"What do you mean?" Juliet raised her eyebrows in disbelief.
"I've never heard of the Fran family having a child."
Confused, Milan double-checked what he'd said, as though confirming his own memory.
"Are you familiar with the name Dahlia Fran?"
"No. I've never heard it before," Milan replied firmly.
The answer was too simple. Too disappointingly unambiguous.
"As far as I know, during His Grace's youth, there were no children his age in the duchy. The only child close in age was my younger brother," Milan explained patiently, studying Juliet's expression. "So *I* was his playmate and training partner. Anyone in the ducal residence will tell you the same."
Juliet blinked silently.
*Milan's words actually sound... logical.*
In aristocratic families, it was customary to select peers from among loyal noble houses as companions for their children before they entered society. Typically, older boys with good manners and strong pedigree were chosen.
And if you thought about it, the role of the young duke's companion should have fallen to the youngest son of a loyal family—not the daughter of a low-born servant.
Until now, Juliet had assumed it was simply due to the *unconventional morals* of the Carlisle family.
*But Dahlia was supposedly the daughter of the Frans?*
*Or perhaps Milan simply didn't know about her. He came from a knightly family and didn't live in the ducal residence permanently. How could he have known about the maid's child?*
"But, my lady..." Milan hesitated. "How did you even know she existed? About this... childhood friend?"
"I..." Juliet faltered.
She couldn't answer.
*Who was it?*
For a moment, her thoughts scattered like leaves in a storm.
She knew—*absolutely knew*—what she had once heard: Dahlia was the daughter of the Frans.
*But who told me this first? I don't remember.*
*But I know Dahlia.*
*The woman from the East Tower.*
When Juliet had first arrived at the duchy, that was what they called her: *the woman from the East Tower*.
The place was forbidden to all. The ducal family kept their most precious treasures there. In Juliet's past life, the Duke of Carlisle had personally guarded Dahlia. No one was permitted entry.
But Juliet had seen her.
*In person. Just the two of us.*
Now, thinking back to that moment, she realized something unsettling:
*The memories of Dahlia are blurry. Much fainter than they should be.*
*This is strange.*
Thanks to the cursed butterflies that had forced her to relive her past life again and again, Juliet remembered that existence down to the smallest, most excruciating detail.
*So why is this memory so vague?*
If the timeline followed logic, Dahlia had arrived in the North after Juliet lost the child.
*Which means she stayed in the duchy far less time than I thought.*
Her heartbeat quickened.
The feeling was deeply unsettling.
In the fragmented visions the butterflies had shown her, she had never been able to pinpoint exactly when or how Dahlia had appeared.
She just... suddenly *knew*.
The only things she remembered clearly were anxiety, disappointment, and pain.
*It's as if someone deliberately cut out a fragment of my memory.*
*When did I meet Dahlia face-to-face?*
*"I will help you."*
In her past life, it had been Dahlia who extended her hand when Juliet—overcome with fear—had tried to escape.
But now, doubts crept in even about that.
"Lady Juliet?"
"Hm? Yes."
She snapped back to the present. Juliet looked up, remembering she was mid-conversation with Milan.
"Sorry. I was lost in thought."
"It's nothing."
Milan glanced at the young dragon sleeping peacefully in the chair, curled into a tight black ball.
Juliet quickly came to a conclusion.
*Even if Dahlia wasn't the Frans' daughter, it doesn't change anything right now.*
There were far more pressing issues.
*I need to deal with the important things first.*
From finishing the business with the Marquis of Guinness to understanding how Lennox had learned of a past only *she* was supposed to remember.
And finally...
*Who sent me back to this place? And why?*
"Sir Milan."
She turned the small portrait he had given her over in her hands—then handed it back.
"Here. I'm returning it."
Every time she looked at the black-haired boy in the painting, her heart clenched with unbearable pain. He reminded her too much of the child she had lost.
"Didn't you like it?"
"No. It's a precious gift. Too precious."
"Well, if you say so..."
Milan didn't look particularly disappointed.
"But I would like you to deliver it to His Grace personally."
Juliet smiled faintly.
Milan was a devoted knight—and, as befitted an honest man, he did not hide his intentions well.
He hadn't come with the portrait on his own initiative. This was the Duke's doing.
