Return of the General's Daughter

That Saturday, Amelia arrived at the Norse manor for her much-anticipated visit. Draped in soft training dress and buzzing with excitement, she had come to learn the intricacies of Lara’s dancing—she had promised to teach her.

Mira was already there, her smile polished and pristine, hiding the resentment that simmered beneath her calm facade. She moved with calculated grace, pretending to dote on Lara, every gesture rehearsed like a line in a play she knew all too well.

"Princess Ceres will be celebrating her eighteenth birthday next week!" Amelia announced, her eyes gleaming. "Wouldn’t it be lovely if we perform a dance for her?"

Lara’s face tightened. She hesitated, the idea clearly unappealing. "You and Mira can perform," she said, her voice cool. "I’ll just teach you."

Amelia’s smile faltered. She had imagined the three of them dancing together, a vision of harmony and elegance. But as she pondered it, she began to rationalize—perhaps it was for the best. If Lara performed with them, she might easily steal all the attention with her effortless poise.

Determined not to let disappointment dampen her mood, Amelia threw herself into the lesson. Lara demonstrated the foundational steps with precise movements and serene control, her posture perfect, her rhythm impeccable. After several rounds of practice, Amelia and Mira began to find their footing.

Then came the final step—a demanding spin that required balance, finesse, and control. Lara moved onto the center floor, lifted onto the ball of one foot, and turned with a fluid grace that made it look effortless.

As she twirled, Mira’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. A glint of calculation sparked within them. She shifted subtly, stepping closer under the guise of following Lara’s motion. Then, feigning a misstep, she leaned in and intentionally collided with Lara, hoping to throw her off balance.

But it backfired.