********************************

Thursday

Camilla felt horribly guilty when she awoke the next day. Not for anything she'd said or done, but for what she'd ALMOST done.  She knew how strong she was now, and she shuddered to think what the consequences might have been for her dad if she hadn't reined herself in. 

She had hoped it was past her ... but as soon as she walked into the kitchen and saw him reaching up for the top shelf, she couldn't help notice his flabby arms and think how easy it would be – so very easy – to just grab him and ...

"Oh - hello, Camilla," he said confidently, getting a bowl down and turning around.  "Did you think about what I said?"

"Yes, Dad."

SO easy...

"And?"

To just reach out ... 

She coughed. "Um ... yes. I would very much like to stay here."

His smug grin made her arms twitch. "Good.  Glad you found some sense."  He opened the fridge and closed it. "I'll have you know, I have my second interview in as many days, this afternoon.  And surely more to follow."

She was about to retort back, but suddenly she felt a little bad for him.  "That's good, Dad," she replied quietly. 

He beamed confidently and whistled as he prepared his breakfast. Camilla grabbed a muffin and went back to her room.  She didn't have the heart to tell him that many employers had requirements now to interview at least one man for every job posting – an attempt to promote more diversified hiring practices. But in practice this was little more than a publicity stunt and very rarely resulted in a man being hired.  Honestly, it wasn't even worth the gas money he'd pay to drive to the interview.

And yet, if she were to tell him this, he wouldn’t listen to reason and they'd just wind up in another argument.  Infuriating!!

* * *

She stewed and stewed over it that day, until she couldn't take it anymore and called Lynn.  Lynn was incredibly kind and offered to meet her for lunch. 

Over burgers, Camilla explained everything to Lynn, including how close she'd come – multiple times now – to hitting him. "I'm scared," she admitted shakily. "I'm scared that one of these times, I'm just going to snap … and hurt him REAL bad."

Lynn nodded thoughtfully. "I can sympathize. Believe me, I used to have similar thoughts. But now, I have those thoughts almost entirely under control."

"But how did you do it!?" Camilla asked in desperation. 

"By directing my energy toward positive goals."

Camilla blinked. "Meaning ... what?"

Lynn set her food down and leaned closer. "Let me ask you something: do you think this is sustainable? Do you think things can just continue as they are?"

"Absolutely not!!" Camilla exclaimed. "God, I don't know if I can continue one more day like this!!  He's only getting worse and worse!!"

Lynn nodded. "And do you think talking to him about it will solve the problem?"

"God, no!  I mean, he threatened to kick me out of the house if I ever brought it up again!"

"Could you ask one of his friends to talk to him about it on your behalf?"

"That would never work!  He'd get even madder!"  

"How about writing your concerns down – say, in an email – and communicating it to him that way?"

"Same result - he'd just throw it back in my face.”  Camilla shook her head in exasperation.  “I'm telling you, he couldn't possibly be any more immature about this than he’s been so far."

"Quite right. So, if you can't talk to him about it, have others talk to him for you, or communicate in writing, I can see only two options left: either you leave the house and let him carry on ..."

"Never!"

"That leaves just one other option…"

Camilla's brow furrowed. "I could, um ... I could--"  She gasped. "You don't mean ..."

"What we talked about last night – yes."

"No!  I swore to myself I'd never actually do that!"

"You HAVE to, Camilla – for his own sake, and yours.  If you let this frustration build up in you, you WILL snap eventually – and the consequences will be much worse. By contrast, if you take the approach we discussed, you'll be funneling your emotions toward enacting positive change. This change will become your guiding principle in dealing with him, serving as both an outlet for your frustration and a tool for helping him improve. It won't always work out perfectly – I've trained Phil for quite some time now, but you saw what he did last night.  Still, there is simply no other way to enact lasting change, and no other solution to your problem."

"My god," Camilla uttered slowly, staring off at the wall, "you're right. It makes sense now, now that I see there's no other way.  I've tried everything else.  I've ... I've..." 

In a moment of clarity, she saw what she had to do. After thanking Lynn profusely and offering to pay her half of the check (Lynn refused), Camilla called her boss and explained things to her; her boss understood. Then she returned just long enough to pack her bag.

On her way out, she saw her dad putting a tie on, priming himself for his hopeless interview. "Where are you going?" he inquired sharply. "Heck, what do you do ANY day, for that matter, besides fritter your time away?"

