He had expected anyone. He had expected the head butler, who handled the family money. He had expected one of the stable boys, who could easily be bribed with gold. He had even expected one of his own junior guards.
But Mrs. Ida?
The head maid. The older woman with the gray hair and the strict rules.
A massive wave of pain hit Damon right in the center of his chest. It felt like a heavy physical blow.
Ida was not just a servant. Ida had been in the Benson family for more than twenty years. When Damon’s parents died in a terrible carriage accident many years ago, Damon was just a young, angry, broken boy. It was Mrs. Ida who held him when he cried. It was Mrs. Ida who cooked his favorite als when he refused to eat. It was Mrs. Ida who cleaned his scraped knees when he learned how to fight with wooden swords.
She literally raised him. She was like a second mother to him.
Damon’s hands began to shake slightly. He gripped the wooden edges of his desk so hard that his knuckles turned completely white.
" Are you certain of this?"
" Yes, My Lord."
"How?" Damon thought to himself, his mind reeling with confusion and betrayal. "How could she do this? She held when I was a child. She told she loved like her own son. How could she sell off to my greedy uncles like a piece of cheap at?"
He rembered the way Ida had rushed to et him, carrying the dirty handkerchief, loudly accusing Camilla. He rembered how determined Ida was to send Camilla to the dungeon.
It all made terrible sense now. Ida cut the saddle. Ida planted the handkerchief. Ida wanted him dead, and she wanted Camilla to take the bla so the true murderers at the main estate would never be found.
Damon closed his eyes tightly. He felt a deep, dark sadness trying to rise in his throat. But he pushed the sadness down. He forced it deep into his stomach.
He rembered a very clear mory of his father. His father was a strong, harsh man. Before he died, his father had taken young Damon to the training yard. His father had looked down at him with cold eyes.
"Listen to , Damon," his father’s voice echoed in his mory. "You are a Benson. You will be a General. Do not trust your heart. Love causes weakness. And on the battlefield, weakness leads to death. Trust your sword. Trust your mind. Never trust a smiling face."
His father was right. Damon had trusted Ida. He had loved her like family. And because of that love, he had a blind spot. That weakness had almost cost him his life. He had fallen from his horse, his leg broken, almost trampled to death, all because he trusted the woman who poured his tea.
Damon opened his eyes. The shock was completely gone. The sadness was completely gone.
All that was left was pure, burning, violent rage.
His dark eyes looked like black fire. The muscles in his strong jaw locked tightly together. The veins on his thick neck stood out. He looked absolutely terrifying. He looked exactly like the Tyrant General who destroyed entire enemy armies without a single drop of rcy.
Damon stood up from his leather chair. He ignored the pain in his left leg. The anger in his blood was stronger than any physical pain.
He reached across his desk and grabbed his heavy steel sword. It was still inside its dark leather sheath. He gripped the handle so tightly that the leather groaned under his strength.
Damon spoke. His voice was low, harsh, and filled with deadly, shaking anger.
"Take to her room," Damon commanded.
Kade felt a chill run down his spine. He recognized that tone. It was the tone the General used right before he ordered an execution. Kade knew Mrs. Ida was not going to survive this night.
"Yes, My Lord," Kade replied sharply.
Kade quickly turned and opened the bedroom door. He stepped out into the dark hallway, leading the way. Damon followed right behind him. He limped slightly on his injured leg, but his steps were heavy, solid, and determined.
Thump. Drag. Thump. Drag.
They walked through the grand, silent mansion. The moonlight coming through the tall windows cast long, scary shadows against the stone walls. They left the expensive, decorated family wing. They walked down a narrow, dark staircase that led to the servants’ quarters on the first floor.
The servants’ hallway was dark and quiet. Everyone was deeply asleep.
Kade stopped in front of a solid wooden door at the very end of the hallway. This was the largest room in the servants’ quarters. It belonged to the head maid.
Kade stepped back, giving the General space.
Damon stood in front of the door. He did not ask Kade to knock. He raised his large, heavy fist and slamd it against the thick wood.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The sound was incredibly loud in the quiet hallway. It sounded like thunder.
Inside the room, Mrs. Ida was warm and comfortable in her soft bed. She was having a very pleasant dream.
The loud banging woke her up instantly. She gasped and sat up in bed.
She looked toward the door in the dark. She felt deeply annoyed. She was the head maid. No one was allowed to wake her up in the middle of the night unless the mansion was burning down. She assud it was so foolish junior maid who had broken a plate.
Ida grumbled loudly. She threw her warm blankets off her legs.
"What is it?" Ida yelled angrily toward the door. She grabbed a dark woolen shawl and wrapped it tightly around her shoulders to keep the chill away. "Can’t it wait till morning? Who dares to wake up at this hour?"
She put her feet into her soft slippers. She stomped angrily across the small room. She reached out and grabbed the tal door handle. She was ready to yell at whoever was standing outside. She was ready to punish them with extra chores for a whole month.
Ida unlocked the door and pulled it open quickly.
"What do you..." Ida started to shout.
But the words died instantly in her throat.
She saw a tall, broad figure standing in the dark hallway. The pale moonlight from a nearby window fell across his face.
It was not a junior maid. It was Damon.
He was standing right in front of her door. He was towering over her. His broad shoulders blocked out the light. In his right hand, he held his massive steel sword, the dark leather sheath resting against his leg.
But it was his face that truly terrified her.
He looked at Ida with eyes full of absolute, murderous rage. His dark eyes were cold, hard, and completely unforgiving. There was no love left in them. There was no mory of the little boy she had raised. He looked at her exactly like he looked at an enemy soldier on the battlefield. He looked at her like she was a disgusting insect he was about to crush under his boot.
Ida stopped breathing. Her heart gave a painful, violent lurch in her chest.
All of her arrogance, all of her annoyance, completely vanished. She felt a cold, paralyzing terror wash over her entire body. Her knees went weak. The dark shawl slipped off her shoulders and fell to the floor, but she did not even notice.
"My... My Lord?" Ida whispered. Her voice was a tiny, terrified squeak.
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