The Comeback of the General's Daughter

There were more whispers. Lara, who has far better hearing than normal humans, heard their words. They lingered like ghosts, flickering from one corner of the courtyard to another.

Lara could feel their eyes—sharp and assessing—dragging over her plain dress, her travel-worn boots, the braid that hung loose over her shoulder. She held her head high, meeting their curious stares with a gaze that did not waver until Freya's gentle voice grabbed her attention.

"Husband," she started, her hand grasping Lara's wrist. "You and Asael can handle the ceremonies if you can't wait for me. I'll help Lara get dressed." Her words hung in the air for only a heartbeat before she turned, gliding toward a side door, pulling Lara along with her.

Lara barely had time to glance back, catching a glimpse of Mira standing stiffly, her smile frozen mid-blossom, brittle and unyielding. Freya didn't look back—didn't even pause to acknowledge Mira's presence.