The Lascourine Estate was not a palace; it was a fortress. Built of dark grey stone and perched on a cliff overlooking the jagged Cordovan coastline, it looked as though it had grown out of the earth itself. There were no silk curtains here, no gold-leafed ceilings. Everything was leather, wood, and iron.
As the car pulled into the courtyard, Lulan gripped her suitcase. She felt small, but as she looked at the General sitting beside her, she realized he wasn't looking at her with pity. He was looking at her like a piece of raw iron that needed to be thrown into the fire.
"This is my home," General Julian Lascourine said, his voice echoing in the cold night air. "There are only two rules here. One: Never lie to me. Two: Earn your keep. I don't give charity, Lulan. I give opportunities. Do you understand?
Lulan stepped out of the car, her wet boots clicking on the stone. "Perfectly. Where is the kitchen?"
The First Trial
The kitchen was massive, filled with copper pots and the smell of rosemary and roasted meat. The General's previous chef had left in a hurry, leaving the pantry in disarray. For the first week, Lulan worked until her fingers bled. She cooked for the General, his staff, and the occasional high-ranking military officials who visited in secret.
She was three months pregnant now. The morning sickness was a daily battle. She would wake up at 4:00 AM, vomit into a bucket, wipe her face, and then start the bread dough. She didn't complain. She knew that if she showed weakness, the General would send her away.
One evening, as she was preparing a complex reduction sauce, the General walked in. He didn't say a word. He watched her move—the surgical precision with which she sliced vegetables, the way she managed four different pots at once without breaking a sweat.
"You have the hands of a surgeon, not a cook," he remarked, leaning against the heavy oak table.
Lulan didn't look up. "My mother wanted me to be a lady. I wanted to be a doctor. My father told me I should be grateful just to marry well."
"And look where that got you," Julian said, his eyes narrowing. "Betrayed by a Prince and abandoned by a merchant. Tell me, Lulan, if I gave you the world, what would you do with it?"
Lulan stopped stirring. She looked at the General, her eyes cold and clear. "I wouldn't want the world, General. I'd want the power to decide who gets to live in it."
The General laughed—a deep, booming sound that shook the copper pots. "I like you, girl. Most people want jewels. You want a scalpel."
The Turning Point
A month later, the "secret" could no longer be hidden. Lulan's belly had begun to swell significantly—more than it should have for a single pregnancy.
One afternoon, while she was lifting a heavy crate of potatoes, a sharp pain shot through her abdomen. She gasped, collapsing against the stone wall. The General, who had been passing by the hallway, rushed in.
"Lulan!" He caught her before she hit the floor.
"I'm fine," she gasped, though her face was white as salt. "I just... I need to sit."
He sat her down and looked at her stomach. The realization hit him. "It's his, isn't it? The boy-prince."
Lulan nodded, tears finally pricking her eyes. "I have no one else, General. If you want me to leave, I'll go tonight."
Julian Lascourine looked at the young woman—exhausted, pregnant, but still holding her head up like a queen in exile. He thought of his own life, the battles he'd won, and the fact that he had no one to leave his name to.
"Stay seated," he commanded. He walked to his desk and pulled out a legal document. "I have no children. My brothers are vultures waiting for me to die so they can sell my land. I need an heir who has fire in their blood."
He looked at her. "I am going to adopt you. You will be Lulan Roselle Lascourine. These children will not be bastards of Belgravia; they will be the grandchildren of the Great General of Cordova. But in return, you will go to the best medical school in the world. You will become the doctor you were meant to be. I want my name to be whispered in hospitals, not just on battlefields."
Lulan stared at him, her heart thumping.
"Why?"
"Because," Julian whispered, "the look in your eyes tells me that one day, you're going to make that Prince regret the day he was born. And I want a front-row seat to watch it happen."
The Birth of the Four
The next two years were a blur of intense study and physical change. Julian moved Lulan to a private villa in the mountains where the best tutors and doctors were brought to her.
Then came the night of the birth.
It wasn't a normal labor. It was a storm. Lulan lay in a bed of white linen, the General pacing outside the door like a nervous lion. The local doctor was sweating.
"One more, Miss Lulan! Push!"
First came Lucian, quiet and observant even as a newborn. Then Kael, his tiny hands already grasping at the air. Then Bastian, who let out a cry so loud it echoed through the halls. And finally, tiny Elara, the only girl, with eyes that looked exactly like the man who had abandoned her mother in the rain.
When the General was finally allowed in, he looked at the four infants lined up in their cradles. He looked at Lulan, who was pale and shivering but wearing a triumphant smile.
When the General was finally allowed in, he looked at the four infants lined up in their cradles. He looked at Lulan, who was pale and shivering but wearing a triumphant smile.
"Four," Julian whispered, stunned. "You didn't just give me an heir, Lulan. You gave me a battalion."
He leaned over and kissed her forehead. "Rest now, Daughter. From this day on, the world belongs to the Lascourines."