Return of the General's Daughter
Chapter 108: The Jealous Guy

Chapter 108: The Jealous Guy

Alaric was unaware of the irritation, simmering within him, but he felt it—a prickling unease he couldn’t quite name. It settled beneath his skin like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

Asael reached out and ruffled Lara’s neatly tied bun, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Rest assured, I will keep this between us," he murmured, his voice low enough for only her to hear.

Lara smiled, warmth blossoming in her chest. She had fully embraced this new life—a family she never expected, elder brothers who teased her, and a father.

"Ahem." Agilus, trailing close behind Alaric, cleared his throat deliberately. "Are we interrupting something?" He cast Kane a pointed glance, his eyes glinting with mischief.

Lara’s expression darkened. "What’s with that look?" she asked, her tone laced with disdain. She knew exactly what he was insinuating—what a filthy mind.

Agilus ignored her and continued, "Ari said his stomach hurt and—"

Alaric’s sharp glare cut him off mid-sentence.

Agilus swallowed before finishing in silent surrender, ’—he wanted you to check on him.’

Lara’s demeanor shifted instantly into that of a doctor. "Go lie down," she instructed, already assessing him with a critical eye. "Didn’t I tell you your wound hasn’t fully healed? Why do you keep running around?"

"Hey, you—watch your tone! How dare you speak like that to his high—"

A sudden chill crept up Agilus’s spine, forcing him to reconsider his words. "To General Alaric," he corrected hastily.

It was then that Asael, too absorbed in Lara to notice before, suddenly realized the identity of the man standing before him. His eyes widened.

Was he here earlier with his father?

"Your Highness?" he blurted out in shock.

Alaric’s cold gaze flicked toward Asael, unreadable and piercing.

"There’s no need for formality," he said smoothly. "Just call me General." Without waiting for a response, he strode toward the cot in the corner—the same one he had used that morning—his movements fluid yet commanding.

Prince? Lara’s thoughts whirled. So, he’s royalty? She had assumed he was just a general, but now it made sense—the regal air, the effortless authority in his every step.

So he wasn’t really simple.

She followed him to the cot, where he had already reclined, hands folded behind his head, eyes closed as if entirely at ease. She pulled up a small wooden stool, the one Aramis had crafted that morning, and settled beside him. Peeling back the bandages, she examined his wound, expecting something amiss—but there was nothing.

Her gaze drifted upward, drawn to his face. He was breathtakingly handsome—sharp cheekbones, a strong jawline, and a well-defined nose. His lashes, dark and thick, cast shadows against his skin.

He looked like a sculpted Greek God.

As if sensing her scrutiny, Alaric’s eyes suddenly opened.

Lara barely had a moment to react before those obsidian piercing, deep-set eyes locked onto hers. An intensity flickered there, unreadable but unwavering.

Lara, who was caught off guard, blushed and withdrew her gaze.

"Your external wound seems fine," she said briskly, regaining her composure. "I suspect you’ve put too much strain on it by running around. You should rest properly, Your Highness." She deliberately emphasized the last two words.

Alaric’s expression darkened and was looking displeased. "I told you, you can call me, Ari."

Lara arched a brow. "And let others get the wrong idea? I think I’ll stick with General."

From his cot, Asael frowned as he listened to the banter. A peculiar thought crept into his mind—was Prince Alaric trying to get Kane’s attention? But since he didn’t know that Kane was actually a woman, did that mean... the prince liked men?

Alaric’s voice pulled Lara from her thoughts. "Where are you going?"

She was already rising to her feet, heading for the exit. "To cook something nutritious for you."

The corners of Alaric’s lips curled into a smile. Yes. She is cooking for me.

"and Asael." Lara added as she disappeared from the tent.

...

Lara left the infirmary. At the entrance she encountered Aramis and Angus whom she acknowledged with a nod.

When she went to the tent where they had their provision, Aramis followed him.

"Why are you following me? Your boss is already here," she said without looking back.

"He said my primary duty is to protect you." Aramis replied nonchalantly.

Lara sighed but didn’t argue.

At the camp’s makeshift kitchen, soldiers bustled about, stirring massive pots of steaming porridge balanced atop stone fire pits. The rich aroma of broth and grains filled the air, but when she asked the quartermaster for a piece of chicken, his face twisted into a grimace.

When Lara asked for one piece of chicken, the face of the soldier in charge of the provision turned ugly. They only had dried meat. Lara understood his predicament.

"Never mind." Her gaze shifted toward the foot of Mount Roca. Unlike its rocky midsection and peak, the base of the mountain was lush with vegetation. There was still time before nightfall.

Without another word, she strode toward the forest, Aramis trailing behind like a silent shadow. An hour and a half later, they emerged—Lara freshly bathed and clad in new clothes, while Aramis carried four fully dressed wild chickens. She herself carried two plump pheasants.

She had made sure to give Aramis a task—cleaning and plucking the birds—so she could slip away to bathe in the nearby stream. To her relief, he had been too occupied to notice.

Back at the kitchen, she handed the four cleaned chickens to the cook. "Add them to the porridge," she instructed.

Another hour passed before she returned to the infirmary, a small pot of thick rice broth in hand. Steam curled into the air, carrying the scent of slow-cooked chicken, fresh greens, and fragrant herbs.

She fashioned a makeshift bowl from layered banana leaves, scooped out a generous portion, and placed it in Alaric’s hands.

"Eat this quickly while it’s still hot," she said firmly.

Then, she moved to Asael’s cot, gently waking him. As he stirred, she helped him sit upright, ensuring he wouldn’t choke as he ate.

The room was quiet, save for the soft clinking of utensils and the distant murmur of soldiers outside.

Then Alaric called.

"Kane!"

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