The guards carried Damon into the master bedroom. The air in the room was cold and calm, but that calm was broken as soon as they laid him down. Damon's head hung low, his breathing shallow and rapid. Blood had already soaked through the makeshift bandages, leaving dark, wet patches on his torn fine white shirt.
Camilla rushed inside right behind them, her breath ragged. Her heart was beating like a drum in her chest, but her hands were steady. She could not afford to tremble now.
"Lie him on his stomach," Camilla ordered, pointing toward the wide bed. Her voice was sharp and clear, leaving no room for argument. "Carefully. Do not twist his back."
The guards nodded quickly. "Yes, my lady," one of them muttered. They gently rolled Damon onto his front.
Once Damon was placed properly, the guards bowed their heads in respect and quickly exited the room, closing the door behind them to give her space.
