Return of the General's Daughter

"Oh, there you are! I’ve been looking for you! Why did you run away, create such a fuss, and delay the affairs of the soldiers?"

A man in his early twenties, with unruly curls and sweat glistening on his forehead, emerged from a narrow alley. His breath was ragged, as if he’d run a great distance. His arm draped over the young woman’s shoulders, his fingers digging into her flesh.

To the onlookers, the gesture might have seemed affectionate. But Lara saw the truth—the tight grip, the sharp flinch of pain, the way the woman’s eyes darted, seeking escape.

"Sirs, I deeply apologize for my wife’s behavior." The man’s voice was laced with an artificial charm, but the smugness beneath it was unmistakable. "She was flirting with our neighbor, and in my jealousy, I struck her. Of course, I might have hit her too hard, and she ran off in a tantrum. But can you blame me? A man can’t be expected to tolerate other men lusting after his beautiful wife, can he?"

"But I am not—"

The woman barely said a word before the man’s glare silenced her. Her lips trembled, her eyes darkened with resignation, and she lowered her head.

Lara clenched her fists.

"How can you prove she is your wife?" Lara’s voice was calm, but her eyes burned with defiance. In a world where women were treated as property, she had to tread carefully.

The man scoffed. "What? Has this wretch bewitched you as well?" He reached into his tunic and yanked out a crumpled piece of parchment, shoving it toward Lara with a sneer. "Here! Look for yourself!"

Lara caught the paper as it was flung at her. Her fingers brushed over the inked names, but it meant nothing. How could she confirm that the document was genuine?

Her gaze flickered to the woman’s face. There was no hope in her eyes, only silent pleading.