Return of the General's Daughter-Chapter 326: It Is Really You!

Alaric struck the match with deliberate calm, its flame flaring to life. Without hesitation, he touched it to the ancient scroll—its edges curling and blackening almost instantly.

"No!" Kasmeri lunged forward, his voice a mix of panic and fury, but it was too late. The parchment crumbled into embers between Alaric’s fingers.

"Why did you do that?" he demanded, eyes blazing.

Alaric’s gaze didn’t leave the dying fire. "Because that letter was meant for my eyes alone." He watched in silence as the last flakes of ash scattered in the wind. "They are allies," he added, his voice low, almost unreadable as his gaze followed the direction where the mysterious woman and her companion disappeared.

Then, with a subtle shift in stance, he straightened and signaled Agilus to step forward from the shadows.

"If I were you," Alaric said, eyes fixed on Kasmeri, "I’d heed Orion’s counsel. Take what is rightfully yours—claim the title of Duke of Greenshire. It was never meant for an adopted son to wear. Orion has all the proof of your lineage. Your lineage is legitimate."

He placed a firm hand on Kasmeri’s shoulder, a silent gesture of both support and parting. "And remember," he added, stepping back, "I go by the name Kasmer, not Kasmeri."

With that, Alaric turned, his cloak sweeping behind him as he and Agilus walked away toward the grove where their horses waited, vanishing into the distance.

Kasmeri stood for a long time, his gaze followed the two riders until they disappeared from his sight.

...

Four days later, the weight of Reuben’s ultimatum still lingered in Lara’s mind like a storm cloud refusing to pass. She had thought deeply, deliberated over every angle, and come to a decision that was both painful and necessary: she would sell the patent to the Crown Prince.

There would be other inventions, better ones. This idea wasn’t the only spark in her mind—and besides, she needed the funds. More than that, she feared what staying might cost her. Every day under the prince’s eye felt like another thread unraveling. She had spoken with her family and made up her mind: she would return to Calma. If she remained, she risked becoming ensnared by a man she could neither trust nor defy.

The day before their summons to the palace, two visitors arrived at Norse Manor—Kasmer and Nasser, merchants from Cavinta. They came to inspect the three prototype models of the iron horses.

General Odin, still buried in the chaos left behind by the failed rebellion, had been ordered to hunt down the remaining insurgents who had infiltrated the capital. His elder sons were away in Carles, so the younger three accompanied him that day, leaving Lara without a proper escort.

"Reya," Lara called. "Come with me to the factory at Smokey Valley."

A dramatic gasp followed. "My Lady, I’m touched. Truly. I was beginning to think you’d forgotten I existed," Reya said, wiping away an imaginary tear.

Lara gave her a sidelong glare. "If you don’t stop with the theatrics, I’ll leave you behind."

"Please, don’t be angry," Reya said, stepping beside her. "I’m just happy to be at your side again. Since we came to the capital, you’ve been running yourself ragged. Even Little Grey and Snow miss you."

At the mention of her two pups, Lara paused. There they were by her side, tail-wagging and wide-eyed, their expressions full of childlike longing.

She knelt down and gently scratched their bellies, her fingers sinking into their soft fur. A pang of guilt tugged at her chest. "Go get ready," she told Reya softly, never taking her eyes off the two pups.

For a moment, the heavy decisions and tangled politics melted away, replaced by the quiet comfort of small, loyal hearts.

Kasmer brought a big carriage with him that could accommodate six people. He asked Nasser to sit beside the coachman.

Nasser blinked in disbelief. "Beside the driver?" he muttered under his breath. Of all the unlucky breaks... Still, he swallowed his grumbling and climbed up. You’re helping a prince chase his future wife, he reminded himself.

His face twisted. Wait—what in the heavens was that thought?He stole a glance back at Kasmer—thankfully too absorbed in offering his hand to Lara as she stepped gracefully into the carriage to notice Nasser’s inner turmoil.

"Wait—poor Reya!" Nasser called out as she struggled to climb up, her foot slipping from the step. He made a move to hop down and help her, but before he could, a large hand shot out from inside and yanked her up with unexpected strength.

It took them over one hour to reach the Smokey Valley, and when they did, Reya heaved a sigh of relief.

Lara, unfazed, was already on her feet. "Let’s begin."

"Here’s where we test the models," she explained, eyes gleaming with pride.

Before anyone could comment, Nasser rushed forward like a child drawn to candy.

"I want to try!"

One of the attendants gave a brief demonstration. Nasser nodded eagerly, mounted the bike—and within seconds:

Crassshhh

The Iron Horse toppled. Nasser lay groaning in the ground, limbs akimbo.

"What the hell happened?" Agilus who was still lying on the ground, complained "Something is wrong with the bike."

Lara pressed a palm to her forehead, exasperated. "It’s not the bike," she muttered. frёewebnoѵēl.com

With practiced ease, she picked up the fallen model in one hand. She reached out to help Agilus—but before her hand met his, another pair of hands appeared, lifting him with effortless grace.

She didn’t even pause. She mounted the bike, settled onto the saddle, and began to pedal. The crowd fell silent as she gained speed, maneuvering with uncanny control. At one point, she rose from the seat, balancing on the pedals, her hands released entirely from the handlebars.

She wore wide-legged palazzo pants, fluttering like banners in the wind as she circled the yard with increasing speed. The Iron Horse obeyed her as if it had a soul—and she its master.

When she skidded to a smooth stop, the gathered onlookers were speechless.

Agilus, his face redder than a summer beet, leaned over to Kasmer. "How... how did she ride it like that?"

Kasmer remained silent, studying the bike intently.

"Would you like to try, Kasmer?" She asked.

"Of course," he replied, his voice too calm to be natural.

Their fingers brushed as she handed over the bike. Kasmer flinched slightly, a flicker of pink blooming across his cheekbones. He turned away quickly, gripping the handlebars with sudden intensity.

He tried to mimic her. On the first attempt, his feet tangled. The bike wobbled.

Nasser chuckled loudly from the sidelines. "Now I’m not the only idiot here."

But his laughter died quickly. By the time he looked back, Kasmer had already adjusted. With quiet focus, he pedaled once... twice... and then, as if his body remembered something his mind had never learned, he was riding in smooth circles around the small quadrangle—graceful, effortless.

Nasser scowled. "How does he do that?"

Then he thought of Kasmer’s training, his schooling, the endless list of disciplines drilled into him since childhood. It made sense—but it still annoyed him.

Meanwhile, Lara had wandered to the far end of the yard where Kasmer had slowed to a stop. The bike’s chain had slipped from the gear. He was hunched, trying to fix it without success.

"Let me," she said gently, crouching beside him.

She leaned in—and then she froze.

A scent rose, faint but unmistakable. Warm cedar. Rain-dampened earth. And something else—something familiar.

She looked up, her heart stuttering.

"It’s really you. I am not wrong."

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