She remained calm and reminded herself that he didn't even know about her job or anything else she did each day. He was childishly jumping to conclusions – but it was OK now; she didn't have to worry about that anymore.  She nodded graciously and replied, "I'll be gone for a few days. I'll see you around, Dad.  And if you're wondering, I do still love you."

Even amidst her irritation, she saw him putting on his tie again, and she remembered when stubbornness and brashness were once virtues she admired in him, back when the world needed men like that.  She would let him stay that way, stuck in his ways, for better or worse, because that's what he still wanted and because, yes, she still loved him.

She would remember that surprised look when she walked out the door.  She may have to remember it for a long time, as she might not come back at all.  In fact, she intended not to. 

* * *

Mark fumed for quite a while after she left.  Her arrogant behavior was driving him up a wall!  What the hell is causing this – not just in her, but every other woman?

An internet search turned up plenty of theories, but no conclusive answers.  It must be something physiological, connected to the growth disorder … but scientists can’t seem to figure out what.  However, the more sites he visited and the more he read, one thing became clear: this was more widespread than he’d ever have imagined.  I really have been off in my own world, he mused.  From the sound of it, he guessed maybe 10% of women now were acting like Lynn and Hana and the others?  Maybe more?  (Possibly significantly more?)  It was hard to say for sure.

He gritted his teeth.  Well, just because some women are ‘taking charge’ or whatever, doesn’t mean all women should.  Or will.  Camilla may have gone off to pout for now, but that doesn’t mean anything’s changing when she gets back!

* * *

Camilla drove east to the sea then turned north, stopping where she pleased, visiting exciting cities and quaint coastal towns, relaxing, and enjoying herself.  She had enough money from her college stipend plus what little she had made in her brief stint as a saleswoman to get by for a few weeks and then settle down somewhere and find another job – far from Dad and frustration.

It seemed like paradise at first - but after just a couple days, she began to have doubts.  What would Lynn and the others say about running from my problems? Isn't that exactly what I'm doing?

She met quite a few people along the way.  One family in particular stuck out to her.  They saw her walking along the beach and invited her to share lunch with them.  She immediately saw the similarities: a mother who died years ago, a single father of three kids who once had to both raise a family and run the family business ... until his eldest daughter – two years Camilla's senior – had stepped in to share the load.  Now the daughter ran the family business in his stead, and he worked as her employee – an arrangement that had shocked Camilla when she heard it, but when she saw how well the family operated, it changed her mind.  The father wasn't resentful; he was gracious and kind, patient, full of respect. But most of all, he was proud of his daughter and what she could do.  And the daughter hadn't had to force a thing; he'd given up his leadership willingly, and their family life had evolved to match, without conflict. 

Camilla learned two important lessons from this. First, some people were simply different than others.  Not in a million years would Camilla's own father relinquish his authority all on his own, the way this one had.  Different people needed different treatment. 

But even more importantly, Camilla had learned what was possible for a family like hers.  And she knew now that family was of the utmost importance to her.  Seeing a harmonious family like this had switched on a lightbulb in her mind and made things clear: I want a similar family structure of my own. 

She thanked her gracious hosts for helping her in ways they couldn't imagine – and then, she set a direct course for home.  Dealing with her father, the frustration of that, would be one of the most trying endeavors she'd ever undertaken, but she WOULD succeed. She knew this without a doubt. 

********************************

Monday

At her first stop, she sent a carefully-worded email to her father.  It got her thinking: what if he'd actually done some soul-searching of his own and changed for the better while she was gone?  Perhaps the humility of his certain job failure may have sunk in, and he was more receptive to new possibilities than when she'd left him.  Or perhaps something had happened in her absence to show him he needed her protection – no man nowadays was truly safe on his own, even at home, without a strong female nearby. Or maybe a few days of reflection would have simply helped him come to terms with things now. 

If he did show improvement, then she would modify her actions accordingly when she returned home. What happened next was now entirely up to him.

* * *

Mark checked his email that morning and was surprised to see a message from his daughter.  He’d made a few efforts to contact her since she disappeared, and she had been entirely silent other than to reassure him she was safe and unharmed.  No explanation for leaving, no statement of when she’d return – or if.

So he opened this unexpected email with interest.  << Mark, >> it began.

He did a double-take.  ‘Mark’?  Not ‘Dad’!?  He felt a mix of anger and confusion as he sat up and continued on.

