Chapter 214: Provocation after provocation.

Morgana maintained her smile as she took a slow step around him, as if assessing something she already knew very well.

“Your shoulders,” she commented, approaching from behind. “They’re stiff.”

Before Damon could respond, she placed her hands there, firm and warm. She didn’t squeeze immediately. First, she just supported them, as if testing his reaction.

Damon felt his body react reflexively.

“Morgana…,” he warned, quieter than he intended.

“Shhh,” she murmured, leaning slightly forward, too close to his ear. “You said you’d do whatever I wanted, remember?”

She began to press the muscles with slow, calculated movements. It wasn’t a real massage—it was almost. Enough to relieve a little… and provoke a lot.

“You’ve been carrying a lot of tension,” she continued, her voice soft. “Too much training, too much danger, too many thoughts.”

She slid her fingers a little further in, following the line of his neck to the base of his nape. Damon closed his eyes for a moment, betraying himself.

“This isn’t fair,” he said, trying to maintain some control.

Morgana chuckled softly.

“Justice rarely enters into my decisions.”

She circled again, stopping now in front of him. She stretched her arms, as if to continue her own stretching, but made sure to stay close enough for him to feel her presence without touching her.

“Look at you,” she said, tilting her head. “Always alert. Always on guard. Even now.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Can you switch off for a minute?”

Damon held her gaze.

“I’m not sure I know how to do that anymore.”

Something in her smile softened.

“Then leave it to me.”

She raised one hand and placed it lightly on his chest. She didn’t press. She didn’t push. She just stood there, feeling the accelerated rhythm under her palm.

“See?” she said. “Not everything needs to be force. Sometimes… it’s just rhythm.”

She pulled her hand away too slowly to be innocent and took a step back.

“That’s enough for today.”

Damon blinked, surprised.

“Enough?”

“If I keep going,” she replied, with a smile full of promises, “you won’t be able to train properly. And Ester will kill me.”

She stepped away, picking up the towel and drying her face as if nothing had happened.

Before leaving the courtyard, however, she stopped and looked over her shoulder.

“Later,” she said. “If you survive the day.”

Damon stood there for a few seconds, feeling his heart still racing and his mind completely out of sorts.

Definitely… that hadn’t helped him relax.

…

The forest still held the chill of dawn when Damon returned to the training field.

Sunlight filtered through the tall treetops, creating golden streaks on the leaf-covered ground. It was the same place. The same smell of damp earth. The same attentive silence.

But Damon wasn’t in the same state of mind.

He gripped the wooden spear firmly, his fingers clenched too tightly, his shoulders tense. His posture was correct, his front foot aligned, his weight well distributed… exactly as Ester had taught him.

And yet, his mind was elsewhere.

Or rather—on someone.

Morgana.

The sweat trickling down her skin. The slow smile. The tone of voice too low to be innocent. The way she had approached without actually touching him, but making it clear that she could.

“Damn it…”, Damon murmured to himself, spinning the spear in an automatic motion.

Ester was already there, watching.

She said nothing. She simply walked around him, silent steps, eyes attentive to every microadjustment—or lack thereof.

“Attack,” she ordered suddenly.

Damon advanced.

The movement was quick, technically correct. The tip of the spear cut through the air in a clean thrust, followed by a defensive spin.

But there was a delay.

A tiny, almost imperceptible delay between intention and execution.

Esther blocked easily, deflecting the wooden spear with her own, twisting her body and striking his flank with the shaft.

“Concentrate,” she said dryly.

Damon took two steps back, clenching his teeth.

“Concentrate,” he thought. “Sure. Easy.”

He tried to empty his mind.

But the problem wasn’t an excess of chaotic thoughts.

It was a specific thought, insistent, irritatingly vivid.

“Attack again,” said Ester.

Damon advanced again, this time with more force. He combined two blows in quick succession, trying to pressure her.

And failed again.

Esther didn’t just defend—she entered his space.

The wooden spear struck Damon’s shoulder hard, knocking the air from his lungs. “You’re late,” she commented. “Again.”

Damon took a deep breath, trying to keep a neutral face.

“I’m fine,” he said. “Just… a little tired.”

Ester tilted her head slightly.

“Tiredness doesn’t create such specific flaws.”

She stepped back a few paces and gestured for him to attack again.

Damon obeyed.

But this time, even before he moved forward, the image returned to his mind unbidden: Morgana bowing, her gaze over her shoulder, the smile that said “I know exactly what I’m doing.”

His Qi reacted wrongly.

Not chaotically. Not uncontrolled.

Displaced.

The thrust came out too strong, too wide.

Ester twisted her body and, without hesitation, broke the wooden spear against his torso with a dry crack.

The impact threw him to the ground.

“Enough.”

Damon let out a muffled groan, rolling onto his side and placing one knee on the ground.

“Esther…,” he began.

“Stand up,” she ordered.

He stood, still breathing heavily.

Esther stood before him now, spear resting on her shoulder, her gaze hard as polished stone.

“Emotional control isn’t optional,” she said. “Not for someone like you.”

Damon ran a hand through his hair, forcing a crooked smile.

“I said everything was fine.”

She didn’t smile back.

“You’re lying badly.”

