Chapter 13
The Royal Palace extended an invitation for Damon to attend the Mid-Autumn Gala-and specifically requested he bring
his wife.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to trouble you again, Isla,” he said gently.
It wasn’t the first time.
He kept using these small, seemingly inconsequential favors to balance the debt I could never repay.
That evening, I found him in the courtyard, practicing fencing.
He didn’t notice me at first, leaning quietly against the doorframe, watching.
He was noticeably taller than Colton, broad-shouldered and powerfully built, his muscles coiled beneath his skin like
tensioned wires-strong, lean, and ready to spring.
With one swift motion, he slashed through the air-and as the sword stilled, his gaze landed on me.
I smiled softly.
The sheer shawl draped over my shoulders slipped in the breeze, revealing the bare curve of one shoulder.
Damon’s grip on the sword faltered.
He immediately turned around, as if to walk away.
“Are you… despise me?” I called out.
He froze in place. His voice was low and hoarse. “Never.”
I stepped closer and made him look at me. “Do you like me?”
He blinked, face flushed, caught off guard.
After a moment, he finally spoke.
“Do you remember that winter, two years ago? The night our forces were ambushed along the James River? We lost so
many…”
Of course I remembered.
With medical supplies running low, the officers-Colton among them-had ordered us to abandon those too injured to survive. Every night, the groans of dying soldiers grew weaker. By morning, the number of bodies under white sheets always grew.
I had picked up some basic herbal knowledge as a child, so I tried to help however I could-gathering what wild herbs I
could find.
One day while I was drying plants near the morgue, I saw movement in the body pile. Terrified, I stumbled back-only to
feel a bloodied hand clamp around my ankle.
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A man, covered in filth and blood, lay there motionless. He looked dead-except for that hand that wouldn’t let go.
He was still alive.
I dragged him out and tried to get help, but the medic shook his head. “He’s too far gone. Best return him to the pile.”
But something told me he wasn’t done fighting.
I set him up under a canopy, treated him the only way I could-with makeshift poultices and whatever herbs I had. I wasn’t
some noble martyr. I just needed something to believe in.
I had lost everything-status, identity, safety. I didn’t know if we’d survive the war. I didn’t know if Colton would make it. I
didn’t know what horrors would come if he didn’t.
But this man… he became my flicker of hope.
If I could save him, maybe I still mattered.
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Food was rationed tightly. Because of Colton, I had one bun a day. I would split it, feeding him half with water.
His wounds were too horrific for real treatment-I used ash to cover them, tried to keep him warm.
Somehow, he clung to life.
And then one morning, I woke to find the body pit burning-and he was gone.
I thought he was already dead.
Damon looked at me with calm intensity.
“After I recovered, I kept checking on you.”
“If you’d shown no signs of attachment, I would’ve spoken up sooner. But you smiled when you were with Colton… and I thought your heart still belonged to him.”
“I still don’t know if it’s truly changed. That’s why I’ve been waiting.”
I stood silent for a long time.
His words… they never once implied I was less than him. Never once reminded me of where I came from. He’d held back
. not out of disdain, but because he respected the fact I might still love someone else.
He was keeping his distance-not out of judgment, but restraint.
What a rare, good man.
He reached up and adjusted the fabric over my shoulders. His hand paused, then slowly withdrew.
“It’s cold. You shouldn’t-”
I caught his hand and pressed it to my chest.
“Do you feel that?” I whispered. “It’s beating again. Because of you.”
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His eyes locked with mine.
I stepped closer, skin against skin.
“You went through all this trouble to marry me, Damon. Surely you don’t mean to keep me waiting forever.”
I leaned in, lips brushing his ear.
“My husband,” I breathed.
The next second, he dropped the sword and swept me into his arms.
I’d thought I’d caught him at the perfect moment-just after fencing practice, when he should’ve been too exhausted to do
much.
But some men weren’t built the same. He seemed to have an endless reserve of strength, moving from the desk to the
bedroom, from dusk till dawn.
Somewhere between the breathless chaos and sweat-slicked skin, I remembered just how precise his sword work had
been.
Precise. Relentless. Unforgettable.
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