Chapter 204: Let’s go out!
Elizabeth seated behind a large, dark wooden desk, covered in ticulously arranged docunts. Partially opened maps, broken stamps, reports written in different handwriting—the kind of chaos only soone extrely organized could keep functional.
She leafed through a page with absolute attention.
On the other side of the desk, Damon stood, his hands relaxed behind his back, his posture too straight for soone supposedly "just waiting for orders." His gaze occasionally wandered around the room, but always returned to her, attentive.
Silence stretched for a few seconds.
Then Elizabeth spoke, without lifting her eyes from the paper.
"Are you happy?" she asked, too casually. "Being a hunting dog... just like I was for so many years?"
Damon blinked once.
The question didn’t catch him off guard. But the tone... that always ca with sothing hidden.
"I don’t think that comparison is fair," he replied calmly. "I don’t see myself that way."
Elizabeth slowly raised her gaze, her gray eyes assessing him like soone disassembling a cog piece by piece.
"No?" She tilted her head slightly. "You hunt targets I designate. You walk trails I choose. You disappear when I command. You reappear when it suits you."
She slamd the folder shut with a dry click.
"Sounds a lot like a hunting dog."
Damon took a deep breath.
"The difference," he said, "is that you chose this. I..." he paused briefly, "...was bought."
The corner of Elizabeth’s mouth curved into a slow smile.
"Ah." She rested her elbows on the table. "So you rember that."
"It would be hard to forget," Damon replied. "Especially when soone makes a point of reminding you from ti to ti."
Elizabeth laughed.
It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t kind.
It was genuine.
"You’re acting way too serious for soone who asked
for it as a reward," she comnted, leaning back in her chair. "It almost doesn’t suit you."
For a second, Damon maintained his rigid posture.
Then she saw it.
The corner of his eye twitched.
His shoulder relaxed.
And he laughed.
"Damn..." he murmured, running a hand over his face. "It really got to you."
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, amused.
"So it was an act?"
"Partly," Damon admitted. "I try to maintain a respectable image. But you have an irritating talent for getting through it."
"It’s part of the package," she said, satisfied.
Damon took another deep breath, now with less weight on his shoulders.
"But to answer the truth," he continued, "...I don’t mind being a ’hound dog’."
Elizabeth didn’t interrupt.
"As long as your intentions don’t conflict with mine," he finished. "The mont that happens..." he shrugged, "...I won’t be so obedient."
The silence that followed wasn’t tense.
It was evaluative.
Elizabeth watched him for long seconds, her eyes attentive, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she smiled.
This ti, without irony.
"That won’t happen," she said. "If it does, it ans I failed at sothing long before this."
She picked up another docunt, but her attention was no longer fully there.
"Besides," she added, "...I don’t buy blind loyalty. It’s never worked for . I don’t expect it from you."
Damon inclined his head slightly, in a gesture of sincere respect.
"I’m relieved to hear that."
Elizabeth flipped through a few more pages, then pushed one aside, as if she had reached a ntal conclusion.
"Changing the subject," she said, "Morgana is going out today."
Damon looked up imdiately.
"Going out?"
"Exploring the city," Elizabeth confird. "Walking without a formal escort. Seeing real people. Rembering what the world is like outside of maps and conspiracies."
She watched him intently.
"I want you to go with her."
Damon frowned slightly.
"As a knight?" he asked. "Or as—"
"As a friend," Elizabeth interrupted without hesitation.
The word hung in the air for a mont.
Damon blinked.
"...Ah."
Elizabeth rested her chin on her hand.
"Don’t make that face," she said. "You’re useful ard, yes. But today isn’t about usefulness."
"Then what is it about?" Damon asked.
"About balance," she replied. "Morgana has spent her life surrounded by people who wanted sothing from her. Power. Approval. Blood. Silence."
She made a vague gesture with her hand.
"You don’t want any of that."
Damon thought for a second.
"I disagree," he said. "I want her not to be swallowed up by all of this."
Elizabeth smiled slightly.
"See?" She pointed at him. "Exactly for that reason."
She stood up, walking around the table.
"I don’t want you as a tense bodyguard," she continued. "Nor as an agent assessing escape routes at every corner."
She stopped in front of him.
"I want you as soone who walks beside . Who listens. Who laughs, if necessary."
Damon swallowed hard.
"You trust
too much."
"No," she corrected. "I trust the fact that you’re too honest to pretend when you don’t know what you’re doing."
He chuckled softly.
"That’s a strange complint."
"The best ones usually are," she replied.
Elizabeth walked to the door and opened it, letting in the hallway light.
