Return of the General's Daughter-Chapter 576: The Tyrant King 3

"Enough," Midas snapped.

The word cracked through the hall like a lash. Yet even as his voice rang with command, something treacherous flickered in his eyes at the mention of the western neighbors—and he remembered one king in particular. Was it fear, or was it perhaps fury? The distinction was razor-thin.

The crown prince leaned close, murmuring urgently into his father’s ear. Midas listened in silence, thick fingers drumming against the gilded armrest, each tap measured, deliberate. When his gaze lifted, it did not settle on Kasmeri, nor Bernard, nor Odin.

It landed on Lara.

"You," the king said at last. His voice dropped, heavy with menace. "A woman bold enough to speak in my hall must be bold enough to answer a question."

Lara stepped forward once more, the echo of her shoes sounding far too loud in the hush that followed.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Midas studied her as a jeweler might study a flawed gem—searching for cracks, for any sign of weakness.

"Why," he asked slowly, "should this king believe Azurverda has no ulterior motives?" His eyes narrowed. "An empire rising from the east—borne from a territory fractured for generations, stitched together through inheritance in the North and conquest in the South. And now you arrive here, flaunting resources that rival kingdoms older than yours." His lip curled. "You stride into my hall expecting trust? Cooperation?" A pause, sharp as a blade’s edge. "Do you take me for a fool?"

Though the question was aimed at Lara, every noble in the hall felt it strike home. Bodies leaned forward. Whispers stilled. Suspicion thickened the air until it was almost breathable.

Lara understood at once.

This was not merely an accusation. It was a test. A trap. And if played well, an opportunity.

"We do not ask for trust," she said calmly, her voice unyielding as stone. "As you say, Your Majesty, we seek only cooperation. And profit."

The murmuring died instantly.

"A cooperation?" Midas repeated, a spark of interest igniting behind his eyes.

"Yes, Your Majesty." General Odin finally stepped forward, his presence commanding, his voice firm. "You command one of the largest armies on the continent. Our military strength is insignificant by comparison. You possess wealth unmatched. We seek no dominance—only the benefits of commerce under your shadow."

The crown prince’s gaze landed on General Odin, calculating. Did they just come for trade and not spy on Westalis? He leaned into his father and spoke in a voice only the two of them could hear.

"Father, the envoys need to show their sincerity. Remember, we are already facing threats from the Kraken Alliance of the Western countries, and the coalition in the south. Even our eastern vassals have begun meeting in secrecy."

Lara spoke before Midas could respond, her tone respectful but unflinching.

Lara chimed in, voice measured and clear. "You are strong, Your Majesty. But strong kingdoms do not fall from lack of enemies—they fall from lack of foresight, but if the King of Westalis lacks something, then it is not definitely foresight."

A sharp intake of breath rippled through the hall.

General Odin took an involuntary step back. Bernard and Gideon leaned closer to Lara, alarm flashing across their faces. Kasmeri and Aramis shook their heads in unison.

What in the world was she thinking? Aramais thought.

"How audacious!" Midas surged to his feet, fists slamming against the armrests of his throne with a thunderous crack.

Several nobles stiffened. Guards shifted. The silence that followed was vast and crushing.

Kasmeri bowed deeply. "My apologies if Lady Lara has offended you, Your Majesty. She did not mean it."

Midas’s gaze burned. "What manner of upbringing is this in Azurverda? What kind of men allow their women to speak in words that flatter yet cut? What kind of father permits a daughter to speak so boldly and without restrain—before a king?"

A vein pulsed at Odin’s temple. Rage surged—but Lara lifted a hand, stopping him cold.

She bowed—not deeply enough to be submission, not shallow enough to be defiance.

"Truly, Your Majesty, we seek only a trade agreement with Westalis. It would cost you nothing." Her voice softened, then sharpened. "But denying it may cost you everything."

The king stared at her for a long time. He was studying her like a predator would study its prey. When he finally smiled, it was not with lust or mockery—but calculation. Something far more dangerous.

Odin subtly shifted his stance, ready for anything. So did Gideon. And Odin’s eyes, for the first time, darted toward the queen.

Queen Hermione had not spoken once. But she was watching Lara with a sharp, assessing expression. And she was smiling.

A small, almost invisible smile—but it was there as though Lara had said something she found... interesting. Or useful.

Midas finally leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Duke of Greenshire," he said slowly, "this girl of yours plays a fine game."

Kasmeri bowed. "She speaks only truth, Your Majesty."

Midas’s grin widened, wolfish and pleased. "Truth," he said softly, "is often the deadliest weapon."

He sat back, fingers steepling.

"Very well. Let us see how well Azurverda can continue playing this game."

At Kasmeri’s signal, Azurverdan guards stepped forward, laying out the product samples they had brought—novel and rare items not seen anywhere in Westalis. The craftsmanship was intricate—each piece a silent argument.

Before the king could speak again, a stir rose near the entrance.

There were voices and a flurry of footsteps. Then the massive wooden doors swung wide.

Duke Kassius entered with his wife, Princess Tara, and their daughters—Shaya and Hanna—drawing every eye in the hall.

"Greetings, Your Majesties." Kassius bowed low before the throne. "Forgive our tardiness. We were... delayed on the road."

"Greetings, Your Majesties." Two soft voices filled the air like a sweet melody.

When Bener heard the familiar voice greeting the King of Westalis, his head lifted before his mind could stop it—hope stirring where he had long told himself not to expect it.

Then he saw her.

His breath caught, sharp and sudden, as though his lungs itself had forgotten how to exhale. Weeks of absence collapsed into a single heartbeat. The noise of the hall—the rustle of silk, the murmur of nobles, the scrape of boots on marble—fell away until there was nothing left but her.

Shaya.

She looked thinner than the last time he saw her. She looked familiar and yet entirely different, as if distance had sharpened her presence rather than dulled it. Bener felt the ache he had carried in silence rise all at once—the unspoken conversations, the nights spent wondering if she thought of him as often as he thought of her.

For a moment, the world narrowed to the fragile space between them. Politics, alliances, and even royalties lost their weight.

There was only Shaya—and the quiet, dangerous realization that seeing her again did not ease his longing.

It made it unbearable.