Return of the General's Daughter
Chapter 296: Not A Prince From A Fairy Tale

Chapter 296: Not A Prince From A Fairy Tale

Lara’s smile bloomed, soft and unguarded, like a bud blossoming into a flower.

Prince Alaric flushed, his brows knitting in mild confusion. "What?" he asked, flustered. "Why are you smiling like that? Did I say something ridiculous?"

"You just claimed you’re not a prince from a fairy tale," Lara said, tilting her head with a mischievous glint in her eye. "So what does that make you then?"

He straightened, a trace of pride returning to his voice. "A prince of Northem. A real prince," he replied, solemn and sincere.

From within the folds of his cloak, Alaric drew out a small wooden box, the surface smooth and exquisitely carved, its edges trimmed in delicate gold leaf. He held it to her with both hands, as if offering something sacred.

Curious, Lara accepted it, fingertips brushing his as she opened the lid. Nestled inside was a silver bracelet—its design intricate and familiar, echoing the motif of the necklace already gracing her collarbone.

Her breath caught. "It’s beautiful," she whispered, fingers lingering on the metal. Then her gaze lifted—and collided with his.

Alaric’s obsidian eyes, dark and fathomless, were already on her. In their depths swirled unspoken emotions: something tender, something aching. Lara’s heart stumbled. Was it devotion she saw? Desire? Longing? Or something deeper, heavier—love?

He stepped forward, breaking the silence between them. Carefully, he took the bracelet from her hands and fastened it around her wrist. It fit snugly—not too tight, not too loose—as if it had always belonged there.

"I didn’t know if you preferred gold," Alaric murmured, his voice low, "but your necklace is silver. So I chose this to match."

"Silver is perfect," Lara replied softly, her voice tinged with something close to wonder. "I’ve always loved silver." She said. Even in the past, while others were crazy about golden jewelry, she preferred silver.

Their eyes met again, and this time, she didn’t look away.

He cleared his throat and stepped back, just enough to create space, but not enough to hide the flicker of emotion still etched in his features.

"Silver suits you," he said at last, his voice quieter now. "It has a quiet strength. Like moonlight. Like you."

Lara lowered her gaze, warmth blooming in her cheeks. Compliments never quite unsettled her—she’d heard them before from her father’s men she worked with during missions—but this one struck something deeper, something she hadn’t guarded against.

"You’re different from what I expected," she admitted. "I didn’t think you could flatter. Agilus must have taught you that, right?"

Alaric chuckled. Then he clasped her left hand. His big ones enveloped hers completely. Her hand was soft, but he could feel the calluses. It was not the hand of a noble lady. But he liked the feeling of holding it in his.

"It is not flattery. It is the truth." He said in a serious tone.

"You seemed to be no ordinary prince..." Lara clasped his hand tightly. "No, not just a prince... but something else entirely."

Alaric arched a brow. "Something better, I hope?"

"Something... real," she said. "Unexpectedly real."

A gust of wind passed through, causing the leaves to rustle. For a moment, neither spoke. The silence wasn’t awkward—it was charged, electric, the kind that hung between two people on the edge of something unknown.

Lara turned the bracelet gently around her wrist, letting the metal catch the light. "Did you have this made?"

"I did," Alaric said. "The pendant design comes from an old symbol in Northem—four petals with a circle intertwining them in the middle. Unity without losing one’s shape." His eyes found hers again. "I thought you might understand that," he said meaningfully.

Lara looked up, her expression softer now. "More than you know."

Alaric took a half-step closer. "Then perhaps... we’re not so different, you and I." He lingered for a moment, his fingers brushing the inside of her wrist lightly, reverently, as though memorizing the feel of her skin beneath the silver. The touch sent a ripple up Lara’s arm, soft but undeniable.

He cleared his throat and stepped back, just enough to create space, but not enough to hide the flicker of emotion still etched in his features.

She didn’t respond right away. Her mind was a blur of questions, of instincts warning her, memories whispering caution. And yet—his nearness was disarming. His presence, grounding.

Lara finally nodded, just once. "Perhaps."

The sound of boots echoed faintly from down the corridor—distant, but approaching. Whatever spell had woven around them began to unravel, reality reasserting itself.

Lara looked toward the sound, then back at him. "The ladies are probably looking for me," she said with reluctant amusement.

"And now they’ll find you fraternizing with the abandoned prince," Alaric said lightly, though there was a wistful note beneath his teasing.

Then he grinned at that—truly grinned, the first real one she’d seen. "Let them."

"Let’s go. I’ll escort you back." Prince Alaric held her gently on the elbow and escorted her out of the garden back to the Rose Pavilion.

"Lara, you’ve finally come back, " Mira said irritably. Her eyes landed on the clasped hands of the two, and she felt a sudden anger rise within her. "Why did you leave the gallery? Prince Reuben was looking for you."

"And why would he look for me?" Lara asked, her right brow raised in an arch.

"He said he was giving you that painting, remember?" Mira was impatient, but her words were like honey dipped in her mouth.

"Didn’t you know how late it is?" she said, her words filled with concern. At the same time, she cast furtive glances at Prince Alaric. "The other ladies had already left."

"Then let us hurry home. The more you tarry, the later it will be." Lara said nonchalantly, before stepping out of the paviion with Alaric falling in step beside her.

Mira was reluctant. She wanted to spend more time with Alaric, but when she saw Lara walking away, she hastily followed and chose to walk beside Alaric.

Alaric was tall, and Mira was shorter than Lara. So when she was beside Alaric, her head did not even reach his chin.

Both Alaric’s and Lara’s strides were long. Mira was having a hard time keeping up.

"Sis, can you slow down. You walk too fast." Mira said while panting. She was jogging and could not keep her composure.

"Lady Mira, this is our usual stride. It is not that we are walking past. It is just that our legs are long, so our strides are bigger." Prince Alaric said expressionlessly.

Mira almost stumbled.