Chapter 156: Chapter Hundred And Fifty Five

The bright, warm morning sunlight spilled completely through the large glass windows of the master bedroom. It danced across the floorboards and rested softly on the large, comfortable bed.

Camilla woke up slowly. She let out a very long, loud, highly satisfied yawn. She kept her eyes closed for a few moments, enjoying the absolute comfort of the thick wool blankets.

She stretched her arms far above her head and pointed her toes, stretching her legs all the way down to the end of the soft mattress. She had slept incredibly well. Her mind felt fresh, and her body felt fully rested.

She smacked her lips softly, finally ready to start her new day.

Camilla slowly fluttered her dark eyelashes.

She opened her eyes.

She turned her head to the side, expecting to see an empty room. Normally, the General woke up long before the sun even appeared. He was always gone, riding his horse to the dusty military camp while she was still dreaming.

But the room was not empty.

Sitting right there, in the chair near the small table, was Damon.

He was wearing his loose grey sleeping trousers and a clean white linen shirt. His dark hair was slightly messy. He was still holding the ledger in his large hands, looking down at the pages with a serious expression and scribbling down his reports.

Camilla jerked backward in shock. She sat up so fast she almost pulled a muscle in her neck.

"What the fuck!" Camilla exclaimed loudly.

The swear word slipped completely out of her mouth before her brain could even stop it. It was an unfiltered reaction of surprise.

Damon stopped flipping the pages of his ledger. He slowly raised his head. He looked at her with a deeply confused expression. His dark eyebrows pulled together. He had spent his entire life in military camps and noble courts, but he had never, ever heard those specific words put together in that exact way.

"What did you say?" Damon asked. His deep voice was slow and careful. He genuinely wanted to know what strange language she was speaking.

Camilla completely froze. She realized she had just used a modern curse word in front of a historical character.

She quickly raised her hand to her mouth, coughing softly to clear her throat. She forced a bright, polite smile onto her face.

"Nothing," Camilla chuckled nervously, waving her hand in the air to dismiss her strange outburst. "Good morning, My Lord."

She pulled the thick wool blanket up to her chest, looking at him sitting in the chair.

"What is he doing here?" Camilla thought to herself. Her mind started racing. "Isn’t he supposed to be at the military camp hours before I even wake up? Was he sitting in that chair working throughout the entire night? Why is he still looking at me?"

Damon sat quietly in his chair. He heard her rapid thoughts echoing clearly inside his head. He did not let his face show any emotion. He simply lowered his eyes back down to the book in his lap.

Damon spoke out loud, acting completely casual and nonchalant. He did not look at her. He picked up the feather quill and started scribbling something on the edge of the ledger, continuing his reporting.

"I am not going to the camp today," Damon announced smoothly.

Camilla’s eyes widened to the maximum limit. Her jaw dropped completely open.

"What!" Camilla shouted loudly, entirely forgetting her quiet, noble manners. "Why?"

Her reaction was explosive. She needed him to go to the camp. If he stayed home all day, she could not do what she wanted to do. She would have to keep on acting all day. Having the General in the house all day was a complete disaster for her freedom.

Damon stopped scribbling. He slowly raised his head. He looked directly at her. He raised a single, dark eyebrow.

Damon thought to himself, studying her highly panicked expression.

"Why the incredibly strong reaction?" Damon wondered in his mind. His instincts instantly flared to life. "She looks like I just told her the house is on fire. Is she planning to do something unbelievable again? She always acts this nervous when she is plotting to something disastrous."

He stared at her, making her squirm slightly under the blankets.

Camilla realized her loud shout was entirely too suspicious. A loving wife should be completely thrilled that her husband was staying home. She needed to fix her mistake immediately.

Camilla let out a soft, sweet chuckle. She tilted her head to the side and batted her long, dark eyelashes.

"I mean," Camilla corrected herself quickly, making her voice sound very gentle and full of fake concern. "Why aren’t you going to the camp today, my lord? The soldiers need you there. You have a very important army to run. I just worry about your duties."

Damon looked at her innocent, smiling face. He heard the complete lie in her sweet voice.

He slowly lifted his hands, closed the ledger and dropped it onto the small wooden table.

Thud.

Damon leaned back in his chair. He looked at her. A very slow amused smirk began to form on his lips.

"But you need me more," Damon said.

His deep voice was smooth and carried a distinct, teasing edge. He was using the exact same excuse she had used on him yesterday when she pretended to cry at the camp.

Camilla blinked. She stared at his smirking face. She did not expect him to say something so smooth and so entirely out of character.

"Did he hit his head yesterday?" Camilla thought to herself, her internal voice sounding genuinely concerned for his mental health. "Since when does the grumpy rock say things like ’you need me more’?"

Damon stood up slowly from his chair. He crossed his strong arms over his chest.

"I have an underground arena," Damon continued to explain, dropping the teasing tone and becoming very serious. "I do my personal, private training there. It is located safely right here in the mansion."

Camilla stopped breathing for a second. An underground arena? Inside the house?

"Since you told me you wanted to learn some skills to protect yourself from our enemies," Damon said, looking right into her eyes. "I will teach you myself today."

He took a slow step toward the large bed.

"I don’t trust my soldiers to do a good job," Damon stated firmly. "If you are going to learn how to fight, you will learn from the best. You will learn from me."

Camilla swallowed hard. She felt a large lump in her throat.

"Really?" Camilla gulped, her voice coming out as a tiny squeak.

"Yes," Damon replied. His voice left absolutely no room for arguments or complaints.

He uncrossed his arms. He raised his right hand and gestured toward a small, padded chair sitting near the wardrobe.

"I have even prepared your training outfit," Damon said smoothly.

Camilla looked over at the chair. Neatly folded on the soft cushion was a complete set of dark clothing. There was a tunic, trousers, and a pair of tall boots sitting on the floor right beside it.

"I was just waiting for you to be awake," Damon added, looking back at her.

Camilla realized she had no escape. If she refused, he would become highly suspicious. She had to play along and pretend to be a very grateful, very excited student.

Camilla pushed the thick wool blankets off her body. She got down from the high bed. Her bare feet touched floorboards. She was still wearing her thin white silk nightgown.

She stood up straight. She looked at Damon and offered him a very polite, perfect little curtsy.

"Thank you very much, my lord," Camilla said softly. Her voice sounded incredibly sweet and appreciative.

She straightened her posture. She gave him a firm, serious look.

"But you will have to leave the room right now," Camilla ordered politely, pointing her delicate finger toward the door. "So that I can get ready and change my clothes."

Damon looked at her standing in her thin white nightgown, the material giving him a blurry view but the protruding nipples were visible. He quickly looked away, staring at the blank wall.

"Of course," Damon nodded his head sharply.

He turned around immediately. He walked with fast, long strides across the bedroom. He opened the door and completely left the room, pulling the door shut behind him with a soft click.