<< Mark –

Good morning.  After some soul searching, I’m ready to come home.  I’ll be home before dinner, and I would like to make some requests of you.  I’ve decided to make some much-needed changes to the way our family runs.  It just doesn’t make sense to follow a male-led family structure anymore.  I think you know that, even if you won’t admit it.

First of all: I don’t feel it’s safe for you to venture out of the house on your own anymore.  I promise I’ll find a better solution ASAP which will grant you more freedom, but until then I ask that you stay indoors until I get back.  This is on par with similar rules your friends have to follow, and I don’t think it’s unreasonable to ask you to do the same.

While you’re home, I’d very much appreciate if you could take care of a few things around the house, listed below.  They’re all simple things and they really won’t take long.  Please do them by 5 PM, that’s all I ask.  If you have any questions, call me.

I know this is a lot to take in, but please don’t give me a hard time on this.  Your ability to follow these instructions will dictate my actions when I get home.  DO NOT take this lightly.  That’s the only warning I will give.  I’m doing this for the good of the family.  Please keep that in mind.

I love you very much, and we’ll talk more when I get home tonight.

Camilla >>

Mark stared at the page.  “What the fuck?” he finally muttered.  He could hear his heart beating in his eardrums.  “What … the … FUCK???”

He lowered his eyes to the second half of the page and found:

<< To do:

• Replace light bulb in guest bathroom
• Water the house plants
• Call and set up appointment to fix the water heater
• Tidy up the house a little bit (pick up trash, etc.)
• Whip up something simple for dinner?

And that’s it!

>> 

Mark lost it.  He leapt to his feet and threw the papers aside, half-crumpling them in fury.  “Who the FUCK does she think she is!?!” he bellowed, for the whole house to hear.

Of course, the house was empty at this hour – Camilla’s siblings were at school.  He couldn’t possibly conceive what absurd, ridiculous thoughts must have gone through her head to make her write something like this.  In years past, this would more than warrant a good spanking for such ludicrous behavior.  As things stood now, he would at the very least give her one hell of a tongue-lashing when she got home – the likes of which she’d never encountered before.  And then they’d go from there.

After fuming, showering, fuming, eating breakfast, and fuming some more, he decided to fix the damned water heater himself – not to ‘give in’ or anything like that, just to show her I can handle it myself, thank you very much!

* * *

After two hours of trying, he had only made the problem worse.  The water still wasn’t heating up, AND now it was slowly but steadily leaking.  A little while later, he gave up trying to stop the leak too, and just positioned a bucket to catch the drip and left it alone.

As a big middle finger to Camilla, he went out for lunch.  It was fine, of course – far from being ‘unsafe’, as she claimed!  A few women looked at him a little … oddly.  Sure, it had been a little while since he’d really been out around town on his own; and sure, women were looking pretty damned big nowadays … but of course none of that actually meant anything.  He made it home totally unharmed and unharassed.

Camilla is acting so ridiculous!!

He thought about making an even bigger mess of the house just to piss her off.  Ha … and then I’ll make her clean it, too! … Well, that might be a hard sell, but …

He ended up just watching TV for a while, until around 3:00 when he just got too fed up and left again.  The kids would be home soon, but they often had to fend for themselves without him or Camilla around, so it wasn’t a problem.

He went to a bar and didn’t drink much, but enough to keep a steady buzz going until well past 5:00.  The bar started getting crowded – and again, women seemed to eye him a bit funny … not that it made him uncomfortable or anything, but … well, he felt it was about time to leave, anyway.

* * *

Camilla's hopes of his self-improvement were dashed when she returned home and found not a single request of hers fulfilled. Some – like the water heater – he'd only made worse!  And there was no reasonable excuse she could think of for him being out of the house, alone, at all!  Especially since she’d come home right at the appointed time.

Only one thing could save him: maybe he hadn't seen the email.  She hoped – prayed – that that were the case.  She noticed his computer was still on - and, lo and behold, his password for his email account was saved in the browser.  She saw her email several lines down – and her heart sank when she noticed that it, along with several other emails that day, were marked as 'Read.'  He had seen it, after all. 

Camilla remained calm, though.  Diplomacy is still possible.  At least I have to try.  I really don’t want to resort to the other way …

Her eyes happened to land on the 'Drafts' tab.  She opened the tab and found that there were half a dozen draft replies to her email.  Blinking, she opened the first.

<< 'Dear' Camilla ......FUCK YOU!!! >>

That was the entire reply.  Heart pounding, she opened the next one hoping for his sake that he had reconsidered ...

