A few days later, the evening banquet—the pre-wedding celebration—took place in the imperial palace's grand hall.
As befitted such an occasion, the guests gleamed with luxury and sophistication. Silk gowns shimmered under crystal chandeliers, jewels glittered at throats and wrists, and the air hummed with polite conversation and restrained laughter.
"Countess!"
In recent days, Dolores had grown noticeably more comfortable around Juliet—overly so.
"The other ladies avoid me because I'm a commoner," she complained with practiced sadness, clearly hoping to elicit sympathy.
"Can even a woman of common birth become a countess?"
"You have such a magnificent necklace, my lady."
"They say Countess Montague can control spirits..." Dolores spoke with exaggerated interest, making it abundantly clear that she wanted to draw closer to Juliet.
When the Duke of Carlisle—who had been accompanying Juliet—was summoned away by the Emperor, Dolores seized her opportunity.
She handed Juliet a glass of champagne, her smile sweet as honey.
"You look tired, Juliet."
"Yes," Juliet admitted, covering a delicate yawn with one hand. "I feel a little sleepy."
Dolores's eyes flashed—just for an instant—with something predatory.
"Perhaps we should step into the drawing room? It's much quieter there."
"Why not."
---
## — The Trap Springs —
Several noblewomen were already in the drawing room when they arrived, conversing in low, polite tones.
Juliet glanced at them briefly, then turned to Dolores with an air of casual curiosity.
"Dolores, have you ever visited the Marquis of Guinness's mine? They say it's enormous."
"What?" Dolores blinked, momentarily confused.
"I'm talking about the magic stone mine," Juliet clarified with a light laugh.
Dolores opened her mouth—almost saying *no, I haven't*—but stopped herself just in time, tangled in her own fabricated story.
The moment the conversation turned to the mine—a subject of intense gossip in recent days—all the ladies in the room immediately tuned in, their attention sharpening.
"Isn't it strange that you've never been there?" Juliet asked softly, her tone laced with gentle insistence. "After all, you're the Marquis's wife."
"W-well... yes, I suppose," Dolores managed, her smile growing strained.
But Juliet had no intention of relenting.
"So what's it like? Seeing it all with your own eyes?"
"I... I don't really understand these things. Business is so complicated."
"But my question was simple." Juliet tilted her head, her smile innocent. "Do the stones really sparkle as much as people say?"
"Y-yes. Very beautiful," Dolores stammered.
Juliet's eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
"How funny... After all, unprocessed magic stones look like ordinary cobblestones."
"What?" Dolores's face went pale as she realized her mistake.
"Well," she said quickly, forcing a laugh, "everyone has their own definition of 'sparkling,' don't they?"
Fortunately for her, Juliet merely smiled—a small, knowing curve of her lips.
The other ladies, who had clearly been eavesdropping, exchanged suspicious glances. But soon enough, they dispersed, returning to their own conversations.
"Rest well, Countess," Juliet said with a hint of mockery, settling herself gracefully onto the sofa and closing her eyes.
Dolores left the drawing room.
But she did not rejoin the banquet.
---
A few minutes later, after waiting for the situation to settle, Dolores crept quietly back into the drawing room.
Juliet was asleep.
This came as no surprise. Dolores had mixed the sleeping draught into the champagne herself.
Approaching with careful, measured steps, she began rummaging through the sleeping woman's small purse.
Over the past few days, she had practically shadowed Juliet's every move. At some point, she had noticed exactly where the woman kept the necklace with the silver key.
"Found it!" she whispered, her face lighting up with triumph.
But—
"What are you looking for?"
***Clink!***
The silver key fell to the marble floor with a sharp, ringing clang.
Dolores dropped it in shock.
"You shouldn't throw other people's jewelry around, Dolores," Juliet sighed, bending down gracefully and retrieving the key.
"J-Juliet... I... I was just trying to give it back!"
"If you're going to lie, at least make it convincing." Juliet's voice was soft, almost gentle—but there was steel hidden beneath. "Even a child wouldn't believe that."
---
Dolores wasn't the naive victim she pretended to be.
She wasn't afraid of the Marquis of Guinness, despite her claims.
