Chapter 210: Chapter Two Hundred And Nine
The waiter carefully placed a dark green glass bottle of red wine on the table, along with two shining crystal glasses. He bowed politely and quickly walked away, leaving the two noblemen alone again.
Syrus reached out his hand. He grabbed the glass bottle and carefully poured the dark red wine into both crystal glasses.
Syrus picked up his glass. He brought it to his mouth and took a slow, appreciative sip of the sweet wine.
Damon lowered his hand from his chin. He reached his left hand forward across the table to take his own glass of wine.
As Damon extended his left arm, the thick muscles in his shoulder stretched sharply.
The sudden, stretching movement pulled directly on the fresh, shallow cut that Captain Robert had accidentally given him during their training session. The white bandages tied around his shoulder pulled tight against his skin.
A sharp, burning pain flared brightly across Damon’s left shoulder.
It was entirely unexpected. Damon lost his usual iron control for a tiny fraction of a second.
"Sss," Damon hissed a little in pain, pulling his hand back slightly. His jaw clenched tight, and a small line of discomfort formed between his dark eyebrows.
Sitting right across from him, Syrus stopped drinking his wine.
Syrus slowly lowered his glass back to the table. He stared at Damon. He raised a single eyebrow in suspicion.
He knew Damon perfectly well. Damon was one of the strongest, most skilled warrior in the entire kingdom of Daril. Damon survived battles, fought dozens of men at once, and never showed a single sign of physical weakness. Damon was definitely not a man to be hurt casually.
"You are hurt," Syrus said. His voice was full of shock and intense curiosity. He pointed his finger at Damon’s left shoulder under the coat.
Damon immediately forced his face to become blank again. He ignored the burning pain. He reached out with his right hand instead, picking up his glass of wine.
"It is not something serious," Damon spoke smoothly, trying to sound unbothered. He took a small sip of the red wine. "I had a training accident."
Syrus did not believe that for a single second.
He smiled a very wide, highly amused smile and picked up his glass again. He slowly swirled the wine around in the glass, looking thoughtfully at the deep red liquid moving in circles.
Syrus’s mind worked quickly. He connected the clues. Damon wanted to go home early for his wife. Damon was making up fake excuses about his wife worrying. And now, the invincible General had suffered a clumsy training accident.
There was only one logical conclusion.
Syrus looked up from his wine glass. He looked directly into Damon’s eyes.
"You are distracted by her," Syrus said softly, stating it as an absolute, undeniable fact.
Damon’s heart gave a sudden, hard jolt in his chest. His hand gripped the crystal glass tightly.
He was caught. Syrus was right. He had been so entirely distracted by the terrifying thought of Camilla kissing another man named Winston that he had left his entire left side open during the sword fight with Captain Robert. He had let his emotions ruin his military focus.
But Damon was a proud man. He absolutely refused to admit it out loud.
Damon quickly opened his mouth to deny the accusation.
"No..." Damon stammered slightly, his voice losing its usual firm command. "No, I’m not."
Syrus let out a loud, genuine laugh. He leaned back in his comfortable velvet chair.
"You know you are a bad liar, Damon," Syrus spoke cheerfully, shaking his head. "It is written all over your face. You look like a man who has lost a huge war inside his own head."
Syrus leaned slightly forward again. He looked at Damon with a very soft, understanding, and brotherly expression.
"You are in love, my brother," Syrus declared firmly.
The word hung heavily in the quiet air between them.
Love.
Damon stared at Syrus. He felt a strange, tight feeling squeeze his chest. He stopped breathing for a brief moment.
He thought about the word. He thought about everything that had happened over the past few weeks.
He thought about how Camilla had stood in front of his aunt’s swinging sword to protect him in the dark garden. He thought about how she had gently blown cool air onto his bruised knuckles in the carriage. He thought about how she had kissed his cheek softly in the middle of the night when she was half-asleep.
Whenever she was near him, his heart beat faster. Whenever she smiled, he felt a wave of pride. He wanted to give her chests of gold. He wanted to protect her from every danger in the world. He wanted her to look only at him.
But then, a dark painful shadow crossed his mind.
He thought about her sad, crying face. He remembered the wet tears rolling down her cheeks in the dark bedroom. He remembered her desperate, pleading voice.
"I miss you so much, Winston. Don’t push me away, Winston."
Damon felt a sharp, bitter pain twist violently in his stomach. The dark jealousy returned, burning his blood.
How could he be in love with a woman who was actively crying for another man? How could he give his heart to a woman whose heart belonged to another? He felt completely confused, deeply frustrated, and entirely lost.
Damon slowly lowered his glass to the table. He looked at his friend.
Damon asked a question. His deep voice was very quiet, very vulnerable, and filled with a profound uncertainty.
"Are you certain it is love?" Damon asked softly, seeking an answer he could not find himself.
Syrus looked at the man before him. He saw the genuine pain and deep confusion in Damon’s dark eyes. Syrus felt a wave of sympathy for his friend. Damon knew how to command armies, but he knew absolutely nothing about matters of the heart.
"I am sure it is," Syrus spoke firmly, offering his absolute support.
Syrus sat back in his seat. He wanted to help his friend win this difficult, personal battle.
"You know," Syrus said softly, his voice full of encouraging, friendly advice. "I can give you some advice. Women are complicated, but they appreciate honesty. You need to show her you need her too. You need to drop your strict military rules when you are with her. You need to—"
Damon immediately raised his large right hand. He held his palm flat in the air, stopping Syrus from speaking any further.
Damon’s face turned hard, cold, and strictly closed off once again. The brief moment of vulnerability was entirely gone.
He refused to take advice. He refused to admit that he needed help to win his own wife. His pride would not allow it. He would handle the mysterious Winston himself, and he would figure out Camilla’s heart on his own terms.
"It is not necessary," Damon spoke. His deep voice was flat, cold, and final. He was completely shutting the conversation down.
Syrus paused. He looked at Damon’s raised hand and his cold expression.
Syrus let out a long, amused sigh. He shook his head slowly from side to side. He knew Damon was too stubborn for his own good.
Syrus sat back up in his comfortable velvet chair. He picked up his crystal glass of wine.
"Always so serious," Syrus remarked lightly, offering a small, understanding smile.
Syrus did not push the matter any further. He brought the glass to his lips and drank his sweet red wine, leaving Damon alone to fight the chaotic, confusing war raging violently inside his own heart.