*I know the ducal household is deeply concerned about Lennox. After that day, the Duke of Carlisle has become especially... dangerous.*
*But it wasn't me who avoided the meeting.*
Juliet hadn't seen Lennox in days. *He* was the one avoiding *her*.
"Where is His Grace?"
---
## — The Imperial Prison —
***Creak.***
The door of the old prison swung open slowly.
The moment the Duke of Carlisle stepped out, he was immediately surrounded by several nobles.
"Congratulations, Duke!"
"They say you captured the Marquis of Guinness himself? Excellent work!"
*The usual flatterers, of which every palace is full.*
Somehow, they already knew that Lennox Carlisle had arrived in person for the interrogation.
But the hero of the occasion looked grim and dangerous.
Those who had intended to approach him immediately lost their nerve.
"Is everything all right, Your Grace?"
The Duke's secretary hurried over, peering through the half-open door before it closed completely.
To his surprise, the body of the Marquis of Guinness was *not* lying in the cell.
Elliot exhaled in relief.
This was the same prison where the Marquis was being held.
"Does it look like it?" the Duke answered flatly, striding down the dim corridor.
For the past few days, the Duke of Carlisle had been disappearing—only to return drenched, as though he'd been caught in a storm. None of his attendants or confidants knew where he had been.
Elliot had prepared himself for anything. If the Duke were ever found in a drug-induced delirium, he wouldn't even be surprised. His Grace's condition was... *alarming*.
However, two days ago—upon seeing the Duke of Carlisle in his office with a clear gaze and a composed face—Elliot had almost fainted from shock.
He had begun to worry *more*, not less.
What was frightening was not that the Duke might be under the influence of alcohol or opiates. On the contrary: he looked completely *sober*.
Moreover, he hadn't even tried to see Juliet.
Of course, he had become more irritable than usual. But he still continued managing the duchy's affairs—albeit selectively.
Today, he had personally gone to interrogate the Marquis of Guinness. Whatever had transpired in their previous encounter had changed everything.
Elliot glanced furtively at the Duke.
Fortunately, he had returned unharmed—all his limbs intact.
But it was precisely this outward composure that was even more disturbing.
*How is this possible?*
Everyone remembered *that* scene—how the Duke had clung desperately to Juliet Montague just days ago, as though the world were ending.
But no one could understand what they had spoken about.
After that day, the Duke had seemed to bid farewell to life itself. His gaze had turned cold as a winter wind, ominous and empty.
And then—suddenly—he had vanished for several days and returned... as though nothing had happened. Immersed in his work. As if he felt *nothing*.
"Your Grace," Elliot said hurriedly, handing over a sealed letter. "His Majesty the Emperor has sent another summons."
The Duke didn't even glance at it.
There was no denying it: the Duke of Carlisle had played a pivotal role in exposing the crimes of the Marquis of Guinness.
However, it had all begun with a long-standing conflict between two noble houses.
Therefore, the right to trial and punishment fell to the duchy.
But the Emperor wanted to know *exactly* how Carlisle intended to deal with the Marquis.
So he continued sending summonses—one after another.
The Duke remained silent.
He had already ignored more than one imperial order.
"This time, you are *obligated* to appear at the Imperial Palace..."
"Tell him to leave me alone."
"Your Grace..."
Elliot exhaled heavily and glanced around.
This entire exchange was taking place on the grounds of the Imperial Prison—right under the eyes of the capital's guards. Such blatant impudence was practically an insult.
If they were suddenly called to a disciplinary hearing, there would be nothing to object to.
Though... the Duke of Carlisle, as always, didn't care.
He had no respect for the Emperor, the court, or their senseless bureaucracy. And his temperament had recently become especially gloomy and unpredictable.
"Oh—" Elliot added quickly, as though just remembering. He caught up to the Duke's long strides.
"Mistress Juliet was looking for you."
The Duke, who had been walking ahead without pause, stopped abruptly.
"Juliet?" he asked quietly.
"Yes."
For the first time in days, someone's name had evoked any kind of reaction in him.
Elliot saw a whirlwind of emotions flash across the Duke's face: confusion, pain, longing... all of it surfaced—and then vanished, buried beneath iron control.
---