After winning the horse bet, Juliet rode at the head of the procession, letting the wind catch her hair and savoring the taste of victory. Only when Apple's breathing grew heavy and her gait began to slow did Juliet guide her back to the rear of the caravan to rest.
Settling into the last wagon, she sipped her tea in leisurely silence, reaching down every so often to offer Apple a cube of sugar. The mare accepted each one with a soft, satisfied rumble, her dark eyes half-lidded with contentment.
"Well? What's your secret?"
"You cheated, didn't you?"
Theo and Gray sat opposite her, taking turns with their interrogation, but Juliet only lifted her cup to her lips again, utterly unruffled.
"I won't tell."
Gray let out a defeated sigh, slumping back against the wagon wall. Theo, however, refused to relent. He continued to stare at her, arms crossed, eyes narrowed — still clinging to the stubborn hope that silence could be worn down with persistence.
Isaac, seated beside his sons, watched their frustration build until he could no longer contain himself and burst out laughing.
"Although Apple may look adorable, she has a distinct advantage over war horses at short distances with obstacles."
Juliet's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. Across from her, Theo's and Gray's mouths fell open in unison as they turned to stare at their father.
*War horses.*
He had just made it clear — she had known from the very beginning that she would win the race the moment it was offered to her.
"So you *knew* those were war horses from Carcassonne?" Gray asked, his voice climbing with disbelief.
"Yes. Carcassonne horses are well known," Juliet replied evenly, setting down her cup. "The Imperial army purchases them in vast quantities every year."
"And you knew they belonged to the soldiers of Carcassonne?" Theo pressed, leaning forward.
"Absolutely."
"But *how* do you know about them?" Gray asked, astonishment coloring every word.
Instead of answering, Juliet looked at him in silence, her lips curving into a quiet, enigmatic smile.
---
*I haven't thought about him for a long time.*
Only as the caravan drew closer to Carcassonne did a certain name drift back into Juliet's mind — one she had buried beneath years of indifference.
*I wonder if he ever thought about me…*
She didn't know whether he still remembered her face, her name, or anything about the girl she had once been. But she had always believed, at least in those early years, that they shared something resembling closeness.
**Vincent Bowman.**
The man who had once been her fiancé.
Their engagement had been arranged when she was only ten years old. But when her parents died seven years ago, so did everything that had connected her to him. They had never formally broken off the betrothal, yet it was safe to say that whatever bond existed between Juliet and Vincent had quietly withered and died alongside her old life.
*He must have been relieved when it ended that way.* Marriage to the impoverished daughter of the late Earl of Montague, who could barely keep bread on the table, held no promise for a man like him.
In truth, Juliet thought very little about Vincent Bowman.
It might sound harsh, but her fiancé — four years her senior — had been an unremarkable man, distinguished by nothing save a handsome face.
Moreover, in her first life, she had heard the rumors: Vincent had taken his own life, unable to bear the public shame when his ruinous gambling debts were exposed.
She had encountered him once — a chance meeting at a banquet, long after she had followed Lennox to the North. Their eyes met across a crowded hall, and for the briefest of moments, the past flickered between them. But it was Vincent who looked away first, turning sharply on his heel and leaving the room as though the very sight of her was something to flee from.
They had never spoken again.
The last she had heard, he was living in Carcassonne — though that information was three years old, and she doubted he had remained.
A stray thought surfaced, unbidden.
*And when exactly did Vincent die?*
***Ding-dong!***
A bell rang out from the front of the procession, and the carriages began their slow, creaking halt. The question dissolved from her mind instantly, swallowed by the present — unanswered and already forgotten.
---
## — Camp at Dusk —
The procession settled for the night beneath a sky that wept a thin, persistent drizzle. People moved sluggishly through the rain, setting up tents and tending to horses with damp hands and muttered complaints.
After some time, once the horses had been unsaddled and fed, the guild members managed to eat as well. Now they huddled beneath canvas awnings, cradling cups of warm tea between their palms.
When Juliet learned there were only about two days left before they reached Carcassonne, a surprising pang of sadness bloomed in her chest. The journey, with all its noise and laughter and open road, would soon come to an end.
