Lennox Carlisle was born the sole heir of one of the empire's most illustrious families — a bloodline rich in history, steeped in power, and **stained with blood**.
The Duchy of Carlisle ruled the north. Its wealth was immense, its military strength unrivaled. But greatness, in that family, had always been purchased at a terrible price.
The boy born into this legacy was no exception.
He was nine years old when he killed a man for the first time.
When his father, the former duke, died, the boy's greedy relatives saw not a child to protect but an obstacle to remove. They sent the young heir to the front lines of a war he had no business fighting.
The opposing army routed quickly — and the nine-year-old boy vanished with them. No body was recovered. No trace remained. In time, everyone simply assumed he was dead.
They were wrong.
Ten years later, a man appeared at the borders of the northern duchy. He had black hair, red eyes, and an army at his back that had never known defeat. It was the same boy who had been cast out a decade earlier — returned now not as an orphan, but as a **war hero**.
His soldiers, unfamiliar with the concept of mercy, reclaimed the duchy in a matter of weeks. Afterward, no one dared question the legitimacy or qualifications of the new Duke of Carlisle.
It wasn't only his unmistakable features — the raven-black hair and those unsettling crimson eyes — that silenced dissent. It was also the fact that every relative who had dared challenge his authority lost their hands for the trouble.
From that day forward, no one insulted the young Duke of Carlisle. No one defied him.
***No one left him.***
---
"What did you just say?"
"I asked you to break up with me."
It had been a very long time since he had felt this degree of irritation.
Lennox's brow creased as he stared at the woman standing before him. Long, wavy chestnut hair spilled past her shoulders, still tangled from the night. Her blue eyes glittered — not with tears, but with something fiercer. Though she wore nothing but a translucent negligee, her spine was straight, her chin lifted, her posture as regal as a queen's.
After a beat of silence, a slow, dangerous smile crossed Carlisle's face.
"Juliet Montague."
His official mistress. The woman who had shared his bed for seven years.
"Are you *joking*?"
Fear flickered across her features — he saw it — but she did not yield. Instead, Juliet smiled and dipped her head, blinking with wide, innocent eyes, as though she couldn't fathom what had upset him so.
"This is hardly a joke, Your Highness."
"Then start over." His voice was quiet. The quieter it got, the more dangerous he became. "Ask for something more *reasonable* this time."
"But I've already told you. That's all I want."
Her expression remained as calm and carefree as ever. The words flowed from her lips like water over smooth stone — light, unhurried, almost musical.
Lennox's gaze, however, turned to fire.
---
Just three days later, they departed the Duke's castle in the northern territory and set course for the capital.
As happened every year, they were expected to attend the New Year's banquet at the imperial palace. The journey required passing through only two major checkpoints, but for the servants and knights riding in the convoy behind them, the pace was grueling.
Juliet, in her role as the Duke of Carlisle's mistress, traveled with him.
She had not raised the subject again.
"I don't wish to disturb Your Highness."
True to the promise she had made seven years ago, Juliet never caused him trouble. She never begged for affection. She never clung. She never wept.
This was the Juliet Montague he knew.
She had never once demanded anything he could not give.
Until now.
And yet, with the journey to the capital already underway, it was a dangerous time to leave the northern territory — and an even more dangerous time to make demands.
*Please break up with me.*
*Do you dare to leave?*
Lennox could not pinpoint the exact source of his displeasure, only that it ran deep — deeper than it should have. He was a man indifferent to his own feelings and dismissive of others'. He had no interest in examining the roots of his anger.
But he needed to understand why she had changed so suddenly. The question forced itself out before he could stop it.
"For what reason?"
"Do I really need to explain that to you?"
"Juliet."
"But you *promised*. You said you would listen to me."
"And that is exactly what I am doing—"
He seized her wrist before he realized he'd moved.
*Knock. Knock.*
"Your Grace, this is Elliot."
A light rap on the bedroom door shattered the moment like glass.
"Forgive the interruption, but a guest is waiting for you downstairs."
Juliet pulled free of his grip without hesitation — smoothly, as though she had been waiting for exactly this. By the time Lennox turned his head, she was already standing several paces away, well beyond his reach.
Like a mischievous child who had stolen something and darted out of arm's length, Juliet clasped her hands behind her back and smiled at him.
"You—"
"Go." Her voice was bright, steady, maddening. "They're already waiting for you."
Lennox regarded her with cold eyes. But only for a moment.
The journey to the capital from the northern territory was long and arduous, and there was still a mountain of work to attend to. He would be occupied all day.
At last, he spoke — the reluctance in his voice unmistakable.
"…We'll finish this conversation in the afternoon."
"Of course. Later."
Juliet saw the Duke off with that same unchanging smile fixed upon her lips. It did not waver, not even at the end.
But the instant the bedroom door slammed shut behind him, the smile vanished as though it had never existed. Juliet's legs buckled, and she crumpled to the floor.
"…It's fine. Everything is fine." She pressed her trembling hands against her face. "You did well."
Alone now, she allowed herself this one small collapse.
Her fingertips shook so badly she could feel her own pulse in them. Tears gathered at the base of her lashes, catching the morning light, threatening to fall. But even this — even a moment of honest feeling — was a luxury she could not afford.
*Not yet. Not here.*
She drew a long, steadying breath. Then she rose, crossed the room, and went straight to the dressing room without waiting for the maid.
---
## — Elliot —
After seeing the guest out, the Duke's secretary Elliot returned to the main building and nearly collided with Juliet on her way through the front entrance.
