They say a person forever remembers the first blessing they hear in their life.
Although...
*Sometimes it's not a blessing at all. It's a curse.*
*Cruel words.*
Lennox Carlisle still clearly remembered the first words he had heard from his father.
But his memories of his parents were far from ideal. There was not a drop of beauty in them.
By the age of twelve, the boy—who had already shown signs of the Carlisle family's poisonous nature from early childhood—had long since ceased being so innocent that mere harsh words could wound him.
He grew up in a house where squabbles over inheritance were as commonplace as morning tea.
Such is the way of the rich.
That was perhaps the strangest thing of all.
Lennox's father—the former Duke of Carlisle, Ulysses Carlisle—had survived multiple assassination attempts. He had spilled his own brothers' blood to seize control of the family, and then... simply *collapsed*.
He sank into debauchery, guilt, and emptiness.
Lennox looked upon his weak father with disgust—the same man who had died of poison long before the end of his son's turbulent youth.
And Lennox's mother... she was remembered differently.
A captured trophy. A wife from a fallen house—hated, despised.
She had been as foolish and arrogant as she was beautiful. People said she used to boast: *"I'll be a duchess within three months."*
They laughed at her ambitions. But she had managed to outwit Ulysses Carlisle and bear him a child.
She was never destined to become duchess, however.
She died shortly after giving birth.
---
The Carlisle family's children were born with magic. It began in their mothers' wombs.
This "gift," as it was called, was rarely without tragedy.
The embryo did not merely draw magic from the mother's body—it *warped* her mind. Women slowly faded, lost their sanity, and died during or shortly after childbirth.
"You weren't supposed to be here."
Lennox had paid no attention to those words when his father spoke them in public. He hadn't even tried to consider why he deserved such hatred.
Perhaps he simply believed the reason was his father's rage at the woman who had deceived him.
He didn't think deeper. He didn't want to.
*Your Grace...*
But when Juliet looked into his eyes—restrained, calm, unflinching—a different thought surfaced.
*Maybe it wasn't my father who hated my mother.*
*Maybe it was me.*
*Just me.*
*If she gives birth... will it cost her life?*
---
In his relationship with Juliet Montague, Lennox had wanted only one thing: stability.
She demanded nothing from him beyond what he could give. And Lennox dreamed it would remain that way.
*I will not marry.*
He drew a line between them—vague, as always.
The chances of her becoming pregnant were practically nonexistent. And if she suddenly wanted something more... he could simply pretend not to notice.
*What's the harm in closing my eyes?*
If Juliet clung to hope, he would be the one to end it first. He would sever everything before it grew roots.
That was how he convinced himself. And in doing so, he fed the childish, immature cruelty festering inside him.
When Juliet left—*fled*—he was forced to confront what he had been running from all along.
He couldn't let her go.
"It's a strange story, isn't it?" the woman who had taught him to feel asked, smiling as though nothing had happened.
*If I have a child... will it be my curse? My death? What nonsense...*
The words hung in the air. Juliet's smile faded like a lamp flame guttering in the wind.
*Juliet...*
*Why are you silent?*
Without realizing it, he had taken her hand. His fingers brushed hers lightly.
Juliet didn't pull away—but she lowered her head, looking at his hand as it closed gently around hers.
*You should have said no.*
Lennox held on to that touch, unable to let go.
He had seen only a fragment of her past. But it was enough to understand everything.
*If Juliet finds out the truth, she will either be willing to die to give birth...*
*...or she will leave.*
And he already knew what he would choose.
No matter how many times it happened—he would never let Juliet go.
***Boom... Bom...***
The church bells, announcing the beginning of the wedding, echoed throughout the temple.
But for him, it was not a sound of celebration.
It was a funeral march.
---
## — The Score Unsettled —
Juliet sat alone in the empty reception room.
The late afternoon sun cast long, amber shadows across the stone floor. She replayed the conversation she had overheard earlier.
*Do you know a snake called a viper?*
When Roy had said those words, she had almost laughed.
*How absurd.*
She thought she knew enough about the Carlisle family.
*Children with red eyes—yes, a well-known tale. But born from death?*
*A legacy where children kill their mothers?*
"What kind of legacy is that?" she had thought at the time.
But everything became clear the moment she looked at Lennox's face.
Juliet closed her eyes.