She mentioned this to Helen, almost offhandedly, and the older woman smiled.
"You never cease to amaze me."
"How so?"
"Truthfully, I was a little worried — before I met you, that is." Helen paused, as if searching for the right words, then raised her hand and pointed. "Just look at them."
Juliet followed her gaze and saw Theo and Gray. Gray was sprinting between wagons, laughing wildly, while Theo tore after him with murder in his eyes.
"Gray Lebatan, ***stop!*** You damn bastard!"
Theo was livid.
Juliet didn't know what had sparked the chase this time, but it was clearly something trivial — the kind of petty grievance that only siblings could elevate to war. From a distance, they looked like two squabbling teenagers, not the grown men they supposedly were.
The members of the Marigold Guild paid them no attention whatsoever, as though this particular brand of chaos had long since become part of the scenery.
"To be honest, I wasn't sure how a young woman like you would take to this environment. Two rowdy sons, life on the road…" Helen shrugged, a fond weariness in her eyes. "Though I should have known better. Lillian loved to travel, too."
Juliet stiffened slightly at the name. "You knew my mother?"
"Yes," Helen confirmed, her smile softening with memory. "Lillian was — I think — about the same age you are now. No, perhaps a little younger, actually."
It made sense, when Juliet considered it. Isaac had been Lionel's eldest son, and Lillian his youngest daughter. The age gap between them was considerable, so if Isaac had married Helen early in life, they would have crossed paths when her mother was still a girl.
Though Helen radiated vitality — her eyes sharp, her spirit fierce, her laughter always ready — Juliet now suspected that her aunt was much older than she had assumed.
"She was a real tomboy…" Helen said, her voice dipping into warmth.
During the rest stop, Helen told story after story about Lillian — tales full of laughter, mischief, and the kind of reckless bravery that ran in the blood.
"She was also an excellent horsewoman."
Then Helen rose from her seat, took Juliet's hand in hers, and gave it a gentle squeeze. Her eyes glistened with something unspoken.
"You look very much like your mother."
---
## — Before Dawn —
The drizzle faded sometime in the small hours before dawn, leaving behind a clean, cool freshness that hung in the air like a blessing. The camp stirred early, people packing their belongings with brisk efficiency, eager to resume the journey.
"Madam Helen!"
The shout came before the rider was even visible. A man on horseback burst from the tree line, galloping hard from the direction they had yet to travel. He drove his horse at such reckless speed that he nearly collided with Helen herself, pulling up at the last possible moment in a spray of mud and gravel.
Whatever news he carried must have been dire, because the man half-fell from his saddle in his haste to dismount, his legs buckling beneath him.
Helen placed her hands on her hips and frowned. "What's wrong with you?"
"Here —" The man, gasping for air, fumbled inside his coat and produced a crumpled letter, thrusting it toward her with trembling hands.
Helen snatched it and began to read. Her expression shifted — first concentration, then disbelief, then something darker.
"Oh, ***shit***." The word left her mouth like a stone dropped into still water.
Isaac's gaze flicked briefly toward Juliet. "Perhaps we should step aside, Helen."
For the next several minutes, Helen and Isaac stood some distance away, their heads bowed together in tense, quiet conversation. Even from where Juliet stood, she could read the gravity in their postures — the stiffness in Helen's shoulders, the way Isaac rubbed the back of his neck.
Only after Helen had consulted with the senior members of her inner circle did she approach Juliet.
"I'm sorry, Juliet, but your uncle and I need to leave for a while. You won't mind staying with Theo while we're gone, will you?"
*…With whom, excuse me?*
Apparently, both Juliet and Theo wore identical expressions of dismay, because Helen glanced between them and quickly added, "I don't think it will take long. Besides, our wizard, Ethelid, will stay with you."
Helen likely meant this as reassurance, but for Juliet it was the worst possible arrangement — one that brought no comfort whatsoever.
It was like being trapped between fire and stone. The fire was her cousin with the explosive temper, who never missed an opportunity to provoke her. The stone was the wizard, who looked at her the way a scholar looks at a specimen — as though he'd happily lock her in a basement and dissect her secrets at the first opportunity.
