Damon was breathing heavily, trying desperately to control his temper. But Camilla’s thoughts did not stop there. Her brain continued to tear apart his male pride.

"I mean, seriously," Camilla’s internal voice continued, her thoughts echoing clearly inside Damon’s head. She leaned her chin on her hand, looking him up and down. "Is it that he can’t get a woman pregnant? Or is it that he literally can’t get hard?"

Damon felt a massive vein throb visibly on his forehead. His hands curled into tight, shaking fists at his sides. The absolute disrespect was overwhelming.

"I mean, it would explain a lot," her thoughts rambled on, filled with deep, mocking curiosity. "He is so angry all the time. He hides in the military camp. He runs away from a simple touch. Maybe the great Tyrant General has a tiny, broken sword!"

Damon could not take it anymore. If he listened to one more insulting thought, he was going to explode. He had to get her out of the room before he completely lost his mind.

Damon pointed a shaking finger directly toward the door.

"Leave," Damon commanded. He spoke through gritted teeth, containing his burning anger to avoid shouting loudly and waking the entire staff. "Get out of my room right now."

Camilla blinked in surprise. She dropped her hand from her chin. She did not understand why he was suddenly so incredibly angry. She had just been sitting quietly on the bed.

She let out a soft, annoyed scoff.

"Why is he now angry?" Camilla thought to herself, her internal voice filled with genuine confusion.

She hissed softly through her teeth, glaring back at him.

"It’s not my fault he’s behaving like a frightened virgin," she complained internally, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "He is acting as if he hasn’t touched a woman since his one year of marriage. Oh wait... he actually hasn’t touched a woman in a year! No wonder he is so grumpy. He is completely starved for affection and taking it out on me."

Damon closed his eyes tightly. He took a long, deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart.

"I’ll let it slide," Damon murmured softly to himself, clenching his fists so tight his knuckles turned white. He had to constantly remind himself that he was the only one who could hear her. "She doesn’t know I can hear her. Just breathe. Let it slide."

Camilla decided she had pushed him far enough for one night. Her magic had failed earlier, but her acting skills were still perfect. It was time to play the ultimate victim card.

She slowly slid off the soft mattress. Her bare feet touched the cold floor.

She stood up very slowly, making sure her silk nightgown fell perfectly around her legs. She pushed her bottom lip out in a massive, quivering pout. She placed her right hand flat against her chest, right over her heart, feigning deep, emotional hurt.

She looked up at him with wide, watery eyes.

"Since my husband is so wary of me," Camilla spoke out loud. Her voice was incredibly soft, shaking with fake sadness and heartbreak. "Since my very presence offends you so deeply, I will leave."

She sniffed loudly, wiping a fake tear from the corner of her eye.

"I will go sleep on the hard wooden bench in the cold garden," Camilla declared dramatically, her voice trembling. "It’s nothing. It is an honor to suffer a little bit for my husband’s comfort.

Damon thought to himself, " Why not just go to one of the guests rooms. Why the garden?"

"I’m leaving." Camilla let out a small, pathetic weeping sound.

Sniff.

She quickly covered her mouth with her hand, acting as if she were trying to hold back a flood of painful tears.

She turned her back to him. She began to walk very slowly toward the door.

Step.

Step.

Step.

She dragged her feet across the floorboards.

But as she walked, she slowed her steps down even more. She listened carefully. She waited to hear his deep voice tell her to stop.

The room was completely quiet. Damon did not say a word.

"Why isn’t he calling me back?" Camilla thought to herself. Her internal voice sounded suddenly worried and highly annoyed.

She took another very slow step. She was almost halfway to the door. Still, there was absolute silence behind her.

"Does he really want me to sleep in the cold, uncomfortable garden?" she asked herself in her mind. Her fake sadness completely vanished, replaced by a sudden flash of true anger. "After a snake bit me there before? Even though I was the one who summoned it but He knows better!"

She frowned deeply, glaring at the door in front of her.

"This man is really wicked," her thoughts exploded with fresh insults. "He is heartless! He is uncouth! He is a cruel, terrible, unfeeling piece of absolute garbage! He is a monster!"

Damon stood near the small table. He had heard about enough insults to last him a lifetime in just one single night. He was exhausted. He was frustrated. And worst of all, he knew Uncle Murry was probably standing right outside the door, waiting to see if he threw his wife out into the cold hallway. If he threw her out, Murry would tell the old Duke, and the old Duke would make his life miserable.

Damon rubbed his tired eyes. He let out a very long, very heavy sigh of total defeat.

"Wait," Damon said. His voice was tired and rough.

Camilla stopped walking instantly. She kept her back turned to him.

"Come back," Damon ordered softly. He dropped his hands to his sides. "It is late. The air is cold. Let’s just sleep."

Camilla stood perfectly still for a second.

A massive, incredibly wicked smirk spread across her face. Her eyes sparkled with absolute victory.

"I knew it," Camilla smirked inside her head, her internal voice cheering loudly. "He could not resist my charms! He couldn’t let his beautiful wife sleep outside! I win again!"

She quickly wiped the smug smile off her face. She put her sad, innocent expression back on.

She turned around slowly. She looked at him with big, hopeful eyes. "Are you sure, My Lord?" she asked softly.

"Just get in the bed," Damon replied, turning away from her to blow out the oil lamp.

Camilla did not waste any time. She began walking quickly back toward the large bed. She wanted to claim the most comfortable side before he could.

She walked quickly across the floor in her bare feet.

But as she walked, she did not notice a small wrinkle in the beautiful rug lying near the foot of the bed.

The toe of her right foot caught perfectly under the fabric of the rug.

Camilla tripped.

She completely lost her balance. She pitched forward heavily. Her arms flailed out wildly in the air, trying to grab onto something, anything, to stop her fall. But there was nothing near her. She was falling straight toward the floorboards.

"Ah!" Camilla cried out in genuine surprise.