Return of the General's Daughter
Chapter 65: Sharing The Night 2

Chapter 65: Sharing The Night 2

Lara barely hesitated. What choice did she have? Sleeping beside a man was nothing new to her.

On her last mission, when her father sent her to rescue his trusted aide, captured by that general, and imprisoned in the island prison of Fengsel, she spent three nights under the open sky, shoulder to shoulder with her father’s men, wrapped only in a thin sleeping bag. She had learned to ignore the closeness of bodies, the scent of sweat and leather, the rhythmic rise and fall of breath in the dead of night.

"Alright," she said, her voice steady.

Agilus, standing beside her, grinned. "Then can I have your mat?"

Lara shot him a glare that could have split a boulder, but in the end, she tossed it over.

A gold ingot. That mat was nothing.

Agilus laid it out on the floor, carefully avoiding the spot where Alaric’s urine had soaked the floor. The other room was already crammed with injured soldiers. The loft, where the able-bodied ones slept, was packed tight. The only space left was here—inside Alaric’s room, the one, no one but Agilus dared to enter.

Lara moved to the farthest edge of the bed against the wall, turning her back to the man beside her. The moment her head hit the pillow, exhaustion swallowed her whole. She lacked sleep from the night before, and the search had drained her; sleep was a luxury she had no strength to resist.

Alaric lay rigid as a drawn bowstring.

Damn it. Why did he feel like a foolish boy sneaking glances at his first love?

Women had never interested him. His father had forced concubines upon him—two of them, in fact. He had left them untouched in his castle. To him, women were nothing but distractions, players in a ceaseless game of schemes and favors. He had seen his father cycle through six concubines, one for each night of the week, while the queen sat in cold silence.

He despised it all.

And yet...

Alaric’s eyes drifted to the sleeping figure beside him. The man’s frame was lean but solid, his chest deceptively flat under the thick jacket. But Alaric knew better. His pulse quickened as his mind betrayed him with the memory—when they escaped the wolves, when he had steadied him—his hand had brushed against something soft, something unmistakably feminine.

He must have spent a lot of time wrapping his chest to hide his ample bosom.

Alaric tried to control his raging heartbeat, the sound ringing into his ears, which Agilus’ loud snoring could not drown.

As the night deepened and the relaxing scent of the person beside him mixed with the aroma from the oil lamp, Alaric’s breath became in synch with that of Lara, and he eventually fell into a dreamless slumber.

...

The moment the sky started to show a faint glow before the sun fully rose above the horizon, Lara had already crossed the hanging bridge. She needed to bathe and could not risk it at the plateau.

She knew of a hidden spring protected by towering limestone walls, its entrance barely visible unless you knew where to look. Legend said it was the bathing place of the goddess Galeya, who had raised the stone barriers to guard herself from mortal eyes—hunters and beasts alike.

By the time she reached it, the east had brightened.

Lara found the small gap between the rocks and slipped through.

The water was warm, fed by an underground spring, and as she waded into the middle where it reached her chest, she let out a sigh of relief.

With practiced ease, she unbraided her hair, letting the long copper-brown strands spill over her shoulders and float around her like silk.

Perhaps she should cut it.

She had thought about it before—cropping it to her shoulders like Agilus and the other soldiers. Wouldn’t that be easier than constantly braiding it, constantly hiding?

But something held her back.

With a shake of her head, she submerged beneath the surface, allowing the warmth to wash over her for a few more minutes.

She would have loved to linger and soak for a long time, but she had a mission. After washing her clothes, she crawled back through the same hole she entered.

An hour later, Lara returned to the plateau carrying a bamboo basket and a sack full of wild fruits—bananas, velvet apples, pomegranates, longans, and black plums. The sight of steaming sweet potatoes and boiled eggs greeted her as soldiers bustled around, some setting the table and some returning from the waterfall where they had taken their morning dip.

She had barely set her things down when Agilus strode over, arms crossed.

"I thought you ran away. Why did you leave without telling anyone?"

Lara looked at Agilus with narrowed eyes.

"Why do I have to tell you where I have to go?" Sometimes, she would sneak out without telling Reya and her master.

Agilus arched a brow. This man had a sharp tongue. He had only asked a simple question—was there a need to bite his head off?

His gaze flickered over him, and he frowned. For the first time, the soldier wasn’t wearing his hat. Instead, his copper-brown hair was tied in a tight topknot, thick and full.

Lara stiffened as his eyes lingered on her face. Had she drawn the mustache wrong? The water’s reflection was a poor substitute for a mirror.

Agilus withdrew his gaze and instead eyed the sack he carried.

"What’s inside?"

"Wild fruits and root crops. Enough to last three days. The fruits will help with wound healing—you can give them to your men."

Agilus reached for the sack, but before his fingers could close around it, Lara pulled back.

"Hey. That’s not free. You have to pay."

Agilus froze.

For a moment, his brain simply refused to process what he had just heard. Then his eye twitched.

Did this soldier just demand another payment? Had he not given him a gold ingot the night before?

Lara tilted her head. "You don’t want it?"

Agilus clenched his jaw and wordlessly pulled out a silver ingot from his pouch, dropping it into her hand with a look of utter disbelief. This was the first time he had ever met a soldier so obsessed with money.

He opened his mouth, ready to say something, when a voice cut through the morning air—

"Sir—"