Return of the General's Daughter-Chapter 295: The Painting

Mira gritted her teeth as she looked at the woman in the painting. She wore a flowing gown the color of a deep shade of blue, caught mid-movement in a sweeping dance pose — one foot lifted, arms extended like wings, hair trailing like a comet behind her. Her expression was serene yet powerful, as though she belonged to a world just beyond the grasp of the viewer. She didn’t look like a girl caught in a moment of dance — she looked like she was flying.

Lara stopped, blinking. Her breath hitched in her throat.

"That’s me..." she murmured. "During the dance I performned At Calma"

"Yes. That’s from the banquet from Calma." Reuben said softly, stepping beside her. "I commissioned it after that night. The artist saw something in your movements — something rare."

Mira remained silent, standing just behind Lara, her fingers tightening around the folds of her sleeves. She wasn’t sure whether she felt admiration, awe... or envy.

Lara’s voice was a whisper. "Why show this?" Lara looked around. "This is a gallery."

Reuben looked at her, his expression sincere — rare for a man raised in shadows of politics and power.

"Because I wanted to show you how beautiful you are, how elegant and graceful," he said. "I want people to see this side of you and not just the soldier, Kane Mendel. Just you — unfiltered, free, alive. You reminded me of what grace really is."

There was a weight to his words — a weight that settled somewhere between confession and longing.

Lara blinked, struggling for composure. No one had ever painted her. She had photographs in the past, but a painting looked and felt different.

She had never been the subject of anything immortal, anything... cherished. To be seen like this — not as a girl from the outer provinces, not as a commoner elevated by proximity — but as art, as light — it disarmed her.

"I didn’t expect this," she said quietly.

"I know," he replied. "That’s why it matters."

Behind them, Mira quietly turned away from the painting. The joy that had once animated her eyes now dulled with unspoken conflict. For all her loyalty, for all her sacrifice, it was Lara whom people gravitated toward — effortlessly, instinctively.

But she said nothing. She let Lara have the moment.

Then Reuben turned back to the two girls, tone returning to formality. "The artist is working on another copy. I told him he can use a different dress. This painting — it’s yours, now."

Lara nodded slowly, still stunned. "Thank you, Your Highness."

But as the prince looked at her — and only her — Mira realized something else.

This wasn’t just admiration.

It was the beginning of something dangerous. And she could use Reuben to clip Lara’s wings.

She turned awa from the painting and a sinister smile appeared on her face. However, she froze when she saw who was coming inside.

"That’s an impressive painting, Brother. It looked realistic and Lara is so beautiful."

Alaric inserted himself between the two of them.. "Unfortunately, you can stop appreciating it now as our father is summoning you."

Prince Reuben muttered something under his breath before turning back and exiting the gallery.

...

Alaric sent Mira away, then he brought Lara to his special place in the palace.

It was the garden where his mother gave up her life for him.

The sun was dipping beneath the horizon, leaving behind streaks of gold and rose in the sky. Distant clouds, silver-edged, floated like dreams unspoken, and the manor’s garden glowed softly in the twilight.

Alaric stood near the stone archway that led to the gardens, the collar of his travel cloak loosened, his dark hair catching the breeze. Lara walked beside him in silence, the afternoon air cool against her skin. A hush lingered between them, not awkward—but sacred.

"I never thought that you would bring me here," Lara said softly, her fingers grazing the flowering vines that had begun to curl around the trellises. "Not as a guest... and with you."

Alaric turned to her, his gaze steady, warm. "I promised I would find you again. I just didn’t expect fate to be so theatrical about it."

She laughed, the sound soft and clear. "Meeting on the sacred place? You arriving like a ghost from a forgotten life? Yes, dramatic even by royal standards."

His smile faded into something more tender. "I meant it, Lara. Every word I said there. I’m not here out of obligation. I’m here because... I feel something when I’m with you. I always have."

Lara looked up at him, heart quickening. For a long moment, the only sounds were the gentle rustling of leaves and the distant song of crickets.

"You don’t have to convince me," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "I’ve been trying to convince myself. That this isn’t just some echo from the past, some convenient alliance. But you... you make it hard to doubt."

Alaric took a step closer. "Then don’t."

She met his gaze—and the raw openness there took her breath away. She felt it again: that unspoken tether, the thing neither time nor distance could break. Slowly, cautiously, he reached for her hand. She let him.

"I’m not perfect," he murmured. "And I’m no prince from the fairy tales. But I will stand beside you. I will fight for you. And I will never let anyone hurt you."

She squeezed his hand, her throat tightening. "You already are."

They stood like that, framed by the twilight, the world shrinking to the space between their hands.

But just beyond the palace walls, the wind shifted.

In the study of another prince, in the opulent halls of power, whispers were taking root. Secrets were being sharpened into weapons. And a girl with fire in her blood and ice in her smile had just made a deal that would change everything.

For now, though, Alaric and Lara were untouched. Together. ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom

Their hearts didn’t yet know what waited on the horizon—what storm Mira and Reuben had begun to stir.

But it was coming.

And when it did, will love alone be enough to withstand the storm?