Return of the General's Daughter
Chapter 311: Reuben’s Gambit

Chapter 311: Reuben’s Gambit

At the heart of Prince Reuben’s sprawling estate, far from the common streets of the capital, the halls were alive with the hum of ambition. The great chamber where he received his inner circle was cloaked in shadow, its high windows shuttered despite the sun already high in the east.

Prince Reuben sat at the head of a long table, his fingers steepled beneath his chin, his gaze fixed on the map unrolled before him. Around him stood his most trusted advisors: Espiyor’s father, Lord Malik, sharp-eyed and sharper-tongued; Duval, the Marquis of Edenia, his master of spies; and Solanio, the merchant duke who bankrolled much of Reuben’s ambition.

"Indeed, it is difficult to find a flaw in Alaric. The people loved him. He was their war hero." Lord Malik said as he tasted the bottle of wine taken from Dakota’s cellar a few days ago.

"And yet, they were swayed by you Malik. They believed he failed in the matters of Calma and that he rode to exile," Reuben said, his voice smooth as silk, but carrying the weight of iron beneath.

Duval chuckled softly. "They see only what we allow them to see. Alaric is out of the capital. That is all that matters, for now."

Reuben’s lips curved into a smile that did not reach his eyes. "For now. But we must tighten our hold before he can move against us. I don’t believe that he was so obedient to our father. I think that he is only pretending and planning to strike back." Reuben voiced his concerns.

"On another matter, The Iron Horse should be ours to own." The crown prince added as he regarded each of his confidants. "But Matthias and the Norse siblings are a headache. He clings to his workshop as a miser to his last coin while the Norses did not want to relinquish the right to that product. That must change."

Lord Malik stepped forward, his voice low. "I have placed spies on the Norse manor. Lara is cleverer than I first believed. She may prove troublesome."

Reuben leaned back in his chair, considering, "Then we shall see if my charm can buy her loyalty. If not... other means may be necessary. It’s a pity; she has spirit. "But it can be broken."

He waved a hand, dismissing the thought. "The council meets today. With Alaric gone, they will fall in line. And when they do, we will have the authority to levy arms, to tax, to build — openly. Let the north do as it will. When Alaric gathers support, he will find a kingdom firmly in my grasp." Reuben snickered.

Solanio, ever cautious, spoke at last. "And if he moves faster than we expect? If word of this false exile spreads?"

Reuben’s smile grew cold. "Then we will remind them what it means to defy the Capital. The improved Iron Horse was built for such reminders."

A heavy silence fell over the room...

...

Lara, together with her brothers, found themselves summoned. A gilded carriage, flanked by Reuben’s personal guards, arrived at the Norse manor before mid-morning. No invitation was offered. No polite request made. Only a folded parchment bearing Reuben’s seal, its meaning clear: You will come.

Matthias watched as she fastened her cloak. His face was grave, his voice low. "Whatever game he plays today, remember — we are useful to him, but only so long as we do not defy him openly."

Lara smirked without humor. "And when we defy him quietly?"

Matthias didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

The carriage carried her and her three brothers through streets that seemed narrower now, watched over by eyes she could not see—Reuben’s men, his informants, perhaps even those who once cheered Alaric.

The capital had grown colder, but from the chill of fear. When they reached Reuben’s estate, the guards ushered them inside without ceremony. The great hall was as she remembered — dark wood, heavy tapestries, and at its center, Prince Reuben, seated like a spider at the heart of his web.

"Lady Lara," he greeted, his voice a silk thread stretched taut. How good of you to come so swiftly. We have much to discuss." Reuben gave her his dazzling smile. But when he remembered the embarrassing moment he had suffered from her, the smile disappeared.

Lara inclined her head just enough to show respect without submission. "Your summons was... difficult to ignore, Your Highness."

A glimmer of amusement flickered in his eyes. "Pragmatic as ever. I admire that. Please — sit."

She did, but kept her back straight, her hands folded on the table before her. Reuben studied her for a long moment, as if weighing her value in gold.

"I will be direct," he said at last. "You and your brothers’ Iron Horse have given me the respect and praise of the people. But the designs, the production — they are still too tightly held. I need more. The armored variant. Matthias has no doubt sketched the improvements by candlelight. You will give them to me."

"And if I refuse?" Lara asked, the question dangerous but necessary.

Reuben’s smile was slow and cold. "Refusal would be... unwise. But I am no tyrant, Lady Lara. I prefer loyalty freely given. Let me offer you this: triple the gold we agreed. A title, if you desire it. Land. Security. You need not linger in the shadow of the Norse name — you could even become my crown princess. All I ask is that you recognize the future when you see it, and place your talents in service of it."

The weight of his gaze was suffocating. His words were honeyed and his smile gentle, but to Lara, he heard the steel beneath them. Serve me or be swept aside.

"I will need time," she said carefully. "Time to consult Matthias. These designs are not toys to be handed over in haste."

Reuben leaned back, tapping a finger thoughtfully against his goblet. "Time is a luxury this kingdom no longer enjoys. I will give you three days, Lady Lara. On the fourth, I expect your decision. And understand this — should you choose poorly, not even gold will shield you from the storm that follows."

The meeting ended as abruptly as it had begun. Lara was escorted out, the doors closing behind her with the finality.

...

Back at the Norse Manor Lara paced the study. Matthias, who had not left, watched her in silence until at last she stopped and met his gaze.

"He wants everything. And soon," she said. "And if we give it, he’ll crush what’s left of Alaric’s allies before they can draw breath."

Matthias nodded grimly. "And if we don’t, he’ll crush us first."

She drew a deep breath. "Then we must act before the fourth day dawns. We need to send word south. Alaric must know. And we need to find allies here, in the capital, in the council — anyone willing to resist Reuben before it’s too late."

Outside, night was falling, and with it came the knowledge that the days of quiet invention were over. The game was now one of survival — and of choosing the right moment to strike.

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