Return of the General's Daughter-Chapter 394: The Heart Of A King

King Heimdal closed his eyes for a long, measured moment, as if weighing the future of a kingdom on the tip of his tongue. When he spoke, his voice was low and deliberate, carrying the gravity of a man who knew the cost of every word.

"Summon General Hemer Frigo," he said. "I only pray it is not already too late. And quietly—send a rider to Kasmeri. He still commands loyalty among the border clans... and controls more than a few bandit groups. His hatred for Zura burns hot, and that fire may yet be useful. If we can win his allegiance, there may still be hope for Northem."

He opened his eyes again, pale and hard as steel. "And one more thing."

Reuben straightened instinctively. "Yes, Father?"

"You will remove your uncle Duval from your inner circle. The court must see where your loyalty truly lie—if they lie with the crown at all."

Reuben’s breath caught in his throat. "But Father, Duval’s network of spies is crucial. If I cast him out, we lose an eye and an ear in every corner of the kingdom."

"He is a dangerous ally," Heimdal said, voice flat and final. "Even if he is your uncle, we do not know where his allegiance truly lies."

Reuben clenched his jaw, the weight of the decision pressing on him like armor he had not yet earned. He hesitated.

"I’ll... consider it."

Heimdal’s mouth twisted into a bitter smile.

"You’ll either act—or Northem will fall. Consideration won’t keep the vultures from circling."

Reuben’s expression darkened, torn between duty and blood. Casting Duval aside—wouldn’t that be like gouging out one of his own eyes?

Heimdal raised a hand, signaling to a servant. The silent attendant stepped forward, producing a small, tightly rolled scroll. She handed it to Reuben with a bow.

"This letter bears my seal," Heimdal said. "Have it delivered to Orion’s house. Though he went to Calma, his steward remains loyal and watches over his estate. He’ll know what to do."

Reuben frowned, turning the scroll over in his fingers. "What is this, Father?"

"A plea," Heimdal said simply. "Written by my own hand. I am asking General Odin to forgive the transgressions committed against him by you—and your court. For the sake of Northem."

"Father!" Reuben’s voice rose sharply.

"You’re begging Odin? He’s a convicted criminal!"

His words rang through the chamber, startling even Mira, who stood silently behind them.

"Is he?" Heimdal replied, his tone calm but laced with iron. "You, of all people, should know the truth. Odin was no traitor. He and his sons were loyal to this kingdom—and it was your error in judgment that branded them otherwise. That chaos was a wound, and the neighboring kingdoms took the opportunity to hit Northem."

Reuben stood silent, unable to argue. The shame of it clung to him like a second skin.

"Pray that Odin does not bear a grudge," Heimdal continued. "If he does, then you will need every ounce of strength to hold the line against Turik. Send Hemer Frigo’s men to fortify the capital. Let Kasmeri keep the bandits in check."

Reuben bowed his head slowly. "Thank you, Father... for your guidance. I will act on it."

He straightened, tucking the scroll beneath his cloak, and turned to leave the chamber. Behind him, his father watched in silence—his eyes dim with melancholy, but sharp with warning.

As Reuben strode down the marble corridor, the weight of his father’s words clung to him like a second cloak—heavy, unwelcome, suffocating.

Remove Duval. Beg Odin. Trust Kasmeri and bandits to protect the kingdom.

His fingers curled into a fist beneath his cloak, crushing the scroll as though he could will it into dust.

Does he think ruling is as simple as drawing lines in the sand and issuing commands from a throne room?

Heimdal had once been a force, yes—but that was years ago, when Northem stood unchallenged and its enemies dared not breathe its name without trembling.

Now, the crown was rusting, and Heimdal clung to it like an old ghost unwilling to fade.

He wants me to cast out Duval? Reuben’s mind spiraled. The man who built our intelligence web from nothing? The only one who truly knows how deep Zura’s spy run in our court? Removing him would be like burning down the roof in the middle of a storm.

And then there was Odin.

Plead with a man we condemned? A general banished because of my decision. Reuben’s stomach churned. What kind of ruler does that make me? What kind of man?