In Juliet's past life, this man had beaten her unconscious on a regular basis—yet Dolores's hands had remained white and unblemished, her skin unmarked.
And her ignorance about the magic stones now seemed especially glaring.
"So," Juliet asked calmly, her tone direct, "what were you planning to do after stealing my key?"
The question was more than fair.
"Even if you managed to take it, what could the Marquis of Guinness possibly do with—"
"Dolores is also a spirit summoner."
The answer came from behind.
Juliet didn't flinch. She turned slowly, her expression calm and utterly composed.
The Marquis of Guinness stood in the doorway, his face alight with barely restrained triumph.
"A spirit summoner?" Juliet echoed.
"Exactly." The Marquis stepped into the room, his voice swelling with pride. "I spent *years* searching for Dolores. Spirit summoners with the proper energy wavelength are exceedingly rare."
Hearing this unexpected confession, Juliet finally understood why the Marquis had chosen such a talentless actress as Dolores.
*He needed someone who could wield the key.*
Spirit summoners possessed a unique resonance—one that allowed them to channel the power of ancient heirlooms.
Which meant the Marquis *knew* about the true nature of the Montague family treasure.
Juliet allowed herself a small, bitter smile.
*So my guess was correct. It was Guinness who stole Snowdrop in my past life.*
"You seem awfully confident, Marquis," she said lightly. "What if I scream? There are people just outside the door. They'll come running."
"Do you really think they will?"
The Marquis's behavior was oddly assured. He snapped his fingers—sharp and deliberate.
***Click.***
"Who is the Master of the Full Moon?"
It was the incantation—the very command he had learned from Archbishop Solon.
Juliet winced slightly, her eyes widening as though struck by a sudden, painful memory.
"You are obliged to obey me."
Her gaze became clouded. Her face froze, emptied of expression. Her eyes dimmed, as though a candle had been snuffed out behind them.
The Marquis of Guinness smiled, utterly satisfied.
"There we are. It seems you've remembered everything."
***Crash!***
The champagne glass slipped from Juliet's hand and shattered on the floor.
But she didn't move—didn't flinch at the noise or the threat.
"First command," the Marquis said slowly, savoring each word. "Give me the key."
As if in a trance, Juliet removed the pendant with the silver key from around her neck.
She held it out.
"Finally!"
The Marquis seized it with both hands, clutching the long-coveted heirloom to his chest like a sacred relic.
"If that idiot Baron Gaspard hadn't botched things seven years ago, I would have had this *much* sooner."
Juliet stood motionless—a doll on invisible strings.
"Here, Dolores."
He handed the key to her. She took it eagerly, hanging it around her own neck with a triumphant smile.
"So... Juliet's spirit belongs to me now, doesn't it? Right, Marquis?"
"Patience, Dolores." He waved her off. "I'll teach you how to handle the spirit properly. Step by step."
Having placated her, he turned back to Juliet.
His eyes gleamed with a new, vicious plan taking shape.
"Listen carefully, Juliet Montague."
"Yes."
"Seven years ago, your parents were murdered by Baron Gaspard. You know that, don't you?"
"I know."
"He did it because he wanted that key. Someone promised him a villa on the southern coast and a fortune in exchange for your family's heirloom."
For the briefest instant, a cold spark flashed in Juliet's eyes.
But the Marquis, lost in his own machinations, did not notice.
"Yes."
"And the one who orchestrated it all..."
*He was going to shift the blame.*
"...was the Duke of Carlisle."
"He killed your parents. He deceived you. He used you for *years*. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"So tonight, you will take your revenge."
Outside the window, the full moon hung low and bloated over the city, its light cold and merciless.
"Tonight, you will lure the Duke away from the banquet. Confess your love to him. Seduce him. Do everything in your power to make him lower his guard."
The Marquis placed a graceful dagger into her hand—its blade sharply honed, gleaming like a sliver of moonlight.
"And then," he whispered, his voice thick with malice, "drive this into his heart. That will be your revenge."
He stepped back, admiring his handiwork.
"Understood?"
Juliet stood perfectly still, the dagger clutched in her pale fingers.
She looked at the Marquis.
Her voice was quiet—but her gaze was sharp as broken glass.
"Yes, Marquis."
---