Three days later, Damien fell ill. The particular kind of sickness that comes from working too many hours on too little sleep for too long a stretch of time. Benson found him slumped over his desk in the study, fever already burning hot through his entire body, and the whole household quickly fell into a quiet, controlled kind of panic that Silveria had never witnessed before in this normally composed house.
"He never gets sick," Rosa told her anxiously, wringing her hands just outside his bedroom door. "Not like this, dear. Not in all the years I've worked here."
"Has anyone called for a doctor?"
"One is already on the way. But he won't allow anyone into the room except—" Rosa hesitated, something careful entering her expression. "He keeps asking for you, actually. Even in his sleep, from what Benson tells me."