<< My Royal Bitch of a daughter,

DO NOT, under any circumstance, bother coming home. I'm disowning your ass immediately and ripping all pictures of you from the family photo albums and throwing all your childhood crap in the trash.>>  The email continued on like this for another half a page. Camilla skimmed to the end: << GOOD LUCK WITH YOUR LIFE AND FUCK YOU!!!! >>

Camilla was becoming dizzy as she flipped ahead frantically, looking for even one word of remorse or change of heart anywhere in the next four messages, anything that she could lean on to exonerate him.  But there was nothing of the sort; in fact, the rest became increasingly scattered and rambling, reducing to little more than strings of incoherent – but extremely foul mouthed – insults of the worst kind, aimed right at her.

She read through to the end of the last drafted email then immediately deleted them all from existence. She didn't want to ever see those again – nor did she need to, to decide his punishment.  Lynn’s suggestions echoed in her mind, and she knew now that it was the only real option.  Words would accomplish nothing now; it was the time for action, not diplomacy.  Something to enact real change.

As the garage door opened minutes later, she rose to her feet solemnly but assuredly. At least now she didn't have to doubt her next move.  She was at least grateful for that. 

* * *

The beer had completely worn off by the time Mark got home.  He stepped inside to hear the microwave running.  Good – she’s in the kitchen, and I’ll confront her right away.  He strolled inside with a big, cocky grin on his face, ready to give his daughter a real piece of his mind.

She wasn’t there, though.  Yes, the microwave was indeed heating up some leftovers for dinner, but the room was currently empty.  He went to the fridge for a glass of water.

As he opened it, he heard a surprising noise from behind him: Click.  Clack.  Click.  Clack.  High heels … but on Camilla?  That made no sense; she hated heels and never wore them.

As he straightened up, he saw her shadow fall onto the fridge, beside him then around him.  The low sunlight through the kitchen window was making the shadow more dramatic – but still, something seemed wrong.

When he turned to her, he almost didn’t recognize who he saw.  Expecting her in her typical casual, don’t-give-a-crap attire, he was shocked to find his daughter decked out in a prim white blouse, black blazer (and a whole shit-ton of cleavage…), black skirt, dark stockings, and shiny black 4-inch heels.  Her hair was done in a tight bun and her normal soft facial features were transformed through makeup (which she also never, ever wore!) into a sharp, keen, oddly intense visage, made all the more striking by her height which was even more ludicrous than he’d ever seen before, thanks to the heels.  She absolutely towered over him – the top of his head didn’t even come to her shoulders!! – and there was something different in her posture, demeanor, her presence, which all came together in a wholly unexpected way to make standing in front of her feel very … unsettling.

But her voice sent this all over the top.  “Mark,” she said abruptly, her tone crisp, cutting … and displeased.  Why did that make the hairs on his neck stand up?

He was surprisingly tongue-tied as he stared 45 degrees up at her.  He tried to make sense of this all, while intensifying his glare.  Yet her gaze seemed to intensify even more; and even in the silence, she somehow seemed to be winning.

With his mouth feeling increasingly dry, she was the first to finally speak.  Her expression turned almost menacing now, to match her tone.  “We need to talk.  In my bedroom.  Now.”

He couldn’t stop his eyes from widening.  “Wh … What??” was all he managed to say.  He shook his head.  So fucking tall!! So curvy and busty.  So mature-looking, and—

He shrieked softly but audibly as her hand reached out and fell on his shoulder, clamping down not very gently at all.  “We can either make a scene about this or not,” she explained flatly.  “Your call.”

This put him over the edge.  She’s taking this way too far.  Way, way, WAYYY too far.  “No!” he said firmly, finding his resolve.  He started to brush her arm away.  “It’s time you stopped preten—Aiiyee!!“

Her hand didn’t fall away; in fact, her fingers dug in with incredible strength and took an unbreakable grip around the bones in his shoulder, indenting his soft flesh like it was nothing.  The pain was searing and intense; it was all he could do not to scream even louder.

Without further ado, his daughter strode toward her room with him firmly in tow.  Try as he might – with one, then two hands; it didn’t matter – he couldn’t budge her fingers at all.  What the FUCK!?!  What the flying FUCK!?!

