Juliet leaned out from behind the podium, drawn by curiosity.
She raised her binoculars and peered down at the sprawling spectacle below. The largest racetrack in the South stretched before her—a grand arena of thundering hooves, roaring crowds, and the sharp scent of dust and anticipation.
To any casual observer, she would have appeared captivated by the horses.
But Juliet's gaze was fixed elsewhere—on a pair of small butterflies drifting lazily toward the spectators.
They shimmered with a faint bluish luminescence, so delicate and tiny that they would be nearly impossible to notice amid the churning crowd. Yet every so often, someone's eyes would catch that ethereal glow. They would blink, look again, and then dismiss it as a trick of the light, a figment of imagination born from the excitement of the races.
"It's dangerous. Sit down."
Lennox's arm circled her waist without warning, pulling her firmly back into her seat.
Juliet glanced at him but obeyed, settling into her place without protest.
*He* was the one who had warned her about the hungry butterflies—how they could be dangerous when starved.
And a place like this, thick with the excitement and agitation of a crowd drunk on gambling and glory? It was nothing less than a banquet hall for the creatures, where they could feast on raw emotion, utterly unnoticed.
She hadn't been able to uncover anything about Snowdrop through the information guilds. But Juliet had her own plan.
Her eyes drifted to the slender horses prancing on the track below, their coats gleaming like polished copper under the afternoon sun.
"Southern horses truly are different from all the others," she murmured, a note of genuine admiration in her voice.
Lennox sat beside her, chin propped lazily on one hand. His voice came soft, almost idle.
"Do you want them?"
"No." Her refusal was immediate and firm. "Don't even think about it."
He blinked, caught off guard by the sharpness of her response. A flicker of disappointment crossed his features before he smoothed it away.
Juliet stole a sideways glance at him.
This place was certainly more comfortable than the cramped confines of a theatre box. The open air, the energy of the crowd, the majesty of the horses—it should have lifted anyone's spirits.
And yet Lennox looked as gloomy as a sky heavy with storm clouds. Ever since their return from the lake, he had seemed distant, his thoughts churning somewhere far from her reach.
"Are you worried about the mana stone mines?"
Her question was direct, and Lennox's frown deepened at the words.
"Did Elliot tell you?"
"No."
She hadn't needed his secretary to piece it together.
Because she had lived through this before.
The Marquis of Guinness, ruler of the South, was locked in a bitter dispute with the Duke of Carlisle over ownership of mines rich with mana stone deposits. It was precisely this conflict that had his vassals in such a state of agitation.
"Are you worried?" Lennox asked, his gaze meeting hers.
He still lounged in that deceptively relaxed pose, chin resting on his hand. But there was something keen in his eyes, something expectant—as though her answer mattered far more than he wanted to admit.
Before she could respond, he turned away with a quiet sigh.
"Don't worry. I won't let you live in hunger."
"I'm not worried about that."
*How could she be?*
Juliet already knew who would emerge victorious from this war.
Beyond the strategic importance of the mana stone mines, the Duke was not the sort of man to hesitate or look away when someone dared to challenge his dominion.
But the mines and the Marquis of Guinness were far from Lennox's mind at this moment.
His gaze slid to the profile of the woman beside him, her attention fixed on the track below.
Nothing else seemed to matter much anymore—not when his emotions churned like a tempest dozens of times a day, all because of *her*.
---
"So, which horse would you like to bet on, my lady?"
The southern horses were magnificent, their coats gleaming in shades of rich chestnut and fiery red, like living flames racing across the track.
But Juliet found herself far more interested in the *owners* than the animals.
She smiled and made an unexpected request.
"Could you give me a list of the horses?"
Lennox watched her closely as she studied the names, his curiosity sharpening with each passing moment.
Juliet placed her bets with a peculiar detachment, paying little attention to the actual results of the races.
In the end, she won twice and lost three times across five races.
But on the fifth race, Lennox somehow claimed victory when the horse Juliet had backed finished second.
"I won."
*Ding.*
Only then did Juliet notice that he, too, had placed a wager—on the only black horse in the lineup, a creature that had appeared seemingly out of nowhere.
"But when—?"
