A/N: Sorry for the late update. I was dead tired last night and had a brain freeze. I decided to sleep instead of publishing a Chapter that I am pretty sure will have many errors.
Lara averted her gaze from the Minister of Rites, choosing instead to fix her eyes on the king, who sat regally upon his ornate seat. His posture was proud, exuding authority and confidence, the very embodiment of the kingdom itself.
"Your Majesty," Lara’s voice flowed like a gentle melody, smooth and pleasing to the ears. "I have brothers who are more capable than I, six of them."
"Yes, Your Majesty," General Odin could not help but chime in. "She’s just a woman, and I would love her to marry and give me grandchildren rather than join the battlefield. Just let my six sons protect Northem."
King Heimdal chuckled. "But she is not an ordinary woman, General. She inherited a lot of your traits. Besides, the Silver Wolf is a team of soldiers whose primary focus is to rescue the injured." The king shifted his gaze to Lara. With a sigh, he continued, " But I understand. Anyway, there is no war, the offer still stands when the time comes."
Lara lowered her head gracefully, a gesture of deep respect shining in her eyes. "Your Majesty," she said, her voice steady yet soft, "I truly appreciate your understanding. Should Northem call upon me to serve in the future, I will certainly heed it and join the fray." Her words carried a weight of determination, echoing her unwavering loyalty to the realm. "As long as I am alive, if the kingdom needs me, I will definitely come."
Odin’s gaze snapped toward his daughter, his eyes flaring with the sting of a retort poised on his tongue—but he paused, jaw clenched. It was an era of fragile peace; there was no need to stoke unnecessary fears. He exhaled slowly, the tension draining from his shoulders.
"Ahem, Lady Lara," the Minister of Defense stepped forward and gave her a light bow. "Congratulations on getting the Medal of Valor. You even surpassed your father." He shot a look at General Odin, now bearing the title of Marquis with a wide grin. "He got his when he was twenty, while you are not even eighteen yet." He smiled, the lines of his face creasing with attempted flattery.
"Thank you," Lara replied, her voice steady and unyielding. "But my father is the best. I could never surpass him."
Odin, who was standing beside her, smiled foolishly. "You see how filial my daughter is, Grio."
The minister chuckled, smoothing down the front of his cloak. "Oh, that... Well," he stepped closer, his eyes scanning her attire with undisguised curiosity. "Anyway, I will no longer beat around the bush. My visit here has more purpose than mere congratulations. I’m rather intrigued by your clothing. Tell me, who designed it?"
Lara’s lips curled into a bright smile. "I did."
"What?" Not only was the Minister of Defense surprised, but everyone in the courtyard, too. Murmurs buzzed among the crowd, and eyes widened in disbelief.
Prince Reuben had a bright glint in his eyes as his legs carried him to where Lara was. Prince Alderan followed closely.
The Minister of Defense blinked, visibly stunned. "You?" he stammered before regaining his composure.
"Why, are you interested, Minister?" Lara asked, her grin widening, the sunlight catching the intricate threading of her garment.
He nodded, admiration clear on his face. "The design is... unique and practical. I daresay our soldiers would be far more comfortable in such attire. The patterns and colors are... unlike anything I’ve seen." His hand hovered near the fabric, almost reverently.
Lara stepped back. She was afraid the minister would touch her clothes.
"This so that it could camouflage in the background."
The Minister’s brows furrowed as he studied the fabric more intently. "Camouflage," he murmured, testing the word as if it were foreign on his tongue.
"Exactly," Lara replied, folding her hands before her. "I call it ’fatigues.’"
"It’s designed to blend with the environment," Lara explained, her voice calm but firm. "The patterns distort the silhouette, making it harder for enemies to distinguish form from the background."
"Fatigues..." He savored the term, nodding approvingly. "Quite a name. Quite a design. I must say, Lady Lara, I am impressed. Could you arrange a meeting with the supplier?"
Lara’s smile never wavered. "Of course."
"The fatigues looked good. But I say, a dress suits you better." Prince Reuben interrupted, looking displeased.
Lara barely glanced at him, and then her gaze went past him to Prince Alaric, who was standing aloof behind Alderan.
A growing crowd had begun to form around them, curiosity igniting whispers among the nobles and soldiers alike. But the low hum of conversation was shattered by a thunderous voice. "Return to your seats!" The words cracked like a whip across the courtyard, silencing every whisper.
The Minister of Justice stood rigidly at the courtyard’s entrance, his expression carved from granite. In an instant, the courtyard rearranged itself into perfect order, the crowd parting like water around stone. Everyone was seated except for Lara, Odin, Grio, the Minister of Defense, and the three princes.
Heavy footsteps followed. A line of prisoners was marched into the open square, their hands bound tightly behind their backs, ankles shackled with iron chains that forced them to shuffle forward in halting, stuttering steps. Lara’s gaze hardened as she recognized their faces—the corrupt officials of Calma, stripped of their silks and pride, now draped in rough-spun linen and regret.
The Justice Minister, Tyrone wasted no breath on pleasantries or grandstanding. He stepped forward, his voice low but unyielding as he began to present the prisoners and recite the charges against the fifteen men, his tone unfeeling, each word a nail hammered into their fates.
The crowd watched in rapt silence, and Lara’s eyes never left the prisoners. Her hands rested calmly at her sides, but her jaw was set, her posture unyielding.
When the last charge was read, the Justice Minister turned his gaze toward the throne, awaiting the King’s word.
King Heimdal’s stern gaze landed on the prisoners. "Let us follow the laws. Those who murdered, execute them. The rest, exile them to the Island of Fengsel."
Lara paused. So, Fengsel, the island prison, had existed with the same purpose even a long time ago.
Tyrone looked troubled. "Your Majesty, the matter regarding the mayor who escaped, the death of the magistrate, and the chief of the guards..." he paused and shifted his focus on Prince Alaric.