The initial pull had almost yanked him off his feet; he recovered and shuffled frantically in line with her to keep himself upright.  He followed her with helpless dismay and terror, mind reeling, yelping intermittently when the pain was too intense.  For one moment, as they passed the living room, he saw his other children turning their eyes from the television, then gaping in shock.  He would never forget the look on their faces.  But no explanation could have salvaged the situation; no words could have set anything right.  The sheer, utter strength of Camilla’s hand and arm were all that made any difference right now; he was entirely subject to her will.

He held off tears – barely – as she led him swiftly into her room then closed the door.  She released his shoulder – thank god!! oh thank god!! – but he barely had time to begin massaging his shoulder before she snatched his wrist and held it out to the side, out of the way.  She didn’t do anything with it; she just held it there.  It took him a second to realize she was simply preventing him from fleeing – which was a chilling thought.

“Did you really expect I’d be OK with you running off today?” she demanded, her voice not that of a daughter but of a boss; a stern teacher; perhaps a school headmistress.  “How long were you out of the house??” she boomed.  When he didn’t answer, her hand began to shake his arm, and ultimately his whole body.  He lurched side to side like a ragdoll, unable to even slow it.  The strength she was displaying was simply not possible!!

“Wh-What is happening!?!” he shrieked frightfully.

“ANSWER MY QUESTION!!”  She rattled him some more.

Survival instincts kicked in.  “T-Two hours!!” he yelped.

The shaking stopped.  “Is that all?  Don’t lie.”

His face twitched as he prepared to lie again – but she must have understood his expression, or something, because she drew him closer and brought her other hand up, fingers outstretching.  Maybe she meant to clamp on his shoulder again, or maybe something else.  It would be hell, regardless.

Horribly confused, he could do nothing but answer her question.  “I … I went out for lunch too!” he admitted frantically.  What choice did he have??

“I see,” she said soberly, leading him across her room by the wrist.  She stopped at the foot of the bed.  “Anything else I should know?”  She stared down at him, her eyes boring into his mind.

He squirmed and groaned.  This can’t be happening!!

“Think carefully, Mark …”

He was shaking now.  He was sure she could feel it, too.  “Th…That’s all,” he whispered.

“Are you sure?”

He nodded slowly.

“There’s nothing you want to tell me about your chores?”

His eyes bulged.  “Chores??”

“Yes – chores!  I assigned you five tasks to do.  How many of them did you complete??”

He gaped at her.  Her grip tightened.  “Gah!!  N-None!!”  This is INSANE!!  “But, Camilla—“

 “Enough,” she declared, with a firm shake of his wrist.  “Anything else to tell me?”

His mind screamed at him to take control of the situation, assert his authority, put an end to this; yet, somehow he still faltered.  “N … No …” he muttered feebly.

Camilla gave him a meaningful glare that gave him chills.  “What about the emails you drafted?”

“Emails??  What are—“  His voice cut out as his eyes went even wider.

His daughter nodded gravely, her voice icy cold.  “Yes.  I read them on your computer.”  He watched her grit her teeth, holding back anger, tightening her grip even more.

He began to whimper in fear as she sat on the edge of the bed, pulling him closer to her thighs.  “I had hoped I could just use words when I got home,” she explained, “but I see that something more drastic is needed, otherwise you’re never truly going to accept your place.  Mark, I’m the head of the family now, and I cannot allow these thoughts and actions to continue.  It has to stop -- NOW.”

‘Head of the family’ … ‘Head of the family’ … “C-Can I say something?” he stuttered, raising his voice a little.

“No.  No more talking.”  She pulled him closer, until his legs were pressed against the side of her thigh.

“But … b-but wh-what are you doing??”

“Hush,” she said.  “This will be over soon.”  And then she pulled his torso down to lay him across her thighs, with his legs dangling in the air.  Now staring at the floor beside her high-heeled feet, it suddenly became clear.

“Oh my god,” he breathed.  This is IMPOSSIBLE!!  “Camilla, stop this!!!”  She HAS to be bluffing!!  She HAS TO BE!!!  SHE—

**THWAP!!!**

Simultaneous with this deafening sound, he felt an anvil collide with his upturned rear end, pummeling it into her thigh.  He didn’t understand at first that this was actually her hand – the force was too great.  But all those thoughts dissipated a split-second later, as a surge of blinding pain reached his brain.  Then, the only possible reaction was to scream – which he did, at the very top of his lungs.