"She must be getting ready now," she said, without looking back. "Don’t keep her waiting."
Damon took a step toward the exit, then hesitated.
"Elizabeth?"
She turned.
"Thank you," he said simply.
She studied it for a mont.
"Don’t ruin this," she replied. "True friendships are rarer than allies."
Damon nodded and left.
Elizabeth watched the door close, then returned to the table. She picked up a new docunt, but didn’t open it imdiately.
Instead, she murmured to herself:
"Let’s see what the world does when you two go off-leash." A slight smile appeared on her face.
Morgana was adjusting the last detail in front of the mirror when she heard footsteps in the hallway.
She paused for a mont, assessing her own reflection with a critical eye—not of vanity, but of strategy. The black dress fell perfectly on her body, simple at first glance, but cut with enough elegance to betray that it wasn’t made for soone ordinary. The long sleeves balanced sobriety and presence, the waist defined without exaggeration. The dark fabric contrasted with her fair skin, her equally black hair neatly tied back, leaving her face free.
Her golden eyes, as attentive as ever, were the only detail impossible to hide.
She took a deep breath and opened the door.
On the other side of the hallway... was Damon.
And Damon simply broke down.
"I— uh— you—," he began, stumbling so visibly it was almost comical.
Morgana blinked once.
Twice.
"...Are you alright?" she asked, raising an eyebrow slightly.
Damon closed his mouth, cleared his throat, and tried to regain his composure—failing miserably.
"Yes. Of course. I an—" he took a deep breath "— you are..." he paused again, clearly struggling with the words "...ready."
She watched him silently for a second longer than necessary.
Then her gaze lowered.
White button-down shirt, slightly open at the collar. No armor, no symbols. Simple black pants, functional belt. Worn but clean boots. His hair... ssy in a way that didn’t seem intentional, but also not entirely careless.
Casual.
Strangely casual.
"Damon," she said, crossing her arms. "What are you doing here?"
He blinked, as if only now pulled back to reality.
"Ah. That." He straightened up. "Elizabeth asked
to accompany you to the city."
Morgana narrowed her eyes.
"Accompany... how?"
He opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Took a deep breath.
"As a friend," he finally answered.
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward.
It was evaluative.
Morgana tilted her head slightly, observing him more closely now—not as a duchess analyzing a subordinate, but as soone trying to understand what had changed there.
"And this outfit?" she asked. "You look... different." "Is different bad?" he ventured.
"Different is unexpected," she replied. "You often seem ready for an ambush at any mont."
"I still am," he said quickly. "Just... in a less obvious way."
She made a brief sound through her nose. Almost a laugh.
"Elizabeth had sothing to do with it."
"She was... specific," Damon admitted. "She said I shouldn’t look like a knight on a mission or an agent assessing escape routes around every corner."
"And you agreed?"
"Not imdiately," he replied. "But then I realized that maybe..." he hesitated, "...maybe you deserve a normal day. As much as that’s possible."
Morgana held his gaze for a few seconds.
Then she turned and began walking down the hallway.
"In that case," she said over her shoulder, "try not to ruin it."
Damon blinked and quickened his pace to keep up with her.
"Is that a threat or a request?"
"Both."
They descended the mansion’s stairs side by side. Servants watched them discreetly, so clearly surprised by the absence of a formal escort. Morgana noticed, but didn’t comnt.
When they passed through the main gate, the air changed.
Not physically—but in feeling.
The constant weight of political decisions, conspiracies, and titles seed to loosen, even if only slightly.
"It’s been a while since you walked through town like this," Damon comnted.
"Without dozens of eyes following ?" Morgana nodded. "Since before I understood what my last na ant."
She slightly adjusted her dress as they walked down the main street. People passed them without exaggerated reverence. So recognized Morgana—it was impossible not to—but most simply went on with their lives.
"It’s... strange," she admitted. "Seeing all this unfiltered."
"Strange how?" Damon asked.
"Liberating," she replied. "And irritating. Because it reminds
of everything that was decided without
having a choice." Damon remained silent, matching her pace.
"You look beautiful," he said suddenly.
Morgana stopped.
She turned slowly.
"What?"
He froze for a second.
"I— I an—" he sighed, "...sorry. It was an impulse."
She stared at him.
Then, to his surprise, she didn’t seem annoyed.
"Thank you," she said simply. "But if you stutter every ti you think about that, the walk is going to be long."
Damon laughed, relieved.
"Fair enough."
They resud walking.
"So," he said, "where do you want to start?"
Morgana looked around. The shops, the voices, the sll of food coming from a nearby corner.
"Let’s go without a plan," she replied. "Just... walk with ."
Damon nodded.
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