"Mistress!"
"Mistress Juliet!"
In the dimly lit dungeon, the moment Juliet opened her eyes, she was immediately surrounded by anxious faces.
She quickly pieced together what had happened.
"No matter how hard we tried to wake you..."
"You have no idea how frightened we were!"
"It's all right," Juliet sighed, extending her hand. "Help me up."
Even in the shadows, the knights noticed how brightly her necklace sparkled—the silver key glowing faintly against her skin.
"Where is the exit?"
"Uh... about that..."
*Flicker.*
While the glowing butterflies swirled lazily in the air, Juliet suddenly said:
"Over there."
"What?"
She walked calmly toward one of the walls, where a door was barely visible—half-obscured by rubble from the explosion.
"This door... we tried to open it earlier, but it wouldn't budge..."
Yet the handle turned obediently beneath her touch.
The knights watched, astonishment written across their faces, as the door swung open.
"It looks like we've found our way out," Juliet said, still utterly composed.
And indeed—beyond the threshold lay the castle's first floor.
**(We... could go... anywhere.)**
**(But... not now.)**
**(Bad... people... locked us in.)**
"I understand," Juliet murmured quietly.
Even in the carriage, after they had escaped the dungeon, the butterflies continued to buzz near her ear.
Once, according to these creatures, her ancestor—the first Count Montague—had imprisoned a demon using this very key.
Juliet twirled the small silver pendant between her fingers. Until now, she had thought it merely a piece of jewelry.
According to the butterflies' chattering, this key could open and close *doors*—though she didn't fully understand what that meant.
Still, she was grateful. It had saved them.
The knights did not ask how she had managed to find the exit.
Though it was clear from their expressions that questions lingered, outwardly it no longer mattered.
---
## — A Strange Report —
"What do you mean by that?" Sir Milan asked sharply.
"Is the Duke... all right?"
"That's... complicated," replied Elliot, the Duke's secretary. His evasiveness was deeply unusual.
"You'll understand better if you see it yourself."
And so, late in the evening, they headed toward an abandoned temple on the outskirts of the capital.
The Marquis of Guinness and his men had been successfully neutralized—but something strange had happened to the Duke of Carlisle.
The story seemed almost unbelievable.
"Don't worry. His Grace will be fine," Jude said from the seat opposite Juliet, attempting reassurance.
"I'm not worried," she replied calmly, her gaze drifting over the knights' enchanted swords.
The magic stones embedded in their blades hummed in unison—a low, resonant tone that set her teeth on edge.
Jude thought it was eerily reminiscent of the events from seven years ago.
He had been just a young squire then. And he had met Juliet in the very place where they were headed now.
---
## — The Temple Ruins —
As soon as the carriage stopped, the knights leapt down swiftly.
"Your Grace!"
The atmosphere at the temple ruins after sunset was almost otherworldly. Familiar faces flickered in the torchlight—knights she recognized, their expressions etched with fear and confusion.
Juliet climbed down from the carriage without assistance and strode directly toward the one she sought.
"Hadin," she said.
The usually unshakable knight stood blocking her path, his face drawn and uncertain.
"W-wait, my lady. You can't... not right now..."
He felt strongly that she should not see what lay within.
"You shouldn't approach His Grace. It's... *dangerous*."
In truth, no one understood what had happened to the Duke of Carlisle.
A few hours ago, he had suddenly lost consciousness. And no matter what they tried—doctors, mages, even priests—no one could get close to him.
And all this time, he had not stirred.
But Juliet cast a cold glance at the knights and issued a brief command.
"Step aside."
She walked past them without hesitation and made her way toward the lone silhouette at the temple's center.
The sun had already set. A thin crescent moon hung in the night sky, pale and distant.
Beneath its cold light, the man knelt as though in prayer—utterly motionless, like a statue carved from stone.
He leaned on his sword, and his figure in the moonlight radiated an ominous, unearthly power.
Juliet stopped a short distance away and asked quietly:
"How long has he been like this?"
"About eight hours," someone answered.
"I see."
She spoke calmly, but Hadin still hesitated, uncertain whether to let her approach.
Over the past few hours, they had tried everything: spells, blessings, healing incantations. But whenever anyone came near, the Duke's sword would *ring*—sharp and clear, like a warning bell—and an invisible barrier would flare into existence, repelling all who approached.
And now, Juliet stepped forward.
"Your Grace..."
---