Return of the General's Daughter

Eloisa’s gaze darkened, her nails digging into her palms, drawing a bit of blood. How could she fail to see the signs? The whispers, the hidden glances—she should have seen it. She was fooled by Linnea’s simplicity.

All those years, Linnea had walked around the estate with her head bowed, her demeanor gentle and obedient. But it was all a ruse. She had hidden a son right under her nose.

A son. The duke’s only son.

Her lips curled in disdain, her mind whirling back to that night—the night Linnea had given birth. The memory returned in fragments: the rushed whispers, the doors closed a little too quickly, Linnea’s absence stretched longer than it should have. She had peeked at the baby’s gender then and was sure it was a girl. Did they replace it?

Eloisa’s hands clenched tighter. How dare they?

But it was too late to strike now. Not with Connor hugging Sandoz as if the boy was a precious gem. None of the other concubines also bore him a son. The duke of Arces would be doomed if he could not produce an heir.

Eloisa’s gaze lingered on the face of the boy who was relishing in his father’s embrace. He was indeed an Arces. And of all people, he had to look like Prince Dakota. Who would doubt his lineage?

The duchess’s eyes flicked to Linnea as she approached. She was standing beside the duke, her hands pressed together as if in prayer. A flicker of hatred passed through Eloisa’s eyes, and she masked it with a sharp smile. "Congratulations," she sneered, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "I never knew you could hide such important news from the duke. It is good that the boy was not harmed. If you hadn’t hidden his identity, would the boy have been kidnapped in the first place?"

Linnea’s eyes met Eloisa’s, and for the first time, Eloisa saw something that had never been there before: courage and defiance.