Chapter 541: A Fifty Doras Bet and A Broken Heart
"So... what was it all about?" Helen asked curiously.
Damon took a moment before answering, his gaze dark and brooding. Helen didn’t press him and simply waited in quiet patience.
Years of serving as a royal governess had taught her to be understanding, and she could tell this matter was serious. Still, the abruptness of the meeting left her puzzled.
Then, the knight who had been staring at the ground suddenly lifted his head in a firm and resolute expression. The sharpness in his eyes made Helen’s heart skip. This would indeed be a non-trivial talk.
Damon had made up his mind. He was a knight, one of pride, courage, and honour, and he would not retreat now.
"I have a request," he said at last.
"Please, go ahead," Helen replied gently.
Her calm composure only made his heart pound harder. Damon’s fists tightened as he gathered every ounce of courage.
"I’m into you," he declared, voice steady despite his nerves, "and I would like to seek a courtship with the intention of marriage."
The lady blinked, silence stretching in the space between them. Her head tilted slightly, trying to make sense of what she had just heard.
"I beg your pardon?" she asked at last, wondering if she had misunderstood him.
"I said, I’m into you and would like to have a courtship with the intention of marriage!" Damon repeated, firmer this time.
Helen was sure now that she hadn’t misheard. This man... this knight standing before her... had just confessed his desire for a serious relationship.
"Out of the blue? For what reason?" she asked, still composed despite her astonishment.
"Because I like you!" he blurted out. "Would you agree to it?"
It took him a strong will to say those words, and though his heart was racing, he was glad he had asked.
Helen drew a quiet, steadying breath despite the turmoil within. She hadn’t expected this, but from his tone alone, she knew he was earnest. Damon McQuinn was not a man given to jest.
"This is a serious request, Sir McQuinn," she said, her voice firm but not unkind. "Have you truly thought this through?"
"Yes," he replied without hesitation. "I’ve taken my time to observe, and I believe this is the right moment to express my intention."
Helen clasped her hands before her, adopting a composed, formal stance. She didn’t avert her gaze, nor did she falter in giving her answer.
"It’s a no. Please excuse me," she said plainly, then bowed and turned to leave.
But before she could take another step, Damon moved swiftly, blocking her path.
"Why not?" he asked, confused.
"I feel that you haven’t taken certain matters into account," she said evenly.
"Such as?"
"I am older than you, three years apart," she stated.
"I’m aware," he answered quickly.
"And I’m not a maiden. I’m a widow."
"I’m also aware."
Helen’s gaze sharpened, her voice tightening slightly.
"Then perhaps you should be reminded that I’m thirty this year, and I’ve suffered a miscarriage in my first marriage."
Damon frowned slightly, still holding her gaze.
"I know that. You told me yourself. What about it?" he asked, puzzled.
"Marriage is often seen as a union for the sake of lineage," Helen began. "I am no longer young, and my womb is not strong. I may never bear you a child. You are still in your prime, a knight of high standing, and you deserve a healthy young woman who can give you an heir. Furthermore, you are a bachelor, and a bachelor does not marry a widow. Therefore, my answer is no."
Her words were clear and firm. After speaking, she attempted to move, but Damon swiftly stepped in her way again. She looked up at him, dismayed.
"I’m perfectly aware of everything you’ve just said," he replied, eyes burning with conviction. "I don’t mind any of it, and I truly want this."
Helen’s expression darkened as she glared at him.
"You are obviously unaware of the consequences. Let me enlighten you. Even if you are earnest and even if I were foolish enough to accept, many unpleasant things would follow."
"Explain to me," he pressed, undeterred.
"The moment our union becomes known," she continued, "society will whisper about a shameless widow who trapped a young, eligible knight, one of Gerhard’s finest, into marriage. Then, when I fail to give you a child, they will call me barren. Their cruel words will cling to you for years, eating away at your patience and pride. Eventually, you will grow resentful, our marriage will crumble, and I will once again be shunned as a failure. Tell me, Sir McQuinn, where does that leave me?"
Silence hung between them. Helen exhaled softly, her gaze drifting to the side.
"At least now, the pain of being looked down upon is tolerable. My husband died, and I was not divorced. That, at least, grants me a shred of dignity. I will not risk what little peace I have left. Please... find someone more suitable to your desires," she said, voice quieter.
"My desire," Damon said through clenched teeth, "is to have you. I don’t care what anyone says. They don’t dictate my life."
