Lennox, who had rushed back to the mansion, frowned deeply.
"Juliet?"
He took the stairs two at a time.
Without a word—to him or to any of the duchy's knights—Juliet had left the imperial ballroom and returned to the mansion alone. Within minutes, a commotion had erupted as everyone began searching for her.
"The lady has already returned," the butler reported.
But this brought Lennox no relief whatsoever.
He found her in one of the bedrooms on the second floor.
"What are you doing here?"
The light was off. The room lay draped in shadows, illuminated only by the pale glow spilling through the open terrace doors.
She had vanished without warning, causing alarm throughout the estate. But she wasn't in her own chambers—she was in ***his***.
Lennox stopped in the doorway, breathing hard. He had been ready to unleash every word he'd been holding back, every fear and frustration he'd buried.
When he'd learned of her disappearance from the ball, something inside him had ***plummeted***.
The terrace doors stood wide open. White curtains billowed in the wind like restless ghosts.
"Your Grace," Juliet said quietly.
She sat perched on the wrought-iron parapet of the terrace, facing him.
"Get down from there."
"Why?"
"*Damn it*—it's dangerous!"
Seeing her balanced so precariously on the very edge, Lennox strode forward and reached out to pull her down.
But Juliet only glanced indifferently at his outstretched palm—and then turned away again.
"Your Grace."
She was barefoot. No robe. Only a short nightgown that the wind caught and lifted, exposing her pale legs. She looked almost weightless, as though the slightest gust might carry her away.
"The moon is beautiful tonight."
There was no fear on her face. Only a quiet, unsettling detachment.
The moment she swung one leg over the abyss with a slight, deliberate movement, Lennox's stomach clenched violently.
The full moon hung low and bloated in the sky—frighteningly, unbearably beautiful.
"I understand. Just come down."
Unable to wait any longer, he grabbed her sharply and pulled her toward him.
Under his firm grip, Juliet slid obediently off the railing. But as she swayed, she pushed against him—and they both tumbled to the floor in a tangle of limbs.
"Have you been drinking?"
Irritation warred with anxiety in his chest. Her body was cold—*too* cold. He wanted to wrap her immediately in a warm blanket, carry her to the bath, make sure she was safe.
But when he tried to lift her, pulling her up by the shoulders, he froze.
Juliet clung to him, trembling like a frozen animal.
"Lennox."
"What?"
"Have I ever told you that I love you?"
For a moment, his heart ***stopped***.
Those words were a taboo subject between them—something neither had dared to name aloud.
But Juliet looked straight into his eyes, her gaze calm, almost tender.
"If I tell you I love you... what will you do for me?"
"What do you want?" he asked.
He hoped his voice sounded steady. But his hands betrayed him—there was too much hunger in the way they held her.
"Once upon a time... a long time ago... I truly loved you," she said, her smile soft and achingly tender.
"So, just this once..."
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"...die by my hand."
The next moment, Lennox noticed the glint of steel.
Juliet clutched a thin dagger in her right hand.
He didn't have time to react—too slow, too surprised, too ***late***.
But he didn't dodge, either.
---
## — The Morning After —
The next morning, the imperial palace bustled with activity.
The celebration had stretched across several days now, and guests continued to arrive in anticipation of the upcoming wedding. Servants hurried through gilded corridors, carrying trays and floral arrangements, while courtiers exchanged pleasantries in hushed, eager tones.
"I don't see the Duke of Carlisle," the Emperor remarked, glancing around the assembly hall.
"I was told he would arrive this morning," he added, frowning slightly.
"Who knows," the Marquis of Guinness replied evasively, though his gaze darted about the room with barely concealed anxiety.
*The hypnosis should have worked perfectly.*
He had placed observers around the Duke—loyal men who would report immediately if anything went awry.
But this morning, there had been no news. No word of the Duke's death at the hands of his beloved. No scandal. No uproar.
*Is it truly a failure?*
Even if the spell had somehow faltered, the Duke would not have simply *forgiven* a woman who had attempted to murder him.
*Does this mean Juliet Montague is already dead?*
The Marquis nervously fingered the rosary beads in his hand.
*Still... even if things didn't go according to plan, I've already achieved the main objective.*
*I have stolen the butterfly spirit from Juliet Montague.*
Across the room, his gaze met Dolores's. She gave a curt nod and smiled.
Last night, shortly before leaving the ballroom, Juliet—under the spell's influence—had revealed everything about controlling the butterfly spirits.
She had answered every question without hesitation, surrendering every secret.
Dolores, the spirit summoner the Marquis had searched for and trained with such painstaking effort, had mastered the winged creatures with astonishing speed.
