Camilla kept her eyes on the divorce papers. Her face looked very calm and blank, but her mind was moving very fast. She was tired of everything going on. She just wanted to go home.
"Whatever," Camilla continued her thoughts inside her own head. She let out a long, silent sigh. "That voice thingy in the dark void said I should complete the story. If I do not complete the story, I will be stuck in this boring, old-fashioned world forever. I need to find a way to make the story end right now."
She read the words on the paper again. It was a very simple divorce agreement. It said they would no longer be husband and wife.
"Think about it," she reasoned with herself in her mind. "If Lady Camilla and Lord Damon get divorced today, and they separate on good terms without any murder or poison, that should be a happy ending, right? That should be able to mark the story complete. He goes his way, and I go my way. No more drama."
She nodded her head slightly, agreeing with her own plan.
"Yes," she thought cheerfully. "Let us wrap this plot up and leave. I have a trip to the Maldives to get back to. I need to feel the hot sun on my skin. I do not have time to play house with a grumpy general, no matter how good-looking he is."
Damon's hands gripped the armrests of his wheelchair tightly. His knuckles were turning white. His eyes were fixed on Camilla's face. He was listening to every single word she was saying.
But her lips were completely closed. She was not speaking out loud. The room was perfectly quiet. Yet, her voice was ringing inside his head, as clear as a silver bell.
"Voice thingy? Complete the story? Maldives?" Damon thought to himself. His mind was spinning in pure confusion. What was she talking about? What was a Maldives? Why was she talking about completing a story?
He looked at her mouth again. She was gently biting her bottom lip as she read the paper. Her mouth was not moving at all.
Damon felt a cold sweat form on the back of his neck. The pain in his broken leg suddenly felt very far away. He turned his head slowly to the side. He looked at his trusted aide, who was standing tall and straight next to him.
"Kade," Damon whispered. His deep voice was very low, so the other guards in the room would not hear him.
Kade instantly leaned down. He brought his ear close to his master. He was a very loyal soldier. He was always ready to follow orders.
"Yes, my lord," Kade replied softly. His face was completely serious.
Damon swallowed hard. He felt a little bit crazy asking the question, but he had to know. "Do you hear what I hear?" Damon asked in a rough whisper.
Kade frowned slightly. He stood up straight and looked around the large drawing room. He listened carefully. He heard the sound of the wind blowing against the glass windows. He heard the soft breathing of the guards standing by the door. He heard the crackle of the wood in the fireplace.
Kade leaned back down to Damon. "My lord," Kade whispered back, looking confused. "I did not hear anything. The room is quiet. Did you hear an enemy outside?"
Damon stared at Kade's plain, honest face. Kade was not lying. Kade did not hear the woman's voice. Damon was the only one hearing it.
Damon slowly turned his head back to look at Camilla. His heart was beating faster than normal. He was a man of war. He believed in swords, shields, and strategy. He did not believe in magic or mind-reading. But right now, he was hearing his wife's secret thoughts.
Camilla finally finished reading the bottom of the page. She looked up.
"I need a pen," Camilla said out loud. Her actual spoken voice sounded exactly like the voice in Damon's head, just a little less cheerful.
Kade quickly stepped forward. He reached into his jacket. He pulled out a long, white feather quill pen and a small glass bottle of black ink. He walked over to Camilla and handed them to her.
"Thank you," Camilla said simply.
She collected the quill pen from Kade. She held it in her right hand. She looked at the sharp tip of the feather.
"How annoying," Camilla thought in her head, complaining silently. "I have to write with a bird feather. I wonder where this one was gotten from. Maybe a swan's ass. Why can they not just invent a normal ballpoint pen? This is going to make a mess."
Damon heard the complaint. He watched her dip the tip of the feather carefully into the small glass bottle of ink. She did not spill a single drop.
Camilla looked down at the blank line at the bottom of the thick paper. She paused for a moment.
"Wait a minute," she thought, her internal voice sounding suddenly panicked. "I do not know how to sign this. I have never seen the original Lady Camilla's handwriting. What if she writes in fancy, curly letters? What if my handwriting looks completely different?"
She held the pen above the paper. She tapped her foot gently on the floor.
"Well, it does not matter," she decided in her mind. "A signature is just a signature. As long as I write the name, the contract is legal. I will just write it my way."
Camilla pressed the wet tip of the quill pen onto the thick paper. She moved her hand quickly and smoothly. She wrote her name, "Camilla," in clear, modern, slightly sharp letters.
She lifted the pen. She blew gently on the wet black ink to make it dry faster.
She took a deep breath. She filled her lungs with air. She handed the quill pen and the ink bottle back to Kade, who took them quietly.
Camilla arranged the thick papers neatly in her hands. She tapped the bottom edges against the table to make them perfectly straight.
"Alright," Camilla thought to herself. "It is time for an Oscar-winning performance. I need to make this look good. I need to look like a heartbroken woman who is giving up the love of her life. Here we go."
Damon sat frozen in his wheelchair. He heard her planning to act. He watched her face closely.
A sudden change came over Camilla. The calm, bored look on her face completely vanished. Her shoulders dropped. Her chin trembled slightly. She made her eyes look very wide and very sad.
"My Lord," she sighed out loud. Her voice was soft, shaking, and full of fake sorrow.
She took a slow, weak step forward. She put on a perfectly sad face, looking directly into Damon's eyes. She looked like a fragile flower that had just been stepped on.
She slowly stretched her hand out to give him the signed divorce papers. Her fingers were trembling just a tiny bit, as if it took all her strength to hand them over.
"I love you," she said out loud, feigning deep unwillingness. Her voice cracked perfectly on the word 'love'.
Inside her head, she was cheering for herself. "Wow, I am really good at this," she thought proudly. "I should have been an actress instead of an assassin. I am totally selling this."
Damon heard her mental bragging while he watched her fake, sad eyes. He felt a huge wave of shock hit his brain. This woman was lying to his face. She was completely faking her tears. She did not love him at all!
Everything she had done in the past year, all the crying, all the begging—was it all a lie?
"But the highest form of love is letting go," Camilla continued out loud, sniffing softly. She pushed the papers closer to his chest. "I do not want to force you to stay with me. You have to be happy after I leave. Please, take them."
Damon reached out his large, calloused hand. His hand was slightly shaking, not from sadness, but from pure, utter confusion. He collected the papers from her delicate fingers.
He stared at her. His dark eyebrows were pulled together tightly. He was looking at her like she was a strange, unknown creature that had just fallen from the sky.
Camilla moved her eyes down to the papers in his hand, and then she moved her head to look back up at him. She gave him a weak, brave smile.
"It is your turn to sign," she said, sniffing loudly one more time for extra dramatic effect. "Make it official, My Lord."