Return of the General's Daughter-Chapter 574: The Tyrant King

"Their Majesties, King Midas and Queen Hermione, arrive!" The herald's thunderous cry rolled across the banquet hall like a command.

Prime Minister Musni who was about to confront Netser was silenced. At once, he and Netser, along with the assembled courtiers split apart, retreating toward the side to clear a path. Silks rustled. Boots scraped. No one dared breathe too loudly as the rulers of Westalis made their entrance.

Lara watched them advance—an impeccably choreographed procession of absolute power. Queen Hermione glided with the severe grace of a swan, but it was the king who drew every eye in the hall. Midas walked as though the stones themselves bent beneath his heels, his cloak trailing behind him like a dark omen. The light of the chandeliers struck the gold in his crown and robes, but his presence outshone the metal; it was the oppressive aura of a man accustomed to obedience, fear, and swift punishment. 𝕗𝗿𝕖𝐞𝐰𝗲𝕓𝐧𝕠𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝐨𝚖

Conversation died entirely as the royal pair ascended toward the dais, where the golden throne loomed like a sun forged of greed. When they finally settled upon their seats, tension in the room thinned just enough for the Minister of Foreign Affairs to step forward.

"Your Majesties, may I present the envoys from the new empire of Azurverda. Their delegation is headed by the Duke of Greenshire—Kasmeri."

"Greetings, Your Majesties."

Kasmeri, Aramis, Bernard, Netser, Logan, Lara, Nympha, and even General Odin with his two armored sons all dipped into the customary bow. Metal whispered as Odin straightened, jaw clenched.

King Midas sniffed derisively, his lip curling. "A 'new empire,' is it?" he sneered, raking his gaze over them like a blade. "You mean Northem dressed in grander clothing." His eyes paused when they reached Lara and Nympha. "And you bring women as part of your offering? Are they meant for my pleasure?"

His voice carried enough venom to sour the air. His gaze—far too lingering, far too invasive—slid down Lara in open appraisal. For a man in his late forties, the hunger in his expression was almost feral.

General Odin's fists tightened; the leather of his gloves strained. He shifted a fraction forward, but Bener caught his arm and gave a single, sharp shake of his head.

Lara lifted her chin and met the king's stare without flinching. Across from her, a thin, sharp-faced man—the king's eunuch, by her guess—glared at her with murderous contempt. How dare a woman return the king's gaze, his eyes seemed to hiss. Let her continue, and I will personally rip out her eyes and feed them to the crows.

"Your Majesty," Lara said calmly, her voice a cool stream cutting through the stifling room, "we are here to present the products developed in Azurverda."

King Midas threw back his head and bellowed a laugh so loud tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. The hall trembled with the force of it—and the people shrank even further from him.

"I was not aware," Midas drawled, "that the men of Azurverda were so feeble they must hide behind a woman to speak for them."

Arrogance thickened his voice as his gaze slid from Kasmeri to Bernard, then to Netser—each glance a deliberate insult—before finally settling on General Odin.

"Tell me," he continued, lips curling, "have your generals misplaced their tongues… or simply lost the courage to use them?"

For a heartbeat or two, Midas's amusement faltered. Something in Odin, Bener, and Gideon's stillness must have reached him. He felt an icy pressure descended on him. A faint flicker of unease crossed his eyes. But just as quickly, it hardened back into predatory sharpness.

Kasmeri stepped forward. His bow was respectful, but his voice carried an undercurrent of steel.

"The men of Azurverda are heroic and noble, Your Majesty—gifted in many arts and courageous in battle. But our women are no less capable. Some of our finest products are best demonstrated by them because those were made by them."

"Oh?" King Midas leaned back, tapping a finger on the armrest of his gilded throne. "We shall see."

Before Kasmeri could continue, the crown prince strode up the steps of the dais and took the seat below his father. His expression was haughty, bored, and faintly irritated.

"Father," he said, waving a dismissive hand toward the envoys, "I argued with them earlier. They refuse to understand reason. Arguing with them about the virtues of women will only waste your most precious time. Their women bewitched them. If not, why would they treat their women as if they could hold up half the sky?"

The crown prince's complaint hung in the air like a slap, and a ripple of unease spread through the hall. The nobles and courtiers lowered their gazes, trying to appear invisible. Even the musicians at the far end of the chamber stilled, hands frozen above their instruments.

Ziva's grip tightened around her husband's hand, and he could feel the tremor in it. He knew his wife was scared, but there was nothing he could do about it.

King Midas snorted. "You shouldn't have argued." His voice cracked like a whip. "If these envoys fail to grasp the order of things, you should have beaten the lesson into them."

A few nobles tittered nervously, eager to appease him. The rest trembled.

The hall itself seemed to lean toward the king—columns carved with lions and dragons casting long shadows across the marble floor. The golden chandeliers overhead flickered, their glow catching the mirrored plates lining the walls—an architectural choice meant to make the hall look twice as grand, but now it only reflected the unease on a hundred faces.

Midas shifted in his throne, lounging with the indulgent cruelty of a man who believed the hall existed solely for his amusement.

"Well then," he said, lips curling, "let us see what this 'new empire' thinks it can offer Westalis." His eyes flicked lazily to Lara. "I won't normally speak to a woman, as their intelligence is an insult to mine. But since this girl is pretty, she will speak, and I will listen."

Lara despite her self control almost lost it. But in the end, she stepped forward.

Her shoes clicked lightly against the marble, a calm counterpoint to the heavy silence. Though the king had tried to use her as a target for mockery, she moved with unmistakable command—shoulders leveled, chin poised, gaze unwavering. The torchlight shimmered off the crimson fabric of her dress, accentuating the controlled power in her posture.

Some nobles shifted, startled by her composure. Women in Westalis were expected to shrink—to avoid being noticed, much less stand before the king with steady eyes. But Lara refused to fold.

King Midas's eyes narrowed, sharpened to cold slits. "You dare step forward without being summoned?" His voice rumbled with dangerous amusement. "Azurverdan discipline of their women must be lax indeed… or perhaps your men are too cowardly to restrain you."

"I step forward," Lara answered evenly, "because you asked to hear from 'the girl,' Your Majesty. I assumed you meant me."

A sharp intake of breath swept through the hall. Odin and his sons braced. The rest of the envoys froze mid-breath.