"You lost. So answer my question."
She stared at him, bewildered. When had they made such a bet? But Lennox offered no explanation, his expression unyielding.
"What do you want to know?"
He had reached the end of his patience.
"Who is he?"
"Who are you asking about?"
"The man who said he didn't want a child."
"Oh..." Juliet didn't seem particularly surprised. "So you heard."
"How much did you hear?" she asked.
"Will your answer change depending on how much I was able to hear?"
For a suspended moment, their gazes clashed—silent, loaded with meaning, like snowballs exchanged in a wordless battle. They knew each other far too well for pretense.
There was something in the words Lennox had overheard that had lodged itself deep in his chest, sharp as a splinter.
*"My first love was a man who said he didn't want a child."*
Those words had set him on edge, sent his thoughts spiraling.
*"In fact, I will never be able to see him again."*
Lennox didn't know which possibility tormented him more.
That *he* was the reason Juliet no longer wanted children?
Or that some cursed first love—a ghost who no longer walked this world—still held such power over her heart?
*He had no future anyway.* Perhaps it would be better if the dead man was to blame.
*"You don't want a child."*
But Juliet had spoken those words to *him* once. They surfaced now in his memory, crisp and undeniable.
Lennox began to comb through every conversation, every careless remark he had ever made.
He had declared countless times that he would never marry. He had personally thrown out every fortune-hunting schemer who darkened his doorstep. But children? He had never once said he didn't want them. Not a single word.
He raked a hand through his hair, frustration bleeding through the gesture.
"Maybe it was me...?"
The question escaped before he could stop it—a raw admission of the fear that had gnawed at him.
*Was he the damned bastard who had told her he didn't want a child?*
Heat crept up his neck at the absurdity of having to ask.
But Juliet only smiled, shaking her head.
"No."
He didn't know what answer he had expected. But the moment it came, disappointment crashed through him like a wave.
"You thought *you* were my first love?"
"..."
He had leapt to that conclusion so readily, had tormented himself through sleepless hours over it. He wasn't entirely certain, but some part of him had assumed he was the dead man she mourned.
Lennox exhaled, the sound heavy with defeat.
"...What exactly did he say?"
"Just as you heard," Juliet answered, her voice calm, almost detached. "He told me he didn't want a child. That he would never allow it to happen."
"Lousy guy."
The words slipped out, low and bitter.
Juliet giggled softly. "You think so?"
"Yes."
She seemed faintly amused by his vehemence.
But Lennox found nothing funny in any of it.
His heart felt heavier now than before he had forced the answer from her. Even if he couldn't remember saying such words himself, he knew—with grim certainty—that he was no better than that wretched man.
And beneath it all, the anger he had been holding back for days flared brighter.
*After hearing something like that, no wonder she doesn't want to marry or start a family.*
It was only natural that Juliet wouldn't blink at any proposal he might make.
A man she could never see again. A man who no longer existed.
***Damn.***
He couldn't even find the bastard and kill him.
---
Juliet's thoughts had grown tangled from the conversation, but she shifted the subject with practiced ease.
"Will you return to your residence when we go back to the capital?"
"Yes," Lennox answered shortly. After a pause, he added, "Tell me if you need anything. Or if something is missing."
"Actually, I don't need anything." She considered for a moment, then turned to him with a radiant smile. "But... can I bring Onyx with me?"
It took Lennox a beat to realize she meant that suspicious beast—the creature that shadowed her everywhere like a second skin.
"I would prefer to buy you a puppy."
Disappointment flickered across Juliet's face, and something heavy dropped into the corner of Lennox's heart.
"It's okay," she said quickly, as though she had never asked at all. "I don't need a puppy."
Before he could reconsider, she continued, her tone shifting as if a new thought had just occurred to her.
"Oh, by the way—I would recommend changing the maid in charge of the bedroom."
"Change the maid?"
"Yes. My comb went missing recently."
Lennox's frown deepened. A comb? It was an absurdly cheap item—hardly worth the risk of theft for any maid with half a wit. There was far more valuable jewelry in the bedroom, yet someone had chosen to take *that*?
He opened his mouth to question her further—
But an unexpected guest appeared before he could speak.
---