He drew a deep breath, his jaw tightening as the memories surfaced.
"I’m an orphan, Miss Reed. I lost my family and my entire village to the Laradie plague. Everyone I ever knew growing up was gone. So don’t talk to me about misery or shame because I’ve lived through both!"
Helen’s expression softened at his words, guilt flickering across her face at his revelation.
"I... I’m sorry for your loss," she said quietly. "I didn’t mean to belittle what you’ve been through. You’re a fine man, Sir McQuinn, good-looking—"
"Good-looking?" Damon repeated, and despite the tension, a spark of pride lit his eyes.
Helen immediately flustered.
"That’s not what I—" she stopped when she caught sight of the faint smile forming on his lips.
For a fleeting moment, her composure faltered.
Under the pale winter light, Damon’s tanned skin held a quiet warmth that contrasted the cold around them. Tall, broad-shouldered, and steady—he truly looked every bit the knight he was.
She couldn’t help but recall how capable he had been the day they worked together to help Anna escape.
Though younger, the knight’s steady figure made him appear far more mature than his age.
Standing face to face like this, no one would have guessed that Helen was a few years older because she, in contrast, looked much younger than her years.
In that quiet moment, the lady found herself admiring his smile. What a fine-looking man he was—dignified, well-built, and calm.
Once, she wondered why someone like him was still single and not looking for a partner. But that was where her thoughts ended.
A woman of her status dared not think beyond admiration. Yet now... this man had boldly come to her with such a shocking proposal!
"I—I mean... I don’t do courtship!" Helen stammered, her voice rising an octave. "Never done it and will not do!"
Damon’s smile didn’t fade.
He recalled Eric’s old advice—When a woman blushes, stutters, and looks away after being caught staring, it means you’ve already won half the battle.
Helen was giving every cue he’d ever been taught. Confidence rose within him.
"Then we can skip that," he said cheerfully. "We’ll go straight to marriage!"
"W–what?" Helen’s eyes went round as marbles.
"Marriage," Damon repeated. "I mean it."
Helen blinked again several times, trying to process whether he had truly said what she thought he said.
"You... you must be out of your mind!" she exclaimed after realisation hit her.
"I’m not," he replied without hesitation. "You lived with your late husband even when he didn’t love you, out of duty and respect. But me—" he took a breath, his tone softening, "—I like you a lot, and I’ll treat you far better than he ever did. I’ve never been with any woman before, and you’re the first who’s ever caught my heart."
"Sir McQuinn! Stop this nonsense right now!" Helen snapped.
"Listen to me—"
"Please, just stop this and leave me be!" she cut him off, shoving him aside before stomping away with a burning, red face.
Left standing alone, Damon froze, still processing what had just happened.
"...That didn’t go quite well," he muttered devastatedly.
***
"Hah! What did I say?" Noah chuckled, watching from behind a stone pillar several meters away as Damon’s courtship attempt crashed and burned.
"Pay up, everyone! Fifty Doras each!" He held out his hand expectantly, grinning from ear to ear.
"D*mn it!" Luke groaned. "I really thought he was going to make it!"
Drystan exhaled heavily, pulling out his pouch with visible reluctance.
"Fine, fine," he muttered, tossing it into Noah’s waiting hand. Luke followed suit, equally sulky.
Noah jingled both pouches with a triumphant smirk, as if savouring the sound of victory.
"If you think we’re cheating, go ahead and count every coin," Drystan said sourly.
"Nah!" Noah replied with a grin. "I know you’re not. I can tell exactly how much a hundred Doras weighs."
Before either of them could retort, a cheerful voice rang out.
"Hello, gentlemen!"
The trio turned just in time to see Rafe gliding past them with an almost ridiculous bounce in his step, humming some merry tune under his breath.
"...Is that—?" Luke began.
"Mr Amares," Noah finished, gazing at the figure.
The healer waved briefly but didn’t stop, his grin practically glowing. He looked like he had just discovered eternal youth.
"What’s gotten into him?" Drystan muttered, but the others only shrugged their shoulders.
Unbeknownst to them, Rafe was already lost in his own world of blissful anticipation.
Callis had just told him her menstrual cycle had ended, which meant tonight, something ’special’ awaited him. His humming only grew happier as he thought about this.
Just as the three knights continued staring after him in awkward silence, a startling voice suddenly echoed from the courtyard.
"Get me to His Highness! Quick!" shouted the chief of the royal guards, his face pale and stricken with panic, rushing toward the main door.