The General's Daughter: The Mission

”You claim to be descended from the Kromwel bloodline,” Persius said through clenched teeth. ”Then how can you speak of your own ancestors with such disrespect?”

Anton blinked in surprise.

He had expected disagreement—perhaps even annoyance—but not this level of outrage.

Persius took a step forward, his voice ringing with conviction.

”Emperor Alaric was unwaveringly devoted to his empress. Even the generations that followed honored his example. The Kromwel emperors took only one wife at a time and remained faithful to them until death.”

Anton raised both hands in a placating gesture.

”Easy now,” he said with a nervous chuckle. ”I was only speculating. Throughout history, it wasn’t unusual for royalty to have multiple wives. Even the King of Zalmeria has three.”

”In Zalmeria, polygamy within the royal family is lawful,” Crown Prince Yohannes replied evenly. ”But I fail to see what my father’s marriages have to do with you Mr. Trillo, much more the Kromwels.”

An awkward silence settled over the room.

Finally, Ares spoke.

”That is enough!”

His voice was calm, yet it carried an unmistakable weight that silenced everyone.

”The Kromwels have long been remembered as rulers who were fiercely loyal to their spouses.” His piercing gaze settled on Anton. ”Whether you intended it as humor or idle speculation is irrelevant. Do not tarnish the legacy of my ancestors again, Mr. Trillo.”

The room fell deathly quiet.

Lara instinctively turned to look at Ares.

She hadn’t expected him to defend the Kromwels so fiercely.

For a fleeting moment, the stern man standing before her overlapped with the image of Alaric from her memory.

The resemblance was unsettling.

...

Sensing that the tension had grown far too thick, Amelia quickly stepped forward.

She lifted her chin and gestured toward the magnificent ceiling.

”Look.”

Her voice softened, inviting everyone’s attention away from the uncomfortable silence.

”The fresco above us depicts the love story of Emperor Alaric and Empress Lara.”

”How wonderfully romantic,” Princess Zinnia murmured, her eyes tracing the vibrant colors spread across the vaulted ceiling.

Encouraged that the mood had begun to ease, Amelia continued with renewed enthusiasm.

”According to the imperial annals, this fresco was commissioned after the deaths of the First Emperor and Empress. Their eldest son, Aldrich, invited the most celebrated painter in all of Azuverda to immortalize his parents’ love and preserve their legacy for generations to come.”

She pointed toward one of the panels.

”There.”

The painting captured General Alaric standing amidst a pack of wolves, his stomach bleeding as he held on to his sword. Behind him stood Lara, her bow drawn, a flaming arrow nocked against the string.

Ares slowly lifted his eyes to the fresco.

Something stirred deep within him.

Like a forgotten dream emerging through the morning mist, fragments of a distant memory began to surface.

[Flashback]

His vision blurred.

The endless blackness receded like the last sliver of twilight, replaced by a world painted in firelight and shadow. The forest swam before him, distorted by pain, yet one image remained impossibly clear.

Her. An angel or perhaps the fabled fairy of Mount Ourea.

She knelt over him, her face illuminated by flickering embers. Strands of copper-colored hair clung to her damp cheeks, and her amber eyes glowed like the autumn sunset against the gathering dusk.

He clung to that sight with everything he had.

Darkness tugged at him, relentless and patient, threatening to drag him under.

Not yet.

Gentle hands eased him onto the blood soaked forest floor.

A sweet, herbal scent drifted through the metallic smell of blood. Cool fingers pressed against the ragged wound in his side before a thick paste of crushed yarrow spread across torn flesh.

Pain exploded through him.

His jaw tightened, but not a sound escaped.

She tore a strip of cloth from her pack and bound the wound with practiced efficiency. Blood immediately seeped through the bandage.

”...Damn.”

”Come on, soldier.”

Her voice cracked like a command on the battlefield.

”You need to help me. Get up.”

She hooked one of his arms around her shoulders.

”We’re not dying here.”

Training took over before thought could. His body obeyed. With a strained groan, he staggered upright.

Lara slipped beneath his weight, bracing herself against him. She was smaller than he was by nearly a head, yet she carried him without complaint, every step fueled by sheer determination.

What should have been a five-minute walk toward the hanging bridge became an endless march through the darkness.

Each step sent fire tearing through his body. Each breath tasted of blood.

The forest had come alive. Crickets chirped. Leaves rustled.

Somewhere in the distance, an owl cried.

The three flaming arrows Lara had planted along their path were dying, their flames shrinking into glowing embers.

Without stopping, she drew three more arrows from her quiver and reignited their trail.

They were almost at the hanging bridge.

Then—

A low growl rolled through the trees.

Lara froze. Slowly... she turned.

Dozens of green eyes stared back from the darkness.

The wolves had found them again.

Only this time...they weren’t stalking. They were closing in for the kill.

The first wolf sprang.

Steel flashed.

Lara’s sword carved through the air with a sharp whistle.

A pained yelp shattered the silence as the beast crashed into the undergrowth.

She didn’t wait to see if it survived.

”Soldier, move it! If you don’t get up, we’ll both be dinner!” she snapped, dragging him forward. ”You’re damn heavy.”

Alaric forced one foot in front of the other. Then another. Every muscle screamed. His knees threatened to give way.

Behind them, snarls erupted as the pack surged forward.

”They’re gaining...”

Lara thrust the burning arrows into his hands.

”Hold these!”

He barely caught them before stumbling, gripping the flaming shafts with numb fingers.

The wolves circled, their glowing eyes weaving through the trees.

They were too close. Far too close.

She reached for her bow—

No.

There wasn’t enough time. Instead, she hurled an arrow like a spear.

It disappeared into the darkness.

A howl answered. Another arrow. Another cry. Another charging wolf faltered.

Still they came.

”Damn it...”

She threw again. And again. Each throw bought only seconds.

The pack seemed endless.

Then, a rustle.