Return of the General's Daughter
Chapter 302: Laying The Trap

Chapter 302: Laying The Trap

Gideon had recounted everything that transpired in court that day, his voice low and sharp like the edge of a blade.

Lara listened intently, her fists clenched under the table. She had only one name echoing in her mind.

Mira.

But she knew better than to accuse her outright. Not without proof. Not when her family might think it was all jealousy or paranoia. No, Mira was too clever, too calculated. And Lara had no intention of losing this game by playing it rashly.

That evening, in the dim glow of her study, Lara worked with Gideon on a new design—a tryke. Even Peredur and Percival had joined the impromptu sketching session. Lara provided the concept, and her brothers brought it to life on parchment with quick, eager hands.

To her surprise, Gideon and Peredur’s ideas were impressive. Gideon’s sketch looked like something out of her past life—an electric tryke, sleek and innovative. Peredur, on the other hand, produced a sturdy, practical design based on the traditional tricycle model.

As she carefully unfolded Percival’s drawing, a shiver coursed through her. The chaotic lines swirled into a frenzy of shapes that jumbled together, creating a bewildering tapestry of disorder.

The image was raw and unrefined, a wild explosion of forms that danced before her eyes but offered no clarity. It was as if Percival had poured his thoughts onto the paper without restraint, leaving her struggling to grasp any semblance of meaning in the artistic chaos before her.

"Brother, I suppose all the brain cells went to Peredur, while you got all the muscles when both of you were just developing in mother’s womb," Lara muttered with a sigh.

Just as laughter started to ripple between them, the door creaked open.

"Brothers, Lara—I’ve been looking for you," Mira announced, sauntering into the room with practiced grace and a sweet smile. Her eyes flicked past their faces and landed on the sketches sprawled across the table.

"We’re just drawing something," Gideon said, tone flat and unreadable.

"Can I join you?" she asked sweetly.

"We’re done," Lara replied with a sharp edge in her voice. "And it’s getting late."

Mira paused, her features sinking into a mask of quiet sorrow. Her eyes glistened with unspoken words, reflecting a blend of confusion and hurt. She remained still, like a marble statue marred by an unexpected emotion, her disappointment radiating from her, heavy and palpable in the air around her.

"Well, if you want to look, you can look at this," Percival said, handing her his unfortunate creation.

Mira examined it, then burst into a laugh she couldn’t suppress. "Brother, what is this? I can’t even tell which way is up!"

Percival’s face darkened. "If you came here to mock me, get out."

Mira’s laughter died immediately. "I’m sorry, brother. Just teasing..." she said, her voice soft as she clutched his arm with faux remorse.

Percival rolled his eyes and stormed out, bruised pride in tow.

Gideon silently gathered the sketches and locked them in a drawer. The study emptied, leaving behind only shadows and silence.

But hours later, under that same silence, a shadow returned and sneaked into the study. In her hand, she held thin papers slick with kerosene, rendering them translucent. With steady fingers, she opened the drawer and withdrew the precious designs. One by one, she laid the tracing sheets over them, capturing every line, every curve. Her hands moved quickly—too practiced to be random. Within the hour, she vanished into the night, leaving no trace behind.

Early in the morning, a petite figure wearing a black cloak came out of the Norse Manor, carrying a bamboo basket, and was on her way to the market. Unbeknownst to her, two figures were stealthily following behind.

In one of the narrow alleys in the marketplace, she met with a man also wearing a hood. She took a folded parchment from her pocket and handed it to the man. The man handed him a pouch.

She turned to leave—only to crash into a solid wall of muscle.

Her heart plummeted.

"Master..." she gasped, eyes locking with Gideon Norse’s cold, unforgiving gaze.

The man whom she handed the designs turned to flee—only to be halted by Lara’s blade, gleaming under the morning light. He froze, and the parchment fluttered from his trembling hand.

"Who ordered you to steal those designs?" Gideon’s voice cracked like thunder, fury seething beneath each word.

The maid—newly hired assigned to do the marketing and the cleaning, seemingly harmless—collapsed to her knees.

"I...I was blinded by gold," she stammered. "He offered a fortune for the first drawing. He said if there are more, he could pay more. I thought... I thought it wouldn’t hurt anyone."

Gideon and Lara brought the two people to the Norse manor. But no matter how they interrogated them, neither the maid nor the courier revealed a name.

The maid clung to her lie like a shield. She claimed she acted alone, motivated by greed. She had no family, no known associates—nothing they could use to break her.

The man was traced back to an engineer working under Prince Reuben—a dangerous thread—but they could not accuse Prince Reuben of being the brain behind the crime without evidence.

The two were sent to the authorities for proper handling.

At breakfast, Mira was the picture of calm. She sipped tea with practiced elegance, voice full of shock and sorrow.

"I can’t believe that maid dared to steal from us," she said, shaking her head. "How bold."

Lara unfolded the traced parchment on the table. It showed the design of a horse-drawn royal chariot from centuries ago—clearly meant to throw them off.

"Curious, isn’t it?" she said, her voice like silk over steel. "How did the maid know we were working on vehicle designs?"

Her gaze locked with Mira’s, sharp and probing.

But Mira didn’t flinch. She wore her innocence like armor, her expression serene.

"Perhaps she overheard you and Gideon talking in the study."

Lara snorted, not bothering to hide her disdain. Mira was only eighteen—but her deceit ran deeper than most seasoned politicians, just like her father in another life.

"Enough," Odin said suddenly, rising from the table. "Gideon, Peridur, Percival, if you’re ready, let’s present the designs to the court and get a patent, but others claim it."

General Odin glanced at his daughter. The idea was hers, yet she let her brothers claim the credit. She knew the court would not grant the patent to a woman.

"Lara, you can come along too. It was your idea after all."

Beneath the table, Mira’s hands curled into fists, her knuckles white. Her smile faltered and it did not escape Lara and Gideon’s sharp eyes.