Return of the General's Daughter
Chapter 318: An Eye For an Eye

Chapter 318: An Eye For an Eye

In the hush of nightfall, beneath a sky heavy with stars and secrets, two figures cloaked in shadow crept onto the secluded estate of a baron just south of the capital. The taller one, masked and silent, had done his homework. He knew the baron had lately taken to sleeping not in their matrimonial bedroom, but in the quaint cottage tucked behind the main house—a gift for his newest mistress, a woman half his age with ambition in her eyes and gossip at her mouth.

They moved like phantoms, slipping through the garden with the practiced grace of seasoned thieves—bodies low, footsteps light.

Inside the cottage, the baron lay tangled in sheets with his mistress, her limbs draped over his bulk like ivy over a crumbling statue. For a moment, Kasmeri froze in the shadows of the doorway. The memory of fire—the blaze that consumed his stepfather’s home—flickered in his mind, hungry and bright. He had come here to exact his revenge in the same manner.

But something in him hesitated.

"She’s innocent," he whispered, his voice barely audible. He did not want to involve innocent people in his game of revenge.

Molavi, the shorter of the two and far less sentimental, leaned close. "Innocent?" he scoffed. "I heard from one of the house servants—she wormed her way into his bed, poisoned the baroness with jealousy until the poor woman took ill. And she tormented the baron’s youngest daughter, all because the girl was prettier than her. That’s your innocent?"

Kasmeri didn’t answer.

"If you can’t do it," Molavi murmured, "I will."

Before Kasmeri could respond, Molavi darted forward. The mistress had just stirred, eyes fluttering open—only to be slammed into unconsciousness by a precise blow. Her arms slid off the baron’s chest like dead vines. The baron, groggy and slow, barely had time to grunt before Kasmeri knocked him senseless.

They worked quickly. Kerosene soaked the silk sheets, the plush mattress, the expensive curtains. Then, without ceremony, Kasmeri struck a match. The flame snapped to life, a single defiant tongue of fire licking at the corner of the bedspread. It caught fast.

The blaze began its crawl.

They stood for a heartbeat, watching the fire grow, the orange glow throwing jagged shadows across their faces.

"An eye for an eye," Kasmeri murmured, the heat reflecting in his dark eyes. "A tooth for a tooth."

His stepfather’s lesson still rang true.

The baron was the same man who hired the three arsonists who infiltrated their house and turned it to ashes along with his family.

By the time the first screams pierced the night and servants came rushing with buckets and lanterns, the two shadows had already vaulted the back fence and vanished into the dark. The road ahead was long, and they had a few more houses to visit before the night was through.

...

At dawn, the soft glow of morning light spilled through the filmy curtains, casting golden streaks across the silk sheets tangled around Prince Reuben and the woman curled beside him. Lady Amielle, still breathing softly in sleep, lay draped across his chest, her sheer nightgown barely concealing the pale curves beneath. Her perfume still clung to his skin—a heady mix of jasmine and wine.

She had been delightfully proactive the night before, slipping into his chambers with a bottle of vintage red and eyes that promised wicked things. She had made good on those promises. They drank the wine and not long after, they drowned in the throes of passion.

Carefully, Reuben disentangled himself from the limbs wrapped around him like ivy. He allowed himself a moment to admire the deep red marks blooming across her neck and chest—evidence of his appetite, and hers. A satisfied smile touched his lips. With a tug of the blanket, he covered her bare form and slipped from the bed.

A servant was already waiting at the door, eyes lowered respectfully as he held out the prince’s robe.

"Who dares disturb my peace at this hour?" Reuben asked, tying his sash with a leisurely flick of the wrist. "They’re fortunate I’m in an excellent mood."

"Your Highness," the servant bowed, "It is Lord Duval. He said he has an urgent message. He is waiting in the other room."

Reuben’s brows lifted slightly. Duval didn’t rattle easily. He gave a curt nod. "Then let’s not keep him waiting."

He entered the outer chamber to find Lord Duval pacing, his cloak unsettled, face drawn. The man straightened immediately at the prince’s approach and bowed.

"Your Highness," Lord Duval bowed lightly before the crown prince.

"Speak," Reuben said coolly. "What brings Marquis Duval to me before the sun has even climbed the palace spires?"

Duval took a deep breath, as if steadying himself. "There were four deaths last night, Your Highness. All burned. Each found dead in their bed, consumed by fire."

Prince Reuben frowned. Yesterday, he received news that the people they had tasked to stage the rebellion had entered the capital, but this... this was not part of the plan.

"Who are the victims?"

"The Baron of Rockwell, the assistant treasurer, the captain of the city guard’s sparrow unit, and a gambling lord." Lord Duval enumerated the names, still wondering why they were targeted.

Reuben’s smile faded, his posture stiffening with sudden alertness.

"Are those random attacks?" He asked.

"I am not sure, Your Highness. Those people are not even friends. I am still looking for the motive for the murder."

Reuben pause. His mind raced. Those men seemed to have nothing in common.

Reuben’s jaw tightened. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Then we give the people a story. Start spreading word that it was Prince Alaric behind these arsons. That he returned from exile with vengeance in his heart and flame in his hand."

"Yes, Your Highness. The news will spread today. There are a few witnesses who saw the banished Prince Alaric in the vicinity of the arson. Even though he was wearing a mask, some still recognized his cloak, and of course, his aura is unmistakable."

Reuben nodded slowly. "Good. Let the people fear the hero they once worshipped."

Duval turned to go, but Reuben’s voice stopped him again.

"How about the other thing that I asked to do?"

"Handled, Your Highness," Duval said, barely suppressing a grim smile. "Lord Malik’s men will strike two days before Alaric reaches Anvoya. It’ll look like an ambush... and if he survives, he won’t arrive strong enough to be a threat."

"Excellent," Reuben murmured, walking to the window and parting the curtain with two fingers. The city lay beneath him—quiet, unaware. But not for long.

Duval left in silence.

Behind him, Reuben stood watching the sky shift with the rising sun, a storm brewing behind his eyes.

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