Return of the General's Daughter
Chapter 69: On Horseback After A Lifetime Ago

Chapter 69: On Horseback After A Lifetime Ago

Aramis, ruggedly tall and lean, exuded the confidence of a skilled horseman. He appeared to be in his late twenties, with a boyish competitiveness in his movements. After handing Lara the reins, he mounted his dark brown steed and galloped away.

"Aramis—!" Lara’s shout trailed behind him like an echo in the wind.

Lara barely had time to mount before she was forced to chase after him, gripping the reins tighter than she intended.

She had been a champion equestrienne once, a prodigy at fifteen, effortlessly commanding her horse through jumps and sprints.

But that was a lifetime ago.

Now, as she spurred the chestnut thoroughbred, feeling the animal’s restless energy beneath her fingers, she realized how long it had been since she was on horseback. Every jolt sent sharp reminders through her body.

She rode stiffly, her fatigues clinging to her skin beneath the weight of her black backpack. Strapped securely beside it was a smaller sack filled with yarrows, dried meat, water, and other supplies —essentials for a journey.

It was late afternoon when Lara and Aramis rode out of Calma. The sun in the west cast long golden streaks across the rugged landscape as the town faded behind them, swallowed by the dust kicked up by their horses’ hooves. The dusty road stretched endlessly before them, shimmering in the late afternoon heat.

Aramis waited for her a kilometer ahead, lounging in his saddle with an infuriating smirk.

"You’re going to run these horses to the ground," she snapped as she reined in beside him.

He only hummed in response, nonchalant, letting his horse walk for a few strides—before, once again, he gave it the signal to bolt.

Lara swore under her breath.

For two relentless hours, Aramis played his twisted little game. Whenever she caught up, he would spur his horse forward, forcing her to chase him down again. The exertion burned through her muscles, the friction between her thighs and the saddle raw and unrelenting. The weight of her pack dragged against her shoulders, making every bounce and jolt feel sharper.

She didn’t understand him.

It felt personal, this taunting, as if he were getting back at her for some imagined slight.

When they camped late at night under the canopy of a towering tree, Lara was past exhaustion. She barely had the energy to eat. Jerky, a steamed egg, a few gulps of water—she forced them down out of necessity. Then she laid out her mat, ignoring Aramis entirely.

She wrapped herself in a thick blanket infused with herbs to ward off insects and set her sword beside her, within reach. But even as she closed her eyes, sleep refused to come.

Reya’s words echoed in her mind. Will you recognize them?

Would she?

She had no blood ties to them. There would be no instinctual bond, no pull of familiarity. Only stories—stories she had listened to for two years. Stories of her father’s habits and her brothers’ mannerisms. But was that enough?

Just as she was beginning to drift into dreamland, she felt a presence beside her. The heavy scent of sweat, leather, and the sun filled her senses.

Lara’s eyes snapped open.

"Aramis." Her voice was sharp, edged with exhaustion. "The ground is vast. Why are you sticking to me?"

"There are too many mosquitoes," he muttered, unapologetic. "Your blanket smells like it repels them."

Lara cursed and reached for a small pouch from her backpack. She tossed it at him. "Here. Take it and move."

He caught it with a lazy flick of his wrist but made no attempt to leave.

Annoyed, Lara scooted away, wrapping herself more tightly in her blanket.

"What an annoying man."

If Lara had known that Aramis was invisible and seldom spoke when he was with Alaric, she might have fainted from anger. Without her knowing, she seemed to have awakened a spirited boy trapped in the body of a rigidly disciplined loyal guard.

Sleep, when it finally came, was restless and fleeting.

...

By the time the eastern horizon showed the first hints of dawn, Lara was already awake.

She stood beside the chestnut stallion and ran her finger through his mane. She had found her rhythm with her horse, whom she called Chestnut. The bond was tenuous but growing; the animal was strong and eager, and she would need him in the days ahead.

It was only then that she learned the truth about the horses.

"They belonged to the soldiers," Aramis told her casually as they rode. "When we left for Mount Ourea, Alaric had them cared for in a nearby village."

Lara continued running a hand down Chestnut’s neck, watching how his ears flicked toward her. She had assumed Aramis had bought them. The fact that they were once warhorses meant they had seen things. Felt things.

A slow smile curled at the edges of her lips.

"Chestnut," she murmured, leaning close. "Let’s give him a taste of his own medicine."

And before Aramis had even finished adjusting his stirrups, she took off, dust kicking up in her wake.

"Eat the dust, Aramis!" she called over her shoulder, laughing as Chestnut surged forward.

For once, she had the advantage. She kept just out of Aramis’s reach, slowing only when necessary to let her horse recover, ensuring he had to work to catch up.

By the time she finally decided to stop for a meal, she had kept him trailing half a kilometer behind for hours.

Tying Chestnut to a sturdy branch, she began feeding him as Aramis rode in, clearly irritated.

Lara smirked as she peeled the shell off a boiled egg. "Now you know how it feels."

Aramis shot her a flat look but said nothing.

When he unpacked his meal, Lara was already stretching.

"I’m taking a dip in the river."

She didn’t wait for his response before walking toward the water’s edge, stripping off her jacket and thick riding pants. They were heavy, slow to dry—she wouldn’t risk soaking them.

When she returned, Aramis was napping under the tree, one arm thrown over his face. Lara slipped behind a bush and changed into thinner trousers that fell just below her knees and a tight undershirt before putting on her pants and jacket. She placed her wet undergarments in the front pocket of her backpack, where they would dry fast in the sun.

When she looked at her reflection in the river earlier, her mustache had washed off. Then, her gaze shifted to the man supposed to be sleeping under the tree.

He was walking toward her.