Return of the General's Daughter
Chapter 313: Whispers of Treason

Chapter 313: Whispers of Treason

Night fell over the capital like a shroud, cloaking its towers and alleys in deep shadow. From his high balcony in the royal keep, Crown Prince Reuben watched the lights flicker like dying stars. His fingers drummed the stone railing, his mind restless.

The news had reached him swiftly: A mysterious merchant had entered the capital. He had him investigated. He relaxed when he learned he was a wealthy but ordinary merchant from Cavinta.

Behind him, a figure emerged from the gloom of the chamber—a man draped in the black robes of the king’s secret council, his face hidden beneath a silver mask.

"Your Highness," the masked man said, his voice soft as a serpent’s hiss, "all proceeded as you commanded. Prince Alaric and his soldiers are suffering as they travel. The farther they are from the capital, the more they would suffer."

Reuben didn’t turn. "Great! But I know my brother’s capability. He is probably not suffering as much as we thought. Send an urgent message. Bandits ambushed a group from the capital and beat everyone, not knowing that one of them was the first prince of Northem. Make sure that this does not reach the king’s ears. Even if he hated him, he is still his son." He said, his voice measured.

"The king will only see and hear what you wish him to see and hear, Your Highness," the man replied. "His hatred blinds him. He will not question Alaric’s fate until it is far too late."

A slow smile spread across Reuben’s face. "Wait! I changed my mind." He suddenly turned around and almost bumped into the masked man. His voice was full of excitement: "Let the people believe Alaric escaped and beat his escorts to half death. Let the old fools of the court tremble at the name of their exiled prince. When the time comes, they will beg me to save them. Then let someone pose as Alaric, enter the capital, and lead a rebellion."

The masked man bowed low. "And when it is done?"

Reuben’s eyes glinted in the moonlight. "When it is done, I will wear the crown not as heir—but as king."

...

Matthias closed the heavy door behind them, the iron latch falling into place with a dull thud that echoed in the cramped chamber. For a long moment, he stood in stunned silence, staring at the figure before him—this man who bore the name Kasmer, but whose presence spoke of a truth he dared not voice.

The room smelled of smoke, oil, and old wood. A single lamp flickered on the table, casting long, jagged shadows along the walls, as if the forge itself recoiled from what was unfolding.

"You must make do for now, as it is already late. I will arrange a better one tomorrow." Matthias said as he tried to smooth out the creases on the linen on the bed.

Kasmer lowered his hood fully now, revealing the full scar—jagged, ugly, stretching across his brow and vanishing into his hairline. His obsidian eyes locked on Matthias’s with a gravity that made the forge-master feel as if the air had thickened around him.

"It should be," Kasmer said quietly. "We are used to even worse conditions."

Matthias’s throat worked as he tried to speak. He crossed the room, bolted the shutters, and checked that no prying ears lingered outside. Then he turned, his voice low, urgent.

"Tell me it’s true. Tell me it’s you..."

Kasmer—inclined his head once. The name hung heavy in the room, like a long-buried blade unearthed.

"I ride under another name now. But yes, Matthias. It is I."

"But what if you are discovered? Aren’t you courting death?" Matthias looked troubled.

"That’s why I need your help. I am now a merchant. Even if they investigate, they will find that Kasmer is just someone who hailed from a family of merchants from Cavinta."

Matthias gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles white. His mind raced back to the day they buried the king’s bastard son—or thought they had. The boy who had vanished in the fire, the boy whose mother had died, cursing Heimdal’s name.

"Why come back here?" Matthias whispered.

"Because I need to come. Kasmer answered, his voice hardening. "Because your forges fuel the war that my brother plans. And because there is no one else I can trust."

Matthias stared at him, then let out a breath that seemed to deflate the years of bitterness he’d carried. "You have my loyalty. Gods forgive me, I should have known sooner."

Kasimer gave a grim smile—just a flicker at the edge of his mouth. "Then help me. My companion and I need shelter."

Matthias nodded. "You can move to an inn east of the capital tomorrow. Rest tonight—and when dawn breaks, we’ll speak more."

Kasmer clasped his shoulder, the first hint of warmth between them. "I knew I could count on you, old friend."

As Matthias disappeared from the door, Kasmer remained in the chamber, staring at the lamp lighting the room. The wick crackled as the flame licked it. He felt the weight of what had just begun—the return of a dead prince and, with him, the awakening of a reckoning long delayed. That was what Kasmer wanted everyone to see.

Outside, the forges roared into the night, but beneath their music, Matthias thought he could hear the storm gathering.

...

The old bed creaked beneath him as he lay down on it. His companion opened the high window, and the room grew cooler. A single torch flickered on the wall, its light casting wavering shapes that seemed to dance like ghosts in the dark.

The room, which used to be a smelter cellar, was a low, cavernous chamber carved from stone, its walls blackened from old fires. Broken tools and warped iron lay on the side, relics of when fire burned day and night to smelt swords and shields for kings long dead.

Kasmer’s companion stood in silence against the window, hood drawn low. Then the figure turned and pushed back the hood, revealing a ruggedly handsome face, sharp-featured, pale from travel, his eyes quick and alert beneath a fall of dark hair.

"Your disguise is quite good. Even Matthias is fooled." He said, his voice deep and amused.

Kasmer studied him in the dim light. "Let us see if all the others will not see through our disguise. But Matthias needed to know our true identity sooner."

The man folded his arms, leaning against the cold stone. "Isn’t that a risk? Matthias might slip and expose you."

The man on the bed carelessly rose and disposed of his cloak. "Matthias is loyal. He owes his life to me. That’s as good as a sworn oath."