Chapter 254: Chapter Two Hundred And Fifty Three
She slowly unlaced the ribbons of her dress. Her movements were totally stiff. She did not sigh. She did not stretch her arms. She carefully folded the dress and placed it neatly on the wooden chair. Her face remained a blank mask.
Damon stood still behind the door. He focused his mind.
He closed his eyes for a brief second, intentionally reaching out to her mind. He wanted to hear her internal thoughts. He wanted to know what was hurting her so badly. He wanted to hear her complain, so he could understand how to fix it.
He listened carefully.
He waited for the familiar, sharp, sarcastic voice to echo inside his brain. He waited for her to complain about the dusty lower city, or the heavy fabrics, or the noisy streets.
But there was nothing, just silence.
Damon opened his eyes in shock. He couldn’t even hear her thoughts because she wasn’t even thinking.
Unknown to him that she had locked her emotions away so deeply, that her mind was blank. She had activated her strict assassin training rules. Rule 67. She had forced her brain into a state of numbness to survive the painful memories of her past life and her dead parents.
Damon stared through the crack in the door.
He let out a very shaky sigh into the dark hallway.
He remembered how he had hated hearing her thoughts. There was a time, not too long ago, when he had actively wished for this exact silence. He had wished she would just be quiet and leave him alone.
But now, as he stood outside the door, the silence was literally eating him up from the inside out.
The silence felt heavy, unnatural, and completely terrifying. It felt uncomfortable, like a thick, suffocating blanket had been thrown over the entire mansion. It was strange. He missed her loud, chaotic, greedy, angry thoughts. He missed the life she brought into his dark world.
He realized that her noisy, sarcastic mind was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.
Damon slowly pulled his hand away from the door handle. He stepped back against the stone wall of the hallway. He decided to wait outside. He did not want to intrude on her silence until the maids arrived with the food and water.
Ten minutes passed slowly.
Finally, the sounds of light footsteps echoed down the hallway.
Four young maids hurried toward the master bedroom. Two of them were carrying largr buckets filled to the brim with water. The other two were carrying a large silver tray loaded with warm soup, fresh bread, and sweet fruit.
The maids stopped when they saw the General standing silently in the shadows of the hallway. They bowed their heads quickly in respect.
Damon nodded to them, gesturing for them to enter the room.
The lead maid stepped forward and knocked softly on the door.
Knock, knock.
"My lady," the maid called out politely. "We have brought your bath and your dinner."
Inside the room, Camilla was sitting on the edge of the large bed, wearing only her chemise.
"Come in," Camilla replied. Her voice was calm.
The maids pushed the door open. They hurried into the room. Two of them went straight to the attached washroom. They quickly poured the water into the large copper tub, adding a few drops of sweet-smelling lavender oil to ease the muscle tension, just as the General had ordered.
The other two maids placed the tray of food carefully onto the table near the window.
"Your bath is ready, My Lady," the lead maid said, bowing deeply.
Camilla simply nodded her head once.
The maids quickly turned around and left the bedroom, pulling the door shut behind them.
As the door clicked shut, it immediately opened again.
Damon stepped into the bedroom. He closed the door firmly.
He walked slowly into the center of the room. He looked at Camilla sitting on the edge of the bed. He waited for her to acknowledge him. He waited for her to tell him to stay on his side of the room.
But Camilla didn’t say anything.
She simply stood up from the soft mattress, turned her body and walked silently across the floorboard. She walked into the attached washroom and closed the door behind her without making a sound.
Damon stood there, feeling useless. He heard the soft, quiet sound of water splashing from the washroom as she stepped into the hot copper tub.
He walked over to the chair near the fireplace and sat down. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, holding his head in his hands. He felt a deep, crushing sense of defeat. He did not know how to fight a wall of ice.
He sat in the quiet room for almost thirty minutes, listening to the faint sounds of the water.
Finally, the washroom door opened.
Camilla walked out. She was wearing her silk nightgown. Her red curly hair was damp, hanging heavily over her shoulders. The warm water had brought a tiny bit of pink color back to her pale cheeks, but her eyes were still empty.
She walked past Damon’s chair without looking at him.
She went to the table. She sat down in the chair and pulled the silver tray closer to her.
Damon watched her carefully. He stood up from his chair.
It was his turn to wash. He needed to clean the dust of the military camp off his body.
He walked silently toward the washroom. He paused for a brief second near the table, hoping she would say a single word to him as he passed by.
She did not. She picked up her spoon and began to eat her warm soup.
Damon swallowed a lump in his throat. He walked into the washroom and closed the door.
Inside the washroom, Damon stripped off his uniform. He poured cold water from a bucket over his head and his broad chest. He scrubbed his skin vigorously, trying to wash away the frustrated feeling in his mind.
"What happened in the lower city today?" Damon thought to himself as the cold water ran down his back. "She was so happy when I saw her leave this morning. She was smiling so brightly. What could have possibly changed her mood so violently between the store and the mansion?"
Damon finished his quick bath. He dried his body with a towel and pulled on his loose cotton sleeping trousers. He left his chest bare.
He opened the washroom door and stepped back out into the main bedroom.
The room was silent. The single oil lamp on the table was burning very low.
Damon looked toward the bed.
Camilla had already slept.
She was lying on her side of the mattress, wrapped tightly in the thick wool blankets. Her breathing was slow and steady. She was completely exhausted, and her body had finally surrendered to a deep sleep.
Damon walked slowly across the floorboards. His bare feet made no sound.
He stopped near the table by the window.
He looked down at the silver tray.
He let out a quiet sigh of relief.
Her plate was empty. The bowl of warm soup was finished, and the sweet fruit were gone.
Damon turned away from the table. He walked over to the edge of the bed.
He slowly raised his right hand and gently brushed a damp, red curl away from her cheek, tucking the soft hair neatly behind her ear. His large, rough fingers lingered against her soft, warm skin for a brief second.
He did not want to push her. He did not want to force her to talk if she was not ready. But he absolutely refused to let her stay trapped inside that dark, lonely silence forever.
Damon looked down at her peaceful face.
"She has worked so hard for her fabric store," Damon thought to himself, his internal voice completely solid and full of resolve. "Tomorrow is her grand opening. It is her big day. It is the day she proves her brilliant business mind to the entire capital city."
Damon slowly pulled his hand away from her cheek. He stood up, crossing his strong arms over his broad, bare chest.
He made a promise to himself.
"I have to make her smile tomorrow," Damon vowed silently in his mind.
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