He could still see Odin’s eyes the day of the exile—betrayed, hollow, yet proud. Odin had not begged. He had stood tall, even as the chains bit into his wrists. And now, his father wanted Reuben to do what Odin never did.

Grovel.

Is this strength? Or cowardice wearing a crown?

He passed a tall stained-glass window—sunlight falling across his face in fractured colors.

For a moment, his reflection stared back from the pane: young, uncertain, burdened. A boy wearing a man’s title.

He touched the scroll inside his cloak again, his hand trembling slightly.

If I send this... if Odin returns... will he serve me, or take his revenge on me?

And what of Kasmeri? Hemer Frigo? These names were blades—each useful, but each just as likely to cut the hand that held them.

Heimdal spoke of strategy, but Reuben wondered if the ailed king was still playing a game that no longer existed.

Or maybe, he thought grimly, he’s just trying to fix with letters and orders what he broke years ago in silence and pride.

His steps slowed. A part of him wished—foolishly—that Heimdal would rise from his chair one more time, lead the armies again, bear the blame again. But the king was sick, half his foot already on the grave. Will Northem die with him.

It’s my kingdom now, Reuben told himself, though the words rang hollow. He would act, yes—but not blindly. Not even for the king who sired him.

Reuben found Duval in the justice hall, seated near the tall window where the light fell just so on the folds of his deep crimson cloak. A half-empty goblet of spiced wine rested in his hand, his other fingers idly stroking the bejeweled hilt of the dagger at his hip. The scent of myrrh clung to the air—Duval always chose his settings carefully, like a stage already set.

"You’re early," Duval said without turning. "I thought you’d stew on it longer."

Reuben stood in silence. That unnerved him. Duval finally looked back over his shoulder, one brow raised like a man who already knew the outcome of the game.

"I assume this visit is about your father."

"You assume correctly," Reuben said, stepping forward. His voice was carefully measured. "He’s asked me to... reassess my inner circle."

Duval let out a short, humorless laugh.

"Reassess? Or remove?"

Reuben said nothing.

Duval turned fully now, the light hitting his face—sharp features, lined with experience and suspicion. His eyes, pale like glacial water, locked onto Reuben’s.

"I’ve served this kindom longer than you’ve worn a crown," Duval said coolly. "And I’ve protected you since you could barely hold a sword straight. I built the network that holds your court together. And now Heimdal, bedridden and breathing dust, would have you cut me loose because he no longer understands the world?"

Reuben’s fist clenched. "It’s not about loyalty to him. It’s about loyalty to the crown. To me."

Duval stood slowly, setting the goblet aside.

"And you doubt mine?"

"I don’t know ," Reuben said sharply. "You deal in secrets, in whispers and bribes and things even I’m not privy to. That’s a power too dangerous to let fester unchecked."

Duval stepped closer, voice dropping.

"Power is dangerous, Reuben. That’s why it must belong to someone who knows how to wield it. I’ve protected your reign from knives in the dark, both real and political. Who do you think fed you intelligence on the nobles in Estalis? Who do you think bribed the rebels and bandits so Odin would fall from his pedestal? Who bought you time when you were flailing to hold the capital when the people were clamoring for Alaric as their crown prince?"

Reuben’s jaw tightened. The truth of it stung. Duval had done those things. But the shadows he worked in were growing deeper, harder to trace.

"There are rumors, Uncle. That your spies answer to more than just you."

Duval smiled faintly. "There are always rumors. Shall I repeat some of yours, Your Highness?"

The room chilled.

"I need to show the court where I stand," Reuben said. "I need to make a statement."

"A scapegoat, you mean."

Reuben didn’t respond.

Duval let the silence stretch, then gave a slow nod. "If you remove me from your inner circle, you’ll weaken yourself. My network is loyal to me, not the throne you sit on. Remove me, and you’ll lose them."

"I know, Uncle, and I don’t agree with my Father about you," Reuben said.

Duval studied him, then let out a slow breath. "Hmmm. That is good. You are smarter than your father. I am happy you did not disappoint."

Though both men said words that were cordial, there was an undercurrent between them. But there was no shout, no drawn steel. Just two men—one young, wearing a crown he hadn’t yet grown into; the other old, coiled like a serpent at rest. The danger between them was not in what was said, but in what was left unsaid.