*In the end, she'd had a child she hadn't even been able to hold to her breast.*
***Knock.***
The reception door opened. A maid entered, bowing politely.
"Thank you for waiting, miss. She will be here shortly."
Juliet smiled softly and nodded.
"Thank you."
Whatever she had heard, there was still work to be done.
Juliet possessed an excellent memory—*especially* for those who had hurt her.
*The Marquis of Guinness.*
She hadn't settled that score yet.
But first, she had come to someone far easier to approach than the Marquis himself.
***Creak. Click.***
As promised, a woman with long hair soon entered the room.
"Hello, Dolores."
Juliet greeted her with a warm smile.
It was Dolores—the very woman the Marquis of Guinness had used as a pawn in his schemes.
She had been locked in the clock tower on the estate for days until Juliet vouched for her and secured her release.
Dolores, exhausted beyond measure in just a few short days, looked at Juliet with open hostility. But Juliet seemed not to notice.
"Come. Sit down."
Juliet understood immediately who she was dealing with.
Dolores was one of those who served not people, but their own desires.
Without a word, Dolores quickly rearranged her expression and silently took the seat across from Juliet.
"Eat."
Juliet pushed a basket of food toward her.
At first, Dolores eyed her interlocutor with suspicion. But eventually she reached for a slice of bread.
"Hnn..."
She must have been truly starving. She ate without looking up—silently, mechanically—and then, without warning, burst into tears.
"The lady is so kind to Dolores..."
Juliet did not correct this misconception.
Watching the girl devour the food with desperate hunger, Juliet asked calmly:
"Why did you lie?"
"It was the Marquis of Guinness's orders!"
The answer came with unexpected humility. Dolores didn't prevaricate—she simply laid everything out at once.
"I was just a tool! I was *used!*"
Dolores admitted that she came from a small village in the South, with no trace of nobility.
The Marquis had seen "talent" in her and taken her under his wing.
"But when we first met, he introduced you as his *wife*. Didn't he?"
*It was true. When Juliet first encountered them in the South, the Marquis had called Dolores his eighth wife.*
*Yet here, before the Emperor, he had introduced her as an adopted daughter.*
"That's because the Marquis said... it would help me get closer to you faster..."
*It later emerged that Dolores was, in fact, his most recently adopted daughter.*
*So why had he called her his wife at first?*
The answer was not long in coming.
"He thought it would be easier... for you to feel sorry for me."
Juliet went still.
*The Marquis's plan had worked exactly as intended.*
In her past life, Juliet had truly been his wife—his *seventh* wife. In public, a refined lady. Behind closed doors, a victim of merciless abuse.
It had been a short but horrifying chapter of her life.
When the Marquis introduced Dolores as his new bride, everything inside Juliet had plummeted.
It was as though she were looking at a reflection of herself.
*I didn't understand it right away.*
*Dolores didn't have a single bruise. But—"easier to evoke sympathy"?*
*Strange.*
For a brief, unguarded moment, Juliet had genuinely felt sorry for Dolores—because she had once stood in that same place.
*It was something too personal. Something the Marquis shouldn't have known.*
*So how could he have been certain I would pity her?*
"Dolores doesn't know... Dolores just thought the lady was kind..."
"Thank you."
*That explained a great deal.*
Juliet considered this carefully.
She had watched how effortlessly Dolores changed masks—which was precisely why she didn't trust a single word.
*Her acting skills left much to be desired. Her lies were too easily detected.*
And yet... Juliet smiled.
"Why did you want to steal my key?"
"I'm sorry... the Marquis said it was a very valuable thing..."
*As if Juliet hadn't known from the start that she had given Dolores a fake.*
But she didn't need an apology. She lifted her chin slightly and asked a direct question.
"What was he going to do with it?"
Thanks to the enchantment Juliet had placed on both the Marquis and Dolores, the girl was obligated to demonstrate the spirit magic—if she could.
Rumor had it that there had already been an attempt... but it ended only in public humiliation.
"So you really are a spirit summoner?" Juliet asked, more out of genuine curiosity than suspicion.
"But you've never actually seen your spirit, have you?"
"No... but it's true. Dolores *is* a spirit summoner."
She hesitated, then nodded with a solemn expression. Her face was clear—no trace of a lie.
"Dolores is blindfolded... she can't see anything. But the Marquis said so. He said Dolores is the most *suitable* for this."
---