Return of the General's Daughter
Chapter 307: Reuben’s Schemes

Chapter 307: Reuben’s Schemes

The door slammed shut with a hollow, echoing thud, swallowing the last threads of golden light from the sconces beyond. Darkness pressed in like a living thing. Lara’s breath hitched in her throat, her heart thudding against her ribs as rough hands clamped down on her arms, pinning them to her sides with bruising force. The room was dark, the air was musty, and the man restraining her smelled strongly of alcohol, yet she could detect the faint scent of clove and leather.

Someone familiar.

She felt the heat of him—too close, too intimate. His chest rose and fell against her back, his breath warm at her neck. He wore only a thin, sweat-slicked singlet.

Damn him. The realization struck like a slap. Is this some clumsy attempt at seduction? Or something fouler?

Fury ignited in her belly. With a sharp twist and surge of strength born of training and sheer will, she broke his hold, spun, and caught his wrists, forcing his arms behind his back.

Now it was his turn to struggle, to snarl in frustration. "Let me go!" he spat, his voice low, ragged, thick with drink. But no amount of strength seemed enough against the steel grip that bound him now.

A low voice, close to her ear, sent a shiver down her spine. "Let me go, Lara Norse." His voice slurred.

His use of her name snapped her focus sharper than any blade could. She drew in a steadying breath, her tone ice-calm despite the thunder of her pulse. "How did you know it was me, Your Highness?"

The faint glow of light from the cracks beneath the door caught his features as he turned his head—Prince Reuben. His face was a mask of rage and humiliation, flushed with wine and thwarted intent.

Lara’s mind raced. The servant who’d guided her here—she was part of this, no doubt. Reuben’s scheme, laid with traps as fine as spider silk.

Reuben’s face contorted in rage. No matter how much he tried, he could not escape from Lara. "What are you waiting for? Come out."

As if on command, a hidden door in the paneling creaked open, and for an instant the room was bathed in flickering lantern light. Lara’s gaze darted, taking in the chamber: bare stone walls, a single narrow window, high but thankfully not barred—no easy escape. The tall form of Reuben’s guard, Espiyor, filled the threshold, his bulk shadowing the flicker of the flames.

From beyond the heavy main door came the sound of footsteps—boots on stone, voices raised in laughter, too near. The gap beneath the door funneled their sounds into the room. If they found her here, like this...

She did not want to be caught in a scandal with Prince Reuben.

The giant of a guard lunged for her. In that heartbeat, Lara moved—swift, decisive. With all her might, she shoved Reuben hard toward Espiyor. The prince, unprepared, staggered, arms flailing, crashing into his man. The two men collided in a tangle of limbs.

Reuben was also tall and heavy. After being pushed, he almost stumbled, but Espiyor caught him.

Before Espiyor could recover, Lara leapt, her body fluid, trained. She twisted midair, delivering a powerful kick squarely to the guard’s back. The force drove him forward, toppling him and Reuben both to the floor in a heap.

Then she jumped out of the window.

And at that very instant, the door burst open.

Light flooded the chamber, blinding after the darkness. A servant stood there, gaping, the lantern trembling in his grasp. Behind him, a gaggle of noblewomen crowded the threshold. Their gasps filled the air like a flock of startled birds.

There lay Reuben, tangled beneath his own guard, breathless, disheveled, caught in a tableau of his own making.

His pulse roared in his ears. Think. Think!

He shoved Espiyor off him, struggling upright, his pride as battered as his body. His mind scrambled for a way out, a shield against the shame.

"An assassin!" he roared, pointing wildly toward the window. "There was an assassin! Someone tried to take my life—this prince was attacked!"

Espiyor scrambled to his feet, lurching toward the window as if to give weight to the lie. The noble ladies stared in stunned silence, their wide eyes drinking in every detail, every shred of gossip to be savored later.

Lara, who landed safely on the patch of grass below, stood still as stone against the gray walls, breathing hard, her eyes cold as winter steel, as she listened to the tangled web of deceit spoken in the room above. Then she silently slipped away.

The room pulsed with the weight of Reuben’s shouted claim. His words seemed to hang in the air, echoing off the cold stone, until the stunned silence broke like glass.

"An assassin?" one of the noblewomen gasped, clutching at her throat as if she might be next. The others exchanged wide-eyed glances, their shock already ripening into something sharper—curiosity, hunger for scandal.

Reuben swayed slightly, his breath ragged, sweat shining at his temple. He smoothed his singlet, straightened his posture, struggling to reclaim the dignity that had fled him. But no amount of composure could erase the disheveled state of his clothes, or the faint scuff of dust on his knees.

Espiyor handed him his cloak.

"Your Highness," one of the ladies said, dipping into a hasty curtsey, though her eyes glinted with barely contained glee. "Are you hurt?"

Where did the assassin go?" another demanded, craning to see through the window, as if the assassin might be clinging to it like some dark phantom.

Espiyor played his part, leaning out to peer through the narrow opening, hand on the hilt of his blade. "No sign of him, Your Highness. He must have slipped away when the door opened."

But before Espiyor could move, the clatter of boots on stone filled the hall, and a new figure strode into the doorway—Alaric.

His dark cloak billowed behind him, his expression carved from granite. His gaze swept the room, taking in the tangled scene—the prince, the guard, the ladies.

"What is the meaning of this?" Alaric’s voice was low but thunderous, silencing the chamber more effectively than any blade.

Reuben seized on the moment, his eyes wild with desperation. "An assassin! I was attacked—this lady saw it—she must have aided him! We must act before he strikes again!"

But Alaric’s stare pinned him where he stood. "An assassin, you say? And yet you are unmarked, your guard unblooded, and your supposed assailant vanished without a trace." His voice dripped with disbelief. "Or perhaps... the only crime here is deceit."

Reuben’s face flushed red, fury and humiliation warring within him. But Alaric stepped forward, his presence filling the chamber like a rising storm.

"What are you implying, Brother? That I am lying?"

"Are you not?"