Return of the General's Daughter-Chapter 333: Evil Begets Evil

Mira wasn’t given time to recover.

By the next morning, a royal escort arrived—led by palace guards clad in gold and crimson, their faces expressionless, their orders absolute.

The Norse family did not protest. Not General Odin, nor Freya, who barely looked at Mira as she was handed over like a parcel.

Gideon, Peredur, and Percival kept on sighing. If only Mira’s heart were not evil, this would not have happened.

"A royal summons," Odin had said simply, eyes averted.

They dressed her in silks far too fine for someone so disgraced. The gold embroidery felt like chains. Her bruises had barely begun to fade when she was brought before the royal court—not to plead her case, but to be claimed.

The King did not attend. Only a bored steward read the royal decree aloud in a gilded hall, his voice echoing:

"Mira of the House Norse, hereby summoned to the Crown Prince’s residence, and formally entered into his household as a concubine."

Not a wife.

A concubine.

The concubine quarters were not what Mira had imagined. They were lavish, yes—marble floors, mirrored walls, carved screens—but behind every perfumed curtain lurked whispered rivalries, jealous eyes, and subtle cruelties wrapped in silk.

And towering above them all was Amielle—Reuben’s first concubine.

She was beautiful in a way that made the air around her shimmer—poised, intelligent, innocent, and pure. These were the masks she wore every day. But only she knew that behind those masks was a dark heart. Her word was law in the harem, and her smiles were poison.

"You’re not the first girl who thought a mistake would win her a crown," Amielle said during their first meeting, reclining lazily on a velvet chaise. "But don’t worry. You won’t be here long enough to dream."

Mira bowed, hiding her clenched jaw. "I don’t want his crown."

"No?" Amielle said, her tone like honeyed venom. "But you had his attention. And that makes you dangerous."

What followed were days of deliberate torment. Servants loyal to Amielle "forgot" Mira’s meals or gave her spoiled ones. Her chamber was relocated closer to the bathhouses, where the scent of heated stone and soap never entirely dissipated, and privacy was a forgotten luxury.

But it was Reuben who inflicted the true suffering.

He never apologized. Not once. He never asked if she was well, nor did he offer any explanations. When he summoned her, it was without tenderness. She was expected to appear, kneel, and obey.

"You should be grateful," he said once, after she’d flinched from his touch. "I made you something, Mira. You would have been ruined and discarded, but now you’re here. You have to serve your purpose."

She wanted to scream. To spit in his face.

But she learned. The first time she’d resisted him, she’d been locked in the dungeon for day and night, without water and food. The next morning, she could barely move her legs.

So Mira learned to lower her gaze, to breathe through the ache, to endure.

Sometimes, at night, she would press a pillow over her face to muffle the sound of her crying.

Sometimes, she would remember her old life at Odin’s manor, the time when Lara had not returned. It was the best year of her life. But now, those seemed long ago.

She began to change, slowly, from the inside out.

She memorized the names of every servant. Who served whom? Who whispered behind whose back? She learned that Amielle’s influence came not just from beauty or favor—but from the information she traded, the secrets she kept.

She listened when the servants gossiped. She noted the way Reuben’s moods shifted when certain ministers were mentioned, how he favored flattery over truth. She watched Reuben, still fixated on Lara, every time she visited.

The betrayal still burned in her gut.

But Mira smiled, served her tea, and listened.

Because while they all thought she was broken, she was learning.

Ambition took root in Mira’s heart like a blade of grass forcing its way through stone. It was quiet at first, almost reluctant—then relentless.

Perhaps what had happened to her was not a curse but a hidden blessing.

Yes, she was humiliated and stripped of dignity. But she was also placed beside a man destined to be king.

Reuben.

If she could endure him, understand him... manipulate him...

Could she not rise with him?

Could she not one day become queen?

With these thoughts, she became settled. She shed her anger, tucking it away beneath a practiced smile. She began to study—not books, but bodies, gestures, appetites. She learned the subtleties of seduction: how to touch, how to speak in silk-toned promises, how to make a man feel like a god long before he reached the bed.

Reuben was a prince. But still, a man. Weak to beauty, starved for worship, easily manipulated when stroked with care.

And so, Mira gave him experiences—both carnal and emotional. She became a fantasy he could not name, a storm he could not control. She made herself unforgettable.

And in doing so, she began to reclaim the pieces they had tried to destroy.

Then one day, Queen Helga summoned her. There in her drawing room, she was surprised to find her biological father and brother. Marlon and Merlin Norse.

"Mira, my child!" When was the last time I saw you? You have grown even more beautiful than before."

Mira nodded to the two people who were sitting leisurely on the sofa.

"Uncle, Cousin!" Mira greeted with feigned respect.

General Marlon frowned. He did not like the sound of it.

"I don’t like long-winded conversation, so I’ll keep it short." Queen Helga, seated regally on a fully cushioned seat, said in a calculated voice.

"Your Father, Odin Norse, and his sons are getting more powerful by the day." Her cold gaze remained fixed on Mira. "You know that several decades ago, a brave general, well loved by the people, rebelled against the king, killed all the king’s sons, and usurped the throne."

Mira kept her head lowered so the queen would not see the coldness in Mira’s eyes. Wasn’t she talking about King Heimdal’s great-great-great-grandfather?

"I want you to be my spy in Odin Norse’s manor and report to me no matter how trivial the information is." The queen’s voice made Mira shiver. Now she understood where Reuben picked up his bad habits.

"I understand, Your Highness." Mira tried to keep her tone respectful.

Then a new voice echoed from the doorway.

"Mother," Reuben drawled as he entered. "How could you invite my woman and not me?"

He crossed the room with ease, slipping an arm around Mira’s waist like he was claiming her in front of all of them. His hand was possessive. His smile was all teeth.

She tilted her head slightly, the corners of her mouth lifting in a smile as dazzling—and dangerous—as polished glass.

Her performance was flawless. Warmth in her eyes. Grace in her posture. Devotion in her touch.

But behind that smile, her mind was already spinning.

Because one day, the throne that loomed above them all would no longer be a dream.

It would be hers.

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