Return of the General's Daughter
Chapter 172: The Purge : Trial of the Magistrate

Chapter 172: The Purge : Trial of the Magistrate

While Prince Alaric still slept peacefully, Agilus was already hard at work. Alongside a trusted ally from the Baron’s residence, he organized the safe return of the abducted children to their families.

The house, once filled with the laughter, chatter, and occasional outbursts of young voices, slowly fell into a hushed stillness. By midday, The House of Mendel stood eerily quiet.

All of the children had been carefully herded into carriages bound for various corners of the kingdom—every one of them except three.

A ten-year-old boy, a dark-skinned girl of eleven, and her wide-eyed younger brother, just nine years old, stood silently in the front yard. Unlike the others, they had no home to return to. Orphans, they had once wandered the back alleys and streets of the capital before being swept up by the same cruel hands that had taken so many others.

Samuel and Jethru exchanged a look, a silent agreement passing between them. They would take responsibility for the three—for now, at least. The children would stay in the side room on the ground floor while the men worked out something more permanent. The house of Mendel, with its wide halls and warm hearths, would be their shelter, if not yet their home.

...

When Alaric finally stirred, it was nearly noon. His first thought was confusion, followed quickly by suspicion. He sat up slowly, rubbing the grogginess from his eyes as Lara entered the room, checking in on him.

"You put something in my drink?" he said sharply, his voice laced with quiet irritation.

Lara didn’t flinch. "I did," she admitted, meeting his gaze evenly. "And I’m sorry. But your body needed rest, and I needed you to be calm."

"Next time, don’t do it." He said, his voice cold.

Lara stiffened. The man before him was unfamiliar to her.

Alaric rose without another word, his expression unreadable. Normally, anyone who dared to drug a prince—physician or not—would be punished without hesitation. But this was Lara. And her presence, despite everything, made him hesitate.

He stepped through the front door and called for Aramis, instructing him to summon Agilus to the garden at the left side of the house—the same shaded space beneath the oak where Lara and Agilus had spoken earlier.

Within minutes, Agilus arrived, slightly out of breath, his cloak billowing behind him.

"We’ve settled the children," he said, straightening up. "The caravans are guarded, and everyone’s accounted for."

Alaric nodded, but his eyes lingered on Lara a moment longer than usual. She entered the house from the back door after hesitating for a while. She wanted to join them both but decided against it in the end.

"How are you, Ari?" Agilus asked, concern breaking through his usual nonchalance.

"I’m fine," Alaric muttered, lowering himself onto the wooden bench beneath the tree. The sunlight filtered through the leaves, dappling his face in gold and shadow. "Didn’t expect to fall asleep, that’s all."

A complex emotion crossed his face. If it was someone else, he would have been severely punished because of meddling into his affairs, but it was Lara so he could only shrug.

Agilus took the opposite bench.

"Have the dispatched soldiers gathered enough evidence?" he asked. This time, he sat down on the wooden bench, and Agilus sat opposite him.

"They’ve gathered enough." Agilus grinned. "More than enough. You know our team. Thorough as ever." he bragged.

"Then what are we waiting for?" Alaric said impatiently.

"Well, lunch, actually," Agilus quipped, his stomach growling in confirmation.

As if summoned by fate itself, Reya’s voice rang out from the back door. "Everyone! Lunch is served—please come inside!"

...

After a hearty meal filled with quiet conversation and the comforting clatter of cutlery, Alaric stood from the table and turned toward the door, cloak swinging over his shoulder.

"I’ll take my leave now," he said simply.

"Wait!" Lara called, her tone bright and teasing. "Where are you going?"

Jethru, ever the voice of caution, cleared his throat beside her. "Lara," he murmured under his breath. "Remember who you’re speaking to."

She grinned mischievously. "But I am his physician. Surely I can accompany him?"

Alaric turned, eyes sweeping over her—still dressed in a yellow sundress, loose hair catching the light. His gaze lingered, and Lara realized the hesitation.

"Give me a few minutes. I’ll be right back." Indeed, she kept her word and was back in a few minutes —not as Lara, but as Kane Mendel, clad in sharp attire, her hair tied back in a topknot, her demeanor suddenly far more commanding.

...

The group made their way to the Magistrate’s Office, nestled in the heart of Calma’s town center. The sun bathed the square in warm golden light, illuminating the intricate stone carvings that adorned the office’s façade. Lively chatter and the scent of freshly baked bread floated through the air, adding to the lively atmosphere as they approached their destination.

The magistrate, a round man with a balding head and a belly that strained against his tunic, met them at the entrance of the building with a nervous smile and a sheen of sweat already gathering on his forehead.

"Ah, His Highness! Forgive me for not receiving you properly yesterday," he said, bowing clumsily. "It was late, and I spend my evenings with family, you understand—"

Alaric raised a hand, silencing him. He did not like long-winded conversations.

"Let’s not waste time. We’re here for one reason."

The magistrate’s smile wavered, and deep lines etched into his face. A bead of sweat slipped down his cheek.

"Magistrate Torices," Agilus began, voice cool but firm, "we have reviewed numerous petitions—accounts of injustice, abuse of power, and corruption—all traced back to your office. These grievances have reached the capital. The prince is here on royal authority to place you under investigation and escort you to trial."

Torices paled instantly. His legs buckled, and he gripped the edge of the doorway to keep from collapsing.

"This... this can’t be..." he whispered hoarsely. "Why would the capital care about Calma? No one’s cared in years..."

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