Damon rushed from there, afraid of what would happen if he started. She could not know. She must not know or she would be more afraid.
But he barely made it past the hallway when his legs gave out beneath him. His hand caught the edge of a pillar, but his body refused to hold any longer. The pain was sharp, twisting, like a child's hand twisting inside his chest as he collapsed with a muffled grunt onto the polished floor.
One of the guards saw him fall and cried out. Within moments, footsteps echoed through the manor as several servants rushed to his side. "Your grace."
"Call the physician. Now!"
Damon tried to push himself up, but his limbs trembled violently. Black spots danced before his eyes, and he could feel his heart stammering in his chest like a dying bird. He gritted his teeth, jaw clenched against the wave of nausea and weakness crashing over him.
"I'm fine," he rasped, but even his voice betrayed him.
