Free Web NovelChapter 214: Chapter Two Hundred And Thirteen
Damon clenched his jaw tightly. He looked at the guards holding his arms.
"Let go," Damon ordered firmly. His voice lost some of its fake weakness.
He pushed himself away from the guards. He stood up straight on his own two feet, though he remembered to hold his left shoulder to maintain the act.
"I can walk," Damon told them strictly. He pointed his finger toward the iron gates. "Go back to your stations."
The guards looked at each other in confusion, but they did not dare to disobey a direct command from the General. They saluted quickly, turned around, and jogged back to their posts at the front gates.
Damon turned his body and began to walk slowly toward the wide stone stairs of the mansion. He purposely dragged his left foot slightly, adding a small, fake limp to his walk.
Mr. Murry quickly picked up his oil lamp. He rushed after Damon, following closely behind his master’s back.
"My Lord, please be careful," Murry urged gently, hovering near Damon to catch him if he fell again.
They walked up the stairs and entered the bright, warm grand foyer.
As soon as they were inside, Murry walked quickly past Damon. He went directly toward a small wooden desk near the entrance, where ink and paper were kept for receiving messages.
"I will get the doctor now," Murry announced firmly. He picked up a dark feather quill. freewebnøvel.coɱ
Damon saw Murry preparing to write an urgent letter.
Damon’s heart gave a sudden, panicked jump. He could not let a professional doctor examine his shoulder. If the doctor came, he would unwrap the bandages and just put a clean one. The doctor would announce to the entire house that the General was fine. The grand performance would be entirely ruined.
"No," Damon commanded quickly. He raised his hand, stopping Murry.
Murry froze holding the feather quill. He turned his head and looked at Damon in shock.
"No?" Murry asked, his gray eyebrows pulling together in deep worry. "But My Lord, you just fell from a tall horse. You are holding your shoulder in pain. You must be examined immediately to ensure there are no broken bones."
"I said no," Damon repeated firmly, keeping his face perfectly serious. "I do not want a doctor. The injury is already bandaged. I just need rest."
Murry let out a heavy sigh. He dropped the feather quill back onto the desk.
The old housekeeper knew the General’s stubborn nature perfectly well. Damon was famous for fighting through immense physical pain. Murry thought Damon was simply being his usual, stubborn, overly proud self.
Murry decided to suggest a different, smaller solution. He wanted to help his master in any way possible.
"Okay," Murry agreed softly, giving up on the doctor. He looked at Damon’s dark blue coat. "Should I send some of the maids to bring you something to dress the injury with? They can bring fresh white bandages, warm water, and healing ointment to your room."
Damon shook his head slowly.
"No," Damon refused again. He wanted to create the perfect, helpless scenario for Camilla. If the maids helped him, Camilla would have no reason to touch him.
"I do not want any maids in my room," Damon stated strictly. He looked directly at Murry, making sure the old man understood his order completely. "I want privacy. Do not send anyone upstairs."
Murry bowed his head in sad defeat. "As you wish, My Lord."
Damon turned away from the desk. He walked slowly toward the grand staircase. He continued his fake acting, taking slow, heavy steps up the stairs, holding his shoulder, and keeping his head bowed.
He climbed to the second floor, walked down the long hallway, and entered the master bedroom. He did not light any lamps. He sat down in the chair in the dark, alone, waiting impatiently for his wife to finally return home.
A full hour passed slowly. The city grew even colder.
Finally, the sound of wheels and horses’ hooves echoed outside the high stone walls.
Camilla’s carriage rolled through the iron gates and stopped in the center of the courtyard.
The carriage door opened. Camilla stepped down onto the stone pavement. She did not look energetic or happy.
She looked utterly exhausted. Her dress was slightly wrinkled. Her shoulders were slumped heavily. Her eyes lacked their usual sharp spark.
She had spent the entire, long day standing inside Allen’s quiet textile shop in the lower city. She had spent hours counting gold coins, organizing delivery wagons and planning safe trade routes to avoid the King’s new border lockdown. Using her brain to manage a business was incredibly tiring work. Her mind felt like a heavy stone.
All she wanted to do was take a hot bath, put on her soft silk nightgown, and sleep for twelve hours. freewebnovel.cσ๓
As Camilla stepped away from the carriage, she saw Mr. Murry walking quickly toward her.
Camilla stopped walking. She looked at the old housekeeper’s face in the light of the courtyard lanterns.
Murry did not have his usual, warm, bubbly, happy smile. His wrinkled face was incredibly pale, drained of all its healthy color. His gray eyebrows were pulled tightly together, and his hands were shaking slightly at his sides. He looked like a man carrying terrible, tragic news.
Camilla frowned deeply. She instantly knew something was wrong. The bubbly old man’s expression changing meant serious trouble in the house.
"Did something happen, Uncle Murry?" Camilla asked immediately. Her voice was sharp and clear, cutting through her exhaustion.
Murry stopped in front of her. He bowed his head, his voice shaking with deep distress.
"The General is badly injured, My Lady," Murry reported, delivering the terrible news.
Camilla’s eyes widened slightly in surprise.
Murry wrung his hands together, continuing his frantic explanation.
"He even fell from his horse right here in the courtyard," Murry explained, pointing a shaking finger at the hard stone pavement. "He is in immense pain. He is holding his shoulder, and he could barely walk up the stairs on his own."
Camilla stared at Murry. She processed the information quickly.
"And," Murry added, his voice dropping into a tone of despair. "He is refusing treatment. He doesn’t want me to call the doctor, or even send maids to bring him fresh bandages for him. He just stayed in the dark bedroom alone. I am so terribly worried for his life, My Lady."
Camilla stood still in the cold courtyard.
She listened to Murry’s panicked words. A deep frown formed on her face.
She crossed her arms tightly over her chest. Her eyes turned flat and annoyed.
She murmured to herself, her voice so low that Murry could not hear her words. Her voice was filled with frustration.
"What the hell is he doing now?" Camilla murmured to herself, glaring up toward the dark windows of the second floor.
She was incredibly tired, and now she had to deal with a stubborn, injured man. But her annoyance quickly shifted into a very practical, serious calculation about her own future.
"He fell from a horse?" Camilla’s mind reasoned rapidly. "And he is refusing a doctor? That is incredibly stupid. A severe injury left untreated can easily lead to an infection. An infection can lead to high fever, and a high fever can lead to death."
A cold shiver of panic ran down her spine, but it was not because she loved him. It was because she needed him alive.
"If anything happens to him," Camilla thought, her mind calculating the disaster of the situation. "If he dies from a stupid infection, my entire plan is ruined. My ticket back home will be completely jeopardized."
She stared hard at the stone steps of the mansion. She knew the strict rules of the romance novel she was trapped inside.
"He is the male lead of this entire world," Camilla’s thoughts raged, her hands tightening into fists. "The story revolves around his power and his army. If the male lead dies in the middle of the book, the entire plot collapses entirely. This world might end. And where do I find another male lead if something happens to him?"
She had no other options. She had to keep the stubborn man alive at all costs, simply to protect her own existence and her chance to return to her Winston.
