frozen, fists clenched at his sides. He said nothing, but his jaw tightened until it looked like it might crack. His stare followed the pair who just left, like a blade unsheathed, sharp and furious.

Lara, still stunned, pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders and fell into step beside Alaric. Though her body walked, her mind felt scattered, brittle as frost.

"How did you know I was with him?" she asked, her voice low.

Alaric offered her a sideways glance, a playful smile ghosting his lips. "I just knew. Call it intuition—or maybe jealousy."

They turned a corner and passed through a narrow archway, stepping into the sheltered quiet of the rockery garden. The stones were cool and shadowed, mossy with age. Here, away from the palace eyes, the air seemed to still.

"I will leave the capital in two weeks..."