Return of the General's Daughter
Chapter 289: The Duchess of Arches

Chapter 289: The Duchess of Arches

The following morning, Sandoz rose before dawn, a thin blue light just beginning to leak across the horizon. The air was cool and heavy with dew, the estate still sleeping beneath layers of silence. He changed swiftly into his training clothes, cinched his belt, and slipped outside toward the grounds.

The courtyard, usually empty at this hour, was already alive with motion.

Lara was on the monkey bars—her silhouette fluid and controlled, a predator in motion. Her arms flexed as she swung and vaulted with the grace of a cat and the force of a soldier. She had insisted they be installed, and Gideon had obeyed. No one denied Lara much these days.

As Sandoz stepped onto the field, she caught sight of him, and without breaking rhythm, somersaulted off the final bar, landing in a crouch before rising in a single breathless motion.

"Ready?" she asked with a half-smile, already tossing him a practice sword.

They began with drills—strikes, blocks, footwork. Her movements were clean, precise, but never robotic. Sandoz struggled to keep pace, sweat blooming across his back. When she sensed his attention waning, she changed weapons—introducing arnis, then nunchaku. The shift brought excitement back into his eyes.

The sticks cracked with rhythmic intensity. The nunchaku hissed through the air, spinning in her hands like extensions of her own spirit.

High above, General Odin watched from his balcony, arms crossed, eyes narrowed with interest. The morning sun burnished the edges of his armor.

"Hmph," he muttered. "My old master was biased. Why didn’t he teach me that?"

Freya appeared beside him, her expression clouded with concern. "Aren’t you worried?"

"Why should I be?" Odin replied, eyes still fixed on his daughter. "Look at her. She’s made of fire and steel. No one dares bend her."

"Yes, but watching her like this... Which noble family would dare marry her now? She’s not a delicate flower, Odin. She’s a storm."

Odin let out a low chuckle. "Then let them be afraid. Any man who cannot match her strength doesn’t deserve her hand. It would be their loss."

Freya didn’t argue. Not aloud. But her lips pressed into a thin line.

Below, the sound of soft footsteps approached the field. Linnea emerged from the archway, her figure fragile in the morning light. Her steps were hesitant, her expression wary—but there was something stronger too. A flicker of will.

Sandoz called out to her, waving. Lara turned, smiled, then—without warning—tackled Linnea to the ground.

From the balcony, Freya gasped. Odin straightened.

He was about to storm down when he stopped. Lara wasn’t being cruel—she was training. She gave Linnea brief instructions, demonstrating a defensive hold. Linnea listened, then tried. Her first attempts were clumsy, but by the fourth try, she managed to twist out of Lara’s chokehold, landing hard but free.

There was silence. Then Sandoz clapped.

Odin exhaled slowly, nodding. "She’ll be just fine."

...

Inside the Duchess tea room, the air was perfumed with myrrh and lavender, but the warmth was only skin-deep. A servant bowed low. No smiles. Just mechanical obedience, sharp eyes trained to observe and report.

From the grand staircase, a figure descended with deliberate grace.

The Duchess.

She wore deep emerald silk, cut to command attention. Her golden hair was arranged in elaborate coils, her chin held high like a queen surveying her court. Her eyes—icy blue and unreadable—flicked over them, resting first on Sandoz, then Linnea, and last, Lara.

"You’re back," she said, her voice cool and perfectly pleasant, like a winter wind that whispers before it bites. "We were beginning to wonder if the Marchioness had stolen our young heir altogether."

Sandoz tensed, instinctively stepping in front of his mother. Lara said nothing, only offered a shallow nod.

"Your Grace," she said, her tone neutral but dipped in silk. "Our time together was brief, but productive. Sandoz is progressing well."

"Good," the Duchess remarked, her voice devoid of warmth. Her gaze flicked back to Linnea, cutting and precise, as though it could pierce through the layers of velvet surrounding them.

"I trust," she continued, a hint of icy amusement in her tone, "I trust you did not burden the Marchioness and her daughter too much, Lady Linnea? After all, you possess quite the knack for... fostering emotional burdens."

Linnea bowed her head slightly. "No, Your Grace. The Marchioness was most generous."

A glimmer of contempt passed through the duchess’s expression, quickly masked. Her smile sharpened.

"Well, see that you rest. You look... marginally improved."

Linnea’s knuckles whitened as she clutched Sandoz’s hand tightly. Her silence—years in the making—tightened around her throat. She forced a polite smile. "Thank you."

Just then, Connor emerged from the drawing room, his boots thudding against the marble. His face, always unreadable, softened slightly when he saw his son.

"Sandoz, my son. You are back," he said, opening his arms.

The boy hesitated, then walked into the embrace. Connor held him tightly, a flicker of guilt hidden behind his stern gaze.

"How is your training?" he murmured.

"It went well, Father. Sister Lara is a good teacher and I like staying with her," Sandoz said, glancing sideways at Lara. "She teaches me new things."

Connor looked at Lara, something complex flickering in his expression—approval, curiosity, perhaps even wariness. He nodded. "Good."

The Duchess’s smile thinned.

"Perhaps Lady Lara should remain with us longer, then," she said. "The boy seems so taken with her."

"Perhaps she should," Connor replied evenly, not looking at his wife.

The tension settled like smoke in the hall, thick and slow to clear.

"My apologies, Your Grace. I have a prior appointment and could not stay long." Freya declined.

Lara and her mother bid Connor and Eloisa goodbye. She then gave Linnea a quick hug before heading out.

"Come," the Duchess said at last. "I have something to give you."

She turned and ascended the stairs, her gown sweeping behind her like a serpent’s tail. Linnea hesitated. She looked at Sandoz—just for a second—and Sandoz gave her the smallest of nods.

You are not alone.

They climbed the stairs together. Sandoz held his mother’s hand the entire way, his grip firm. For the first time, Linnea didn’t feel like she was walking into the mouth of the beast. Not completely.

Search the lightnovelworld.cc website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.