While those around them noticed nothing, the Marquis and Dolores could see clearly: silvery butterflies fluttered through the air, emerging directly from Dolores's outstretched hand.
*If necessary, I can charge the Duke of Carlisle with murder.*
The thought pleased him greatly.
*After all, killing someone outside the context of a duel or war is a grave crime—even for a duke.*
*If he, a man known throughout the Empire, were implicated in the death of his beloved—a woman with whom he had spent seven years—not even his name could save him from the consequences.*
In the wake of such a scandal, the Marquis hoped to seize complete control of the magic stone market.
He had already prepared contracts to purchase the northern mines the moment the Duke lost his political support.
*Yes. This is a time for ambition. For daring plans.*
"Your Majesty!"
A voice rang out from the back of the hall.
One of the servants burst through the doors, breathless and pale.
"Something terrible has happened!"
The Emperor's frown deepened. "What is all this noise on such a festive day?"
"News has just arrived from the Duke of Carlisle's residence! The capital guard—or rather, the *Royal Guard*—"
"Speak clearly!"
The servant swallowed hard.
"The Duke of Carlisle... ***is dead***."
---
## — Arrested in Blood —
Juliet Montague was arrested, her hands and gown soaked in blood.
The charges were brought by the Duke's own men.
"We invoke **Silica's Law**," the Duke's secretary stated, his voice restrained but unwavering.
Silica's Law was a special legal provision reserved for matters involving the aristocracy. When a first-degree murder occurred, a third-party noble family could intervene in the investigation to ensure an objective trial.
Until a final verdict was rendered, the case remained entirely confidential. Only after a decision was reached would the prosecution gain legal force.
"I will take charge of this matter," the Marquis of Guinness announced.
"*You?*" The Emperor looked at him in surprise. Everyone knew of the long-standing enmity between the Marquis and the Duke of Carlisle.
"Yes. I believe it would be... *fair* to the deceased."
The Emperor considered this, but could find no valid reason to refuse.
After all, Guinness was an influential and respected aristocrat. Few possessed the authority—or the willingness—to shoulder such responsibility.
And in the midst of wedding celebrations, a public murder investigation would be profoundly inappropriate.
Thus, Juliet Montague came under the guardianship of the Marquis of Guinness.
The Marquis was triumphant.
*If the Duke's household hadn't invoked Silica's Law, I would have initiated it myself.*
Juliet needed to disappear—quietly, completely.
Women with her gift were exceedingly rare. And Juliet had been close to **Lady Dahlia**, the mysterious patroness who commanded the butterfly spirits.
"Marquis, I heard the news!"
Despite the case being sealed, rumors spread with astonishing speed.
The moment the Marquis left the palace, he was swarmed by nobles and merchants eager for his attention.
"Unbelievable! Who would have imagined?"
"The Duke of Carlisle—*killed* by his own beloved!"
After the requisite condolences, they wasted no time getting to business.
"By the way, Marquis..."
"They say you're buying up magic stone mines?"
"If you require an investor..."
Everyone rushed to offer capital, connections, influence.
*Everything is working out as well as I could have hoped.*
"We will discuss such matters after the Duke's funeral," the Marquis replied with measured propriety. "It would be more appropriate that way."
---
## — The Dungeon —
Juliet was transported to one of the Marquis's castles—a grim, ancient fortress on the outskirts of the capital.
Outside, armed guards stood watch. Inside, the Marquis's most loyal men prowled the corridors.
The castle possessed a dungeon, typical of old fortifications. Now it served not as a prison for common criminals, but as a laboratory for "*diluting*" magic stones—a process that reduced their potency for cheaper resale.
Traces of this illicit work were visible even on the rough stone table in the depths of the chamber.
"Well done. I'll take care of the rest."
Archbishop Solon was waiting in the dungeon, his face lit with genuine satisfaction.
*My spell worked! Everything is proceeding perfectly.*
With those thoughts warming him, he dragged Juliet deeper into the shadowed chamber.
"Tie her up. Tightly."
"But... she's just a woman. Is this really necessary?"
"I *said*—tie her up!"
Even if, on paper, she was merely the Duke's killer, caution was never wasted.
"What does the Marquis intend to do with her?" one of the guards asked quietly.
"I don't know. Perhaps he'll send her to the mines. Turn her into... *material*."
"Material?"
"..."
Solon froze, realizing he had said too much.
And then—from the depths of the dungeon—a calm, measured voice cut through the silence.
"Ah. So that's how it is."
Everyone turned.
The woman who had been sitting on the floor with an empty, lifeless gaze only moments before now stood upright.
She held a fragment of raw magic stone up to the light, examining it with quiet, clinical interest.
"So *that's* how it all happened."
---