The rich, booming sound of Damon’s genuine laughter slowly began to fade away. It echoed against the silk-covered walls of the private room for a few more seconds before dying out completely.

Seeing the General calm down, Camilla too stopped laughing. She let out a small, breathless sigh, resting her hands on her lap. She felt a brief moment of relief. She thought she had successfully navigated her way out of a terrible disaster.

Damon turned his body slightly to face her fully.

He slowly reached out his large, calloused right hand. With surprising gentleness, he raised his fingers and softly caressed her cheek. His touch was warm, but his eyes were incredibly intense.

"That must have been really hard for you," Damon said softly. His deep voice carried a very clear, sharp edge of sarcasm.

Camilla felt the rough skin of his thumb brush against her cheekbone. She swallowed hard. Her brief relief vanished entirely. She knew he was mocking her fake, supportive act.

Camilla smiled a very nervous, forced smile. She tilted her head slightly into his hand, trying to keep up the innocent facade.

"I am just trying to ease my husband’s worries," Camilla replied sweetly, batting her dark eyelashes at him.

Damon continued to look into her eyes. The tiny, lingering trace of his smile vanished instantly, completely wiped clean from his face. His expression returned to a mask of cold, hard stone.

"However," Damon spoke smoothly, his voice dropping into a serious, commanding tone, "the military training ground doesn’t need men at the moment. We have enough recruits currently learning the basics."

He paused, letting his eyes slide over to the six incredibly gorgeous, half-naked escorts standing frozen in the middle of the room. He looked at their soft hands, their perfect hair, and their oiled chests.

"But," Damon continued, turning his gaze back to Camilla, "we might send them directly to the front lines during any coming wars. The borders are always dangerous. They can dig trenches and carry heavy supplies in the mud. That should be okay, right?"

Camilla’s nervous smile completely faded away. Her lips parted in pure shock.

She stared at his serious face. She realized he was not joking at all. He actually intended to take these beautiful, pampered performers and throw them into a brutal, bloody war zone.

Inside her head, her internal voice exploded with absolute outrage.

"He wants to send these gorgeous men to the war front?" Camilla thought to herself, her mind filled with deep disgust. She looked at Ilias, the beautiful dancer, imagining him covered in dirt and blood. It was a terrible, tragic image.

She turned her angry thoughts back to her husband.

"He really is supposed to be a villain," she mentally admitted, her internal voice sharp and critical. "There is absolutely nothing male-leading or romantic about him. He is just very wicked, very ruthless, very inconsiderate, very cruel!"

Before she could continue listing his terrible personality traits in her mind, Damon abruptly interrupted her thoughts.

He stood up from the soft red velvet sofa with a sudden, powerful movement. He stood tall, towering over her.

"We are leaving," Damon said, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Camilla quickly crossed her arms over her chest. She glued herself firmly to the back of the sofa, refusing to move.

"But I don’t want to go," Camilla spoke out loud, lifting her chin defiantly. She had paid for the room, and she wanted to enjoy the rest of the sweet wine.

Damon did not ask her a second time. He did not try to negotiate.

He simply reached down with his strong arms. Before Camilla could even gasp, Damon grabbed her by the waist. He lifted her completely off the sofa as if she weighed absolutely nothing. With one smooth, powerful motion, he flipped her upside down and threw her right over his broad shoulder.

"Ah!" Camilla yelped in surprise.

Her stomach hit the hard muscle of his shoulder. Her beautiful sapphire-blue dress bunched up around her knees. Her long red curly hair fell completely forward, hiding her face.

She was a proud assassin, and being carried like a sack of potatoes was incredibly humiliating.

"Put me down!" Camilla shouted loudly.

She began to thrash her body wildly. She kicked her legs in the air, trying to break his firm grip. She raised her small hands, curling them into tight fists. She began to hit his broad, muscular back rapidly.

Her fists hit his dark military jacket, but it felt exactly like punching a solid brick wall.

Damon did not even flinch.

"I command you to put me down!" Camilla yelled, her voice muffled slightly by his thick coat.

As she kicked her legs furiously in the air, the sudden, violent movement caused her soft, delicate shoes to slip completely off her feet.

Both of her shoes fell to the floor. They landed softly on the thick red carpet.

Damon did not stop moving. He bent his knees slightly. Still holding her securely over his shoulder with his right arm, he reached down with his left hand. He smoothly picked up her two fallen shoes. He also grabbed her small, embroidered silk reticule purse that was resting on the glass table.

He held her shoes and her reticule tightly together in one hand, while he kept her perfectly balanced on his shoulder with the other. He did not drop a single thing.

"We are going home," Damon stated calmly, completely ignoring her angry punches.

He turned around and began to walk toward the open doorway of the private room.

Syrus, who was still leaning comfortably against the wooden doorframe, quickly pushed himself off the wall. He stood in Damon’s path, looking slightly concerned.

"Damon," Syrus spoke, holding up a hand.

Damon stopped walking, but he did not turn around to face his friend. He kept his eyes fixed on the long hallway ahead.

"We haven’t discussed the..." Syrus continued, trying to remind him about the important meeting they were supposed to have today regarding the northern territories.

"Kade will handle everything," Damon interrupted sharply, cutting his friend off.

Damon did not wait for Syrus to reply. He stepped around the blonde nobleman and walked out into the crystal-lit hallway. He continued walking with long, powerful strides, carrying the feisty, thrashing cat on his shoulder. Camilla was still angrily scratching and hitting his broad back, totally refusing to surrender.

Back inside the private room, Zade sat frozen on the smaller velvet sofa.

He watched the terrifying General easily carry his older sister away. Zade felt completely helpless. He had tried to save her, but his plan had failed completely.

"Sister?" Zade spoke softly into the quiet room. His raspy voice was full of deep regret and sadness. He felt terrible for getting her into this huge mess.

Damon carried Camilla down the long, sweet-smelling hallway, past several shocked guests, and straight out the double wooden front doors of the establishment.

Damon stepped outside into the cool evening air. The bright afternoon sunlight had already begun to fade. The sky above the city was turning into beautiful, deep shades of orange, pink, and dark purple. The sun was planning to set very soon.

Damon thought to himself. " She almost spent the whole day in there."

He stood on the smooth stone pavement. He looked around the busy street.

His own tall black warhorse was tied to a wooden post nearby, eating hay happily alongside Kade’s brown horse. Damon knew his horse was fast and strong.

But Damon also knew a very important fact about his wife. The original Lady Camilla was deeply terrified of animals. She was extremely wary of horses. Sitting on a tall, moving beast always made her cry and shake with fear. Even though he was angry with her, he absolutely could not put her on the back of his massive warhorse. It would terrify her completely.

Instead, Damon looked down the street. He quickly flagged down a clean, empty carriage passing by.

The carriage driver saw the General’s dark uniform and immediately pulled the vehicle over to the side of the road.

As the carriage stopped completely, Damon slowly bent his knees.

He took Camilla off his shoulder very carefully. He did not just drop her onto the street. He knew her delicate shoes had fallen off inside, and she was only wearing thin white silk stockings. The stone pavement was dirty, rough, and freezing cold.

Damon shifted his footing. He carefully set her down directly in front of him. He allowed her small feet not to touch the hard floor at all by making her stand securely on top of his own large leather military boots.

Camilla stood on his boots, finding her balance. Her bare feet felt the warm, solid leather beneath them. She stopped thrashing and looked up at him in surprise.