Camilla looked straight ahead, her mind racing.
"Why did he pull so close?" Camilla thought, her internal voice sounding slightly frustrated. "He whispered in my ear and called fickle. He looked so angry when I looked at Allen. Is he really jealous? No, that is impossible. He is just a possessive brute who doesn’t want other n looking at his property."
She tightened her grip on her skirts.
Damon walked with his eyes fixed on the dark hallway.
"She called Allen handso," Damon’s thoughts grumbled silently. His chest felt heavy and tight with the mory. "She looked at him with appreciation. Why does she always look at other n like that? She looked at the dancer the sa way. She is my wife. She should only look at and channel her complints to ."
He felt a deep sense of irritation. He did not understand his own feelings. He had never felt this kind of jealousy before, and it made him feel completely out of control.
Murry stopped in front of a double door at the end of the third-floor hallway. He turned the brass key in the lock, and the door pushed open with a soft creak.
The grand guest suite was huge and luxurious. A large fireplace sat in the corner, filled with warm, glowing orange embers. In the center of the room was a big bed with dark silk hangings.
Murry stepped aside and bowed deeply to them.
"I hope you have a very peaceful rest, My Lord, My Lady," Murry said, his eyes twinkling with a secret, happy matchmaking joy.
"Thank you, Murry," Damon said.
Murry bowed one last ti, walked out into the hallway, and closed the doors firmly behind him. The lock clicked loudly from the outside.
Damon and Camilla were left completely alone in the quiet, warm room.
The awkward silence returned instantly, heavier than before.
Camilla walked over to the side of the large bed. She stood there, her back to him, pretending to examine the dark silk hangings. She did not know what to say.
Damon stood near the doorway. He looked at her slim figure in the black dress. He looked at the bed. He knew they could not share it without causing another chaotic ntal battle. His dance from earlier was still fresh in his mind, and the mory made his face grow slightly warm.
He needed to leave. He needed to clear his head, and he had real, serious business to handle tonight anyway.
Damon cleared his throat softly.
"You can take the bed," Damon spoke. His voice was deep, flat, and completely devoid of any warmth. "I have sothing to take care of."
Camilla slowly turned her head to look at him. She felt a sudden wave of relief. She would not have to fight him for the mattress tonight. But she also felt a small bit of curiosity. It was the middle of the night. Where was he going?
Camilla nodded her head slowly.
"Okay," Camilla replied simply. Her voice was calm and soft.
Damon did not say anything else. He turned around, opened the door, and stepped out of the room. He closed the door quietly behind him, leaving her alone in the large, warm bedroom.
As soon as the bedroom door clicked shut, the cold mask returned to Damon’s face.
His posture beca stiff and commanding.
He walked down the dark hallways of the third floor. He did not go toward the grand staircase that led to the front entrance. Instead, he turned down a narrow, cold stone corridor in the oldest, most private section of the estate.
He walked down a set of steep, winding stone stairs. The air grew colder and damp with every step he took. The pleasant sll of the ballroom’s sweet wine and perfus was replaced by the sour sll of wet dirt and iron.
He was heading deep underground, toward the estate’s private holding cells.
Damon reached the bottom of the stairs. The corridor here was narrow and dark, lit only by a few flickering orange torches resting in iron brackets on the stone walls. Two armored guards belonging to his grandfather’s personal security detail were standing at strict attention outside an iron door.
When they saw the General walking with powerful strides toward them, the guards imdiately clapped their leather boots together and saluted sharply.
"My Lord!" the head guard said, his voice echoing in the quiet stone cellar.
Damon stopped in front of the door. He looked at the iron bolt keeping the door locked.
"Open it," Damon ordered. His voice was deep, cold, and flat.
"Yes, My Lord!" the guard replied quickly.
The guard reached out his hand and grabbed the bolt. With a harsh, scraping sound of tal against tal, he pulled the bolt back. He turned the large key in the lock.
The door screeched loudly as the guard pushed it open.
Damon did not hesitate. He stepped through the doorway and entered the dark, cold cell.
The holding cell was very small and damp. The stone walls were covered in green moss, and the floor was made of rough, cold dirt. There was no fireplace here. The only light ca from a single, small candle sitting on a broken stool in the corner.
Sitting on a hard, narrow bench in the center of the cell were Lady Adeline and her daughter, Elora.
The two won looked utterly ruined.
Their expensive, flashy silk dresses were completely covered in dirt. Their hair, which had been piled high in beautiful curls covered in sparkling jewels, was now ssy and hanging wildly around their faces.
Elora was sitting in the corner of the bench, shivering violently from the cold air. Her right arm, which was still wrapped tightly in thick white bandages from the bite, was pressed hard against her chest. She was crying silently, her eyes red and swollen.
Lady Adeline was sitting very stiffly. Her cheek was bright red and swollen from Camilla’s brutal, knock-out slap. Her mind was filled with a mixture of rage and terror. She had never been treated like a criminal in her entire life.
When the door screeched open, both won flinched violently.
Lady Adeline slowly raised her head.
She saw the tall, broad figure of Damon standing in the doorway. The flickering orange light from the hallway torches fell across his face. He looked massive, dark, and terrifying. His eyes were completely cold, dead, and staring down at her with rciless fury.
Lady Adeline’s chest gave a hard, sudden jolt. The arrogant pride she held evaporated in an instant. She swallowed hard. A wave of fear washed over her entire body. Her voice shook violently.
"Damon?" Lady Adeline spoke. Her voice was nothing more than a terrified, raspy whisper.
Damon did not answer her yet. He took one slow step forward into the cell, his boots crunching loudly in the dirt, his terrifying presence filling the small space completely.
The door behind him slowly swung shut, locking them inside the dark cell together.
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