Free Web NovelChapter 213: Chapter Two Hundred And Twelve
Damon rode his horse through the large, open iron gates of the Benson mansion. The horse’s metal shoes hit the stone pavement of the courtyard with a loud, steady rhythm. The animal was tired, and Damon was also physically exhausted from the long day.
However, Damon’s mind was awake. He was thinking deeply about the advice his friend Syrus had given him at the tavern.
"Show your vulnerability," Syrus had told him. "Use your injury. Tell her it hurts. Let her take care of you."
Damon pulled gently on the thick leather reins. The large horse slowed down to a steady walk. Damon looked down at his own left shoulder.
Damon frowned slightly in the darkness.
"The cut does not hurt at all," Damon thought to himself. His internal voice was very practical and slightly doubtful. "It is just a tiny scratch. If I just walk inside and tell her it hurts, she will not believe me. She is too smart. She will know I am lying to get her attention."
He needed a better plan. He needed to make the injury look much worse than it actually was. He needed an audience.
Damon looked toward the grand front doors of the mansion.
Standing on the wide stone steps, holding a warm yellow oil lamp to light the dark courtyard, was Mr. Murry. The older housekeeper was waiting faithfully for the General to return home.
Damon looked at the old man. A brilliant calculated strategy quickly formed inside Damon’s mind.
"Camilla is very close to Uncle Murry," Damon reasoned internally. He watched the housekeeper step down the stone stairs to greet him. "She respects him. She listens to him. If I just tell Camilla I am hurt, she might ignore me. But if Uncle Murry sees that I am badly injured, he will panic. He will worry deeply. And then, he will definitely go and tell Camilla. If Murry is worried, Camilla will worry too." freewebnovёl.ƈom
It was a perfect tactical plan to win his wife’s attention. He just needed to put on a very good, believable performance.
Damon took a slow, deep breath. He prepared himself to do something he had never, ever done in his entire life. He prepared to act weak.
Damon looked at the approaching housekeeper.
"I am sorry, Uncle Murry," Damon whispered very softly to himself into the cold night air. He felt a tiny pinch of guilt for scaring the old man, but he was desperate to win his wife’s heart.
The horse came to a complete stop in the center of the stone courtyard.
Mr. Murry walked up to the side of the horse. He held the yellow oil lamp up. He bowed his gray head very respectfully.
"Welcome home, My Lord," Murry greeted him with a warm, polite voice.
Damon did not reply with his usual, strong voice. He did not jump down smoothly from the saddle like he always do.
Instead, Damon moved his right leg over the back of the saddle. He purposely let his left boot slip entirely out of the metal stirrup. He removed all of his balance and all of his control.
Damon let his broad body fall.
He measured the distance and fell directly off the horse. He crashed heavily onto the hard, cold stone pavement of the courtyard.
THUD.
The sound of his large body hitting the stones was incredibly loud. A thick cloud of gray dust flew up from the ground.
Mr. Murry froze. The old housekeeper’s eyes widened to their maximum limit in mind-shattering shock.
He stared at the ground. The most capable military commander in the entire kingdom had just fallen off his horse like a clumsy, untrained beginner. It was an impossible sight.
"MY LORD!" Murry shouted loudly. His voice was filled with terror and deep panic.
Murry dropped the oil lamp onto the stones. The glass cracked, but the flame stayed alive. Murry rushed forward immediately, falling onto his knees beside Damon.
Damon lay on the cold stone pavement. He closed his eyes tightly. He grabbed his left shoulder with his right hand. He squeezed the fabric of his coat and let out a very low, harsh, painful groan from the back of his throat.
"Aargh," Damon groaned, playing the part of a severely injured man. He twisted his face to look like he was in immense, unbearable pain.
Murry’s hands were shaking violently. He did not know what to do. He looked at Damon holding his shoulder.
"Guards! Guards!" Murry screamed at the top of his lungs, turning his head toward the front gates. "Come here immediately! Help the General!"
Four heavily armored guards, who were stationed near the iron gates, heard the frantic screaming. They immediately drew their swords and ran as fast as they could across the courtyard. Their heavy metal boots pounded loudly against the stones.
When the guards arrived and saw the General lying in the dirt, they panicked too. They quickly put their swords away. Two of the strong guards reached down. They carefully grabbed Damon by his right arm and his waist, helping him slowly lift his body off the ground.
Damon stood up on his feet. He kept his body bent slightly forward. He leaned heavily against one of the guards, pretending that he could not stand on his own, breathing in short, heavy gasps.
He had successfully created a massive, dramatic scene. Now, he was ready to receive his reward. He was ready for Camilla to rush out of the front doors, see him injured, and take care of him.
Damon slowly raised his head. He looked past the guards. He looked at the open front doors of the mansion.
The doorway was empty. No one was running out to save him.
Damon frowned slightly. He turned his head and looked down at the terrified housekeeper standing beside him.
"Where is the lady?" Damon asked. He tried to keep his voice sounding weak and pained, but a small hint of genuine demand slipped through.
Murry wrung his shaking hands together. He looked very pale and deeply stressed.
"She is not back yet, My Lord," Murry replied softly, his voice trembling.
Damon stopped moving. He stood still in the arms of the supporting guards.
His dark brown eyes went wide. The fake pain on his face vanished for a brief second, replaced by confusion.
Damon thought to himself, his mind racing.
"She is not back?" Damon’s internal voice questioned sharply. He quickly turned his head and looked up at the dark, starry night sky.
"It is already very late," Damon thought, a deep frown forming on his face. "The sun went down hours ago. The capital city is dark and freezing cold. Why isn’t she back yet?"
A sudden, sharp wave of jealousy hit his chest.
"Is she still out doing business?" Damon’s dark thoughts rushed wildly. "Or is she with him, ignoring the time?"
The burning jealousy made his actual blood feel hot. He wanted to mount his horse immediately, ride back into the capital city, and tear down every single building until he found her.
But he could not do that. He was currently pretending to be severely injured. He could not suddenly jump up and act fine in front of Murry and the guards. He was trapped in his own dramatic lie.
