Return of the General's Daughter

"Becoming a merchant isn’t such a terrible fate," said Orion, his weathered voice laced with calm practicality. The middle-aged mentor sat beneath the eaves of the herb shed, his eyes sharp under furrowed brows. "But you might not have the luxury of choosing. You’re the only heir left to Duke Caspian."

Kasmeri stood stiffly, fists clenched, his gaze fixed on the dirt path. "My hands are soaked in blood, Orion," he muttered bitterly. His voice was low, taut with guilt. "I never wanted the title. I loathe everything the nobility stands for."

Kasmeri and Alaric had one thing in common: They had the same master. Though they were just his apprentices, Orion forbade them from calling him master. Instead, he insisted that they be called by his name.

Orion’s eyes narrowed. "And which noble’s hands are clean?" he asked, dryly. "I know what burdens you carry—and your hatred of the aristocracy—but a good man in power can change lives, Kasmeri. You could lead differently." He studied the young man with a measured glance. "You don’t have to resort to robbery and kidnappings just to raise money." He heaved a long sigh. "You have a good heart, and you wanted to help so many, but no matter how good the intent is, the end does not justify the means."

A pause. Then a quiet, thoughtful hum.

Another hum followed it, awkward and almost theatrical.

Alaric stepped forward and cleared his throat. He lowered his hood, revealing a face that made Kasmeri’s blood run cold.

Alaric cleared his throat. He removed his hood and revealed his face to Kasmeri.

"You—"