Silence.

The wind rustled through the trees, making the leaves whisper.

“What’s wrong?” Ester finally asked.

Damon opened his mouth to answer… and closed it.

For a second, he considered telling the truth.

He considered admitting that his head was in silent chaos, that his body reacted before his mind, that there was something about Morgana that affected him in a way that had nothing to do with strategy, perception, or survival.

But he just shrugged.

“Nothing much,” he said, with a half-smile. “Just a distraction.”

Esther stared at him for a long moment.

Too long.

“Distraction kills,” she said. “Especially your kind.”

She took a few steps back and planted the spear in the ground.

“That’s enough for today.”

Damon blinked.

“Seriously?”

“Yes,” she replied. “If we continue, you’re going to get really hurt. And not because I want you to.”

He let out a short, relieved laugh.

“I thought you never said that.”

Esther finally raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t get used to it.”

She turned to leave, but stopped after two steps.

“Damon.”

“Hm?”

She glanced over her shoulder, her gaze cold and precise.

“Tomorrow, if you show up here thinking about anything other than training…”

He swallowed hard.

“…I’ll impale you with an ice spear.”

Damon laughed.

Not because he found it funny.

But because he knew she wasn’t joking.

“Fair enough,” he replied. “I’ll… keep a clear mind.”

Esther made a low sound, something between a grumble and a suppressed laugh.

“Do it,” she said, walking away through the trees. “Or the world will learn exactly what happens when you lose control.”

When she disappeared, Damon stood there for a few seconds, breathing deeply, feeling his body still vibrate from the interrupted training.

He looked at the broken spear on the ground.

Then, he closed his eyes.

Morgana returned to his mind almost instantly.

The smile. The suggested, but ungiven, touch. The calculated provocation.

“Damn it…,” he murmured, running a hand over his face.

He had faced monsters in the forest before. He had felt the pressure of the night watching him. He had learned to filter hostile intentions in the dark.

But this?

This was another kind of danger.

Damon took a deep breath and decided to end it before his own mind sabotaged the rest of the day.

He picked up what remained of the broken spear, dropped the material on the makeshift support in the field, and headed towards the mansion. The way back was familiar, almost automatic, and usually helped organize his thoughts.

Usually.

The Wykes mansion loomed imposingly ahead, silent at that hour. The windows reflected the clear sky, and the inner garden was partially illuminated by the sun that was beginning to rise higher.

Damon detoured down the side path, the quickest way to reach his room.

That’s when he saw her.

Morgana was in the garden.

Not training. Not talking. Not provoking him in an obvious way.

She was simply there.

She wore only a thin nightgown, too light to hide anything. The fabric lazily clung to her body, leaving very little to the imagination—and absolutely nothing to his tranquility. When the light filtered through the fabric, it was impossible not to notice the dark lingerie underneath, the almost cruel contrast.

She walked slowly among the flowers, barefoot, her hair loose and falling over her shoulders. She seemed distracted, touching the leaves, breathing the morning air as if she were completely alone.

Damon stopped instantly.

His brain screamed for him to turn around. To leave. To pretend he hadn’t seen anything.

His body ignored all those orders.

He stood motionless, leaning partially against the side of the wall, his eyes betraying every instinct of self-preservation that Ester had tried to instill in him that morning.

“This… this is stalking,” he thought, annoyed with himself. “Or torture. Probably torture.”

Morgana leaned slightly to observe a lower flower, and the movement made her nightgown ride up just enough to make it clear how terrible an idea that was for the sanity of anyone looking.

Damon swallowed hard.

Then she stopped.

The movement was too subtle to be a coincidence.

Morgana stood upright, her shoulders relaxed, but her head turned slightly to the side, like someone who had just noticed something out of place.

“Hm…”, she murmured, her voice too low to be heard clearly, but loud enough to cut through the silent garden.

Damon felt his heart race.

She wasn’t looking directly at him. Not yet. But the slow smile that appeared on her lips left no doubt.

She knew.

“Curious…”, said Morgana, now a little louder, taking a few steps without looking back. “I thought you were alone.”

Before she could turn around completely, Damon reacted on pure instinct.

He moved quickly, pressing himself against the wall and hiding behind a stone pillar partially covered in vines. He held his breath, cursing every bad decision that had led him there.

Silence.

His heart pounded, each pulse seeming to echo down the hallway.

For a few seconds, nothing happened.

Then soft footsteps echoed through the garden.

Not approaching directly. Just circling. “Sometimes,” Morgana said, her tone too distracted to be honest, “people think they’re too quiet.”

Damon closed his eyes.

“She’s playing a trick on me,” he thought. “She always is.”

The footsteps stopped.

“But it’s alright,” she continued lightly. “Whoever it is… probably just got lost on the way.”

She chuckled softly, a short, satisfied sound.

The footsteps faded.

Damon waited.

Five seconds.

Ten.

Only then did he dare to breathe again.

When he risked peeking through the leaves, Morgana was already walking away towards the mansion, strolling with the same carefree calm as before, as if nothing had happened.

Before disappearing down the opposite corridor, however, she stopped.

Without turning around, she said:

“Next time,” she said, in a tone that was too sweet, “don’t hide so quickly.”

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