Chapter 352 - Three Hundred And Fifty One

Chapter 352: Chapter Three Hundred And Fifty One

Camilla walked down the long, carpeted corridor until she reached the door of the master bedroom. She gently turned the brass handle, opened the door, and stepped inside.

A single small oil lamp burned on the nightstand, casting a soft golden glow over the large room. On the central canopy bed, Damon lay still, his chest rising and falling in a slow, silent rhythm.

Camilla looked at him for a brief second before shutting the door quietly. She did not want to disturb him.

She walked across the room into the large private washroom attached to the suite.

Inside, a large copper bathtub sat near the center of the floor. The servants had prepared a full tub of water earlier in the evening, expecting her return. By now, the water was cold.

Camilla stood in the dim washroom. She unclasped her cloak and let it drop onto the floor. Next, she unbuckled the leather dagger sheaths from her legs, setting them down on a stool near the tub.

With slow, careful movements, she pulled her arms out of the sleeves of her top. As the dark cloth rubbed against the open wound on her arm, she winced, biting her lower lip to suppress a gasp.

She peeled away her blood-soaked top, then unfastened her trousers, letting the clothes fall to her feet. Finally, she removed her undergarments until she was naked.

She stood in front of the tall vanity mirror for a moment, looking at her reflection under the dim light.

Her pale body was covered in marks. Her left upper arm had a deep, ugly red cut that was still oozing blood. Across her waist, ribs, and lower back were large, painful purple and blue bruises from her terrible fall down the stairs the previous night. Around her forehead, the white linen bandage remained wrapped tight. She looked fragile, bruised, and exhausted.

Camilla turned away from the mirror and stepped toward the copper bathtub. She slowly lowered her body down into the tub.

The moment her skin touched the cold water, her breath hitched.

Hah...

The water was freezing. It sent a violent shock straight through her nervous system. The coldness bit into the raw, open cut on her arm and pressed against her bruised back with a sharp, stinging pain.

Camilla squeezed her eyes shut. She forced herself to sit down fully, sinking into the water until it reached her chest. She rested her head back against the cold copper rim of the tub.

She lay there in stillness for several minutes, letting the icy water numb the burning pain in her body.

She closed her eyes and let her mind drift into the quiet darkness. Images of the night flashed behind her eyelids—General Howe thrashing on the floor as he choked for air, the cold steel of her daggers and the terrifying realization that another transmigrator was out there in the dark, building modern weapons.

"I handled Howe," she thought to herself, her chest rising slowly under the water. "The King will have the evidence before sunrise. Howe won’t be able to hurt Damon anymore."

She opened her eyes slowly. The cold water had cleared the fog from her brain.

Camilla picked up a piece of mild soap and a small linen sponge sitting on the wooden tray beside the tub. She began to scrub her skin clean. She washed away the dirt, sweat, and dried blood from her neck, arms, and legs. She was extremely careful around her injured left arm, gently wiping away the crusted blood around the edges of the cut without poking into the raw flesh.

Once her skin was clean, Camilla stood up out of the tub. Water poured off her body, splashing onto the tiled floor.

She stepped out onto a cotton mat and wrapped a large dry towel tightly around herself. She walked back into the main bedroom, drying her body thoroughly.

She walked over to the wardrobe, opened the door, and pulled out a soft nightgown. She slipped the dress over her head, letting the light fabric fall smoothly down to her ankles.

Camilla sat down on a soft cushioned chair near the side of the bed. She looked down at her left arm. She gently pulled back the sleeve, examining the cut. The cold water had slowed the bleeding, but the edges of the wound were red and angry.

She let out a soft, weary sigh.

She rested her hands in her lap, leaning back against the chair to wait.

Only a few seconds passed in the quiet room before a gentle, hesitant knock sounded against the door.

"My lady, it’s Doctor Aris," a quiet voice called out from the hallway.

Camilla turned her head toward the door. Her voice was calm and composed.

"Come in."

The door opened smoothly, and Doctor Aris stepped into the bedroom. He was wearing his carrying his medical bag in his right hand. His gray hair was slightly messy from being woken up in the middle of the night, but his eyes were bright and focused.

He closed the door quietly behind him and walked over to where Camilla sat. He dropped his bag on the small wooden table beside her chair.

"Good evening—or rather, good morning, Lady Camilla," Doctor Aris said softly, bowing his head respectfully. " It’s already past midnight."

"Doctor Aris," Camilla acknowledged with a polite nod.

Doctor Aris did not waste any time. He opened his bag and pulled out a clean glass jar filled with clear disinfectant liquid, a small pair of silver tweezers, fresh rolls of white linen bandages, and a small ceramic pot of soothing green herbal ointment.

He pulled up a small stool and sat directly in front of her.

"Let me see your arm, my lady," Doctor Aris requested gently.

Camilla raised her left arm, pulling back the sleeve of her nightgown to expose the cut.

Doctor Aris looked closely at the wound under the warm light of the oil lamp. He frowned slightly, his brow lining with concern.

"A blade cut," Doctor Aris noted in a quiet, serious tone. "It is not too deep, thankfully. It missed the main artery, but it needs to be cleaned thoroughly so no bad rot sets in."