She was already dressed — a neat walking dress, her hair pinned, her composure fully restored — and making her way toward the Duke's carriage.
*At this hour?*
"Are you going somewhere, miss?"
"Yes, I'd like to visit the temple." Juliet turned and offered him a warm smile. "I'll pray for your good fortune in the new year as well, Elliot."
"That's very kind of you. I hope your journey is a safe one."
He never spoke of it aloud, but Elliot held a quiet, genuine respect for this woman. Juliet Montague was intelligent and perceptive, yet careful — never overstepping, never drawing unnecessary attention to herself.
In truth, the sheer fact that she had remained the Duke's mistress for so many years was remarkable in itself. She was the sole exception to Lennox Carlisle's ironclad rule of never keeping the same woman twice.
But instead of stepping into the carriage, Juliet paused. Her gaze drifted to the flower pot cradled in Elliot's arms.
"And what is that?"
"Oh — this?" Elliot glanced down. "A gift from the visitor."
Marquis Roman, who had called at the mansion before dawn, had presented the potted plant as a gesture of apology for arriving at such an inconvenient hour. A modest offering, though fitting — the Marquis was well known for his passion for gardening.
Juliet stared at the flowers. She said nothing, but her eyes lingered on them with an intensity that made Elliot uneasy.
He followed her gaze downward — and felt his stomach drop.
*Purple dahlias.*
"……Oh."
Juliet Montague never caused trouble. She was the calmest, quietest presence in the entire household.
With one exception.
For reasons she had never explained, she *despised* purple dahlias. The flower itself was common in the north — hardy, resilient, perfectly suited to the harsh climate. But within the walls of the Duke's castle, purple dahlias were **forbidden**, by unspoken decree, because of her.
Elliot bowed his head immediately. "I'm terribly sorry, miss. I'll dispose of them at once."
"No." Juliet's voice was light. "Leave them as they are."
"But—"
"They'd look lovely in your office, don't you think?"
"I… yes…?"
Elliot blinked, certain he had misheard.
But Juliet simply laughed — a clear, easy sound — and climbed into the carriage without another word. Elliot stood rooted in place, watching the carriage roll through the gates and disappear beyond the tree line.
*Miss Montague is acting strangely today.*
He frowned at the purple blooms in his arms, then shook himself and turned back toward the mansion.
But there was something Elliot had not yet realized: Juliet was not the only one behaving oddly this morning.
---
*Knock. Knock.*
"Your Grace, this is Elliot."
"Come in."
The office was tense the moment he stepped inside. Two knights flanked the Duke's desk, both wearing grim expressions. They acknowledged Elliot with only the briefest of glances.
*What's happened?*
Documents lay scattered across the surface of the desk in unusual disarray. On one side, a stack of papers was pinned beneath what appeared to be a small jewelry box. Elliot noted the disorder with growing unease — the Duke was a meticulous man. His desk was never like this.
Elliot set the potted dahlia quietly on the corner of the table. The Duke did not so much as glance at it.
Lennox sat reclined in his chair, but there was nothing relaxed about him. His crimson gaze was fixed on something beyond the office window, sharp and unblinking.
Elliot followed his line of sight.
Through the glass, the Duke's carriage was just visible at the far end of the park drive — growing smaller as it carried Juliet away from the estate.
"Elliot."
"Yes, Your Highness."
Elliot straightened and began running through the day's schedule in his mind, bracing himself for the inevitable barrage of orders. The journey to the capital meant a hundred loose ends to tie. He expected questions about logistics, provisions, security arrangements.
The Duke's question was none of those things.
"Who is escorting Juliet?"
Elliot hesitated. "…Kane, Your Highness."
"Replace him. I want Daven."
"Yes, sir."
The response left his lips on reflex, but surprise flickered behind his composure.
*Why the sudden concern about her escort?*
Before he could wonder further, the Duke continued — and each word landed heavier than the last.
"I want a full investigation into Juliet's movements over the past three months. The report is due on my desk by noon."
"…Yes, Your Highness."
"Where she went. Who she met. Every piece of correspondence — sent *and* received." The red eyes shifted from the window to Elliot, pinning him in place. "Every detail. Do you understand?"
"But, Your Highness — this is…"
Elliot looked up, unable to hide his discomfort.
It was a genuinely alarming order. The Duke had never once, in all the years Elliot had served him, requested surveillance on Juliet Montague.
"Surely it would be simpler to ask Miss Montague herself—"
Those crimson eyes cut through him like a blade.
"Do I need to repeat myself?"
"No, Your Highness. Absolutely not."
"Three hours. Begin immediately."
An instant later, Elliot found himself standing in the corridor, the office door shut firmly — almost violently — at his back.
He stared at the dark wood grain of the closed door, his mind still catching up.
The Duke of Carlisle despised inefficiency. He never wasted time, never issued pointless commands. Every order had purpose, precision, logic.
And yet he had just commanded an investigation into the woman who had shared his life — and his bed — for seven years. As though she were a suspect. As though she were a stranger.
*What in the world did Miss Montague do?*
Elliot clicked his tongue softly, straightened his jacket, and quickened his pace down the corridor.
*If I'd known this was coming, I would have pretended not to see her this morning.*
It seemed the joyful anticipation of the New Year had vanished entirely — swallowed whole by a pair of furious red eyes and a question no one in the Duke's household had ever thought to ask:
***Why would Juliet Montague want to leave?***