Disoriented and shaking, he tried to comprehend what had just occurred.  He never considered that there could possibly be more on the way …

**THWAP!!!**

Camilla paused again after the second slap, listening to her father’s delirious screams with consternation.  She thought he might have just been exaggerating the first time, but now she decided it was probably real.  I’m not hitting him THAT hard, she mused.  Am I really that strong?  Or is he just that fragile?

She felt a pang of guilt.  Is this wrong??  Within moments, another voice in her mind rang even louder: Absolutely not.  This is correct; necessary.  And … liberating!  It wasn’t long ago at all that she’d felt intimidated by him – very recently, in fact.  But seeing him screaming and flailing – and now sobbing – across her thighs was a real revelation for her.  She needn’t fear him ever again, not even in the slightest.

His flailing began to subside fairly quickly, though.  Is two enough??  She genuinely couldn’t decide.  I don’t want to do too much … but doing not enough could be even more harmful, in the long run.  She thought hard.

Mark could barely breathe.  He feared his lower back may be broken.  Surely, if an anvil falls on you not once, but twice, you’ll at least have some dislocated vertebrae.  At least it sure felt like it.  But just as he was thinking that two blows was way, way, WAYYY too much, he sensed his daughter’s weight shifting slightly.  Adrenaline coursed through him.  She can’t possibly be thinking of another!!

I just can’t risk it, Camilla decided, winding her hand back with some reluctance.  He has to learn.

As her hand reached the top of its arc, she thought she might have heard the door creak – but her hand was already in motion.

Mark felt the sudden shift in weight, and felt his impending doom.  NO!! his mind screamed.  FOR THE LOVE OF GOD – NO!!!

***THWAP!!!***

He faded out of consciousness, his mind disconnecting from his body.  He heard screaming, and then realized it was his own.  When his mind came back – and the searing pain with it – he found himself still lying across Camilla’s thighs, his body limp as a ragdoll.  Pure terror gripped him; he HAD to get off her lap, out of the danger zone, away from her hand; that was his only, all-consuming thought.

But he couldn’t move – it hurt too much, and he had no strength left anyway.  He was depleted and helpless; motionless.

He soon realized she was talking.  For how long??  “…huge changes around here,” he caught her saying.  “It’ll be a learning experience for all of us, but try your best to get used to it.”

She’s speaking to me.  Does she expect a response??

“Any questions?” she asked.

Amidst the still-searing pain, he opened his mouth – and panicked when no words came out.  Come on, Mark!  COME ON!!!

But then she said something that made no sense at all: “Yes, Kayla?”

Kayla!?!  But why would she—unless …

He heard his youngest daughter’s sweet, innocent voice coming from his left.  “So if Daddy’s not in charge … is he just one of us, now?”  She sounded confused, and a bit afraid – but not nearly as much as Mark.

He wheezed; his eyes popped out of his head.  He finally managed to turn it sideways to see his three youngest kids standing in the open doorway, with varying expressions on their faces.  Suddenly the pain on his bottom seemed almost trivial next to this.  They saw it.  He would have traded two, even three additional blows if it meant keeping his kids from finding out.

But it was too late for that.  From Ryan he saw only horror and dismay, but in Kayla’s and Chloe’s eyes he already saw hints of transformation, of acceptance.  It occurred to him that they must have seen or heard of this happening from others at school, or in the news.  So this made far more sense to them than it would otherwise.  But it was still a shock to see neither of them protest it.

“He’s still our dad,” Camilla replied seriously.  “He just doesn’t have any authority anymore, that’s all.  Does that make sense?”

“Um … I think so,” replied Kayla.

“But do we have to still call him ‘Dad’?” Chloe chimed in.

There was a slight pause.  “Yes, call him ‘Dad’, for now,” his eldest daughter affirmed.

For now …

She slowly stood up and gently guided her father to a resting place on the floor at her feet.  She straightened her skirt, stood up, and stepped over him toward the door.  “Let’s have dinner while he recovers.  He can join us when he’s ready.”

His looming daughter turned to look down at him somberly.  He thought he saw hints of sadness in her eyes, mixed with twinges of regret.  But above it all, her eyes held a steely resolve, one that squashed all his hopes outright.  She said nothing, and made no gesture, but she didn’t need to.  Her actions had spoken far louder than words ever could.  In a flash, all his priorities had changed.  His only goal now, beyond everything else, was to avoid incurring Camilla’s wrath.

Maybe a time would come when his courage would return to him; but for now, Camilla’s word was the law – absolute and inviolable.