But Juliet was not a small, helpless girl so easily rattled. And she had no intention of burdening Helen and Isaac with her personal discomforts while they dealt with a genuine crisis.
"Okay. Don't worry — I'll be fine."
"Really?"
"Yes. Go — this is urgent. We're not children," Theo muttered, his irritation barely masking something that might have been concern.
---
Helen and Isaac departed swiftly. While the remaining guild members busied themselves with preparations, Juliet found herself with nothing of particular importance to do. She stood beside Apple, running her fingers through the mare's mane, letting the repetitive motion settle her thoughts.
"Gray, are you going too?" she asked, watching him move through the camp with quiet authority.
He seemed accustomed to situations like these. He dispatched his men with crisp, confident orders, and while everyone else was still scrambling, he was already packed and waiting beside his parents.
"Yes. Something serious happened."
Looking at him now, Juliet thought he bore no resemblance to the teasing older brother who chased his sibling around camp like a schoolboy. There was a steadiness in his bearing, a sharpness in his gaze, that belonged entirely to a man of responsibility.
"What exactly happened?" she asked, expecting nothing.
It was guild business — a professional matter she had no part in. She had no idea what could be so urgent as to require Helen's personal presence.
But Gray, to her surprise, answered willingly.
"Do you know about mermaid silk?"
"Yes, I know."
Mermaid silk was a rare and coveted fabric, sourced exclusively from the South Sea. Despite its name, the material had no connection to actual mermaids. It was woven from the filaments of a particular jellyfish — the mermaid jellyfish — and the resulting fabric was lighter and stronger than ordinary silk, shimmering with a faint silver iridescence in the sun. It was exceedingly rare, and no amount of wealth guaranteed one could acquire it. That scarcity, of course, only sharpened the appetite of those who desired it.
"Really? Then this will be easy to explain." Gray grinned and continued.
Not long ago, the guild had received a substantial order from a powerful family — high-quality fabrics in large quantities, mermaid silk chief among them. The contract had been awarded to the Marigold Guild, whose distribution network stretched from the North to the South Sea, the widest of any guild in the Empire.
"In fact, we were asked to deliver not only mermaid silk, but also diamond wool, tungsten wool, snow lace, and several others…"
Every fabric he named was of the highest grade.
Juliet, who had been listening in thoughtful silence, tilted her head. "These are all premium fabrics, aren't they?"
"Yes." Gray's eyebrows rose. "But how do you know that?"
It was a fair question. Fabrics like mermaid silk and snow lace were popular enough in high society that anyone with a passing interest in fashion might recognize the names. But diamond wool and tungsten wool were deeply specialized materials — known only to those with professional expertise.
"I just know, that's all," Juliet answered with an evasive smile. "I've heard things, here and there."
What she did not say was that diamond wool was the most sought-after fabric in the North. The winters there were merciless — long, bitter, and bone-deep. Northern aristocrats spared no expense in their pursuit of lightweight fabrics that held warmth well, and diamond wool was the finest of them all. She knew this not from books or gossip, but from years of living in that frozen world.
Gray didn't seem to find anything suspicious in her answer and continued without hesitation.
"But today we hit a wall. The supplier suddenly changed his terms — says he can't sell at the price he originally agreed to."
Under normal circumstances, such disputes would be handled at the agent level. But the discrepancy involved the foundational terms of the contract itself, and that required Helen's direct involvement.
"Oh — did all the orders come from the same client?" Juliet asked, her curiosity sharpening.
"Yes. It's for a wedding."
*A wedding.*
That explained the scale. Even ordinary aristocratic weddings demanded the finest fabrics. For families of the highest rank, the orders grew proportionally — rare materials, impossible quantities, staggering cost. Still, a wedding of *this* magnitude was unusual even by those standards.
She didn't know which family could commission such an order, but the event had to be extraordinary.
"It must be an incredible wedding," she murmured.
"Probably. We're not the only ones scrambling — Rentor's jewelers are stretched thin, too. The family ordered an enormous amount of jewelry from them as well." Gray's expression soured slightly. "We could have handled that ourselves, honestly."
"I see."
Juliet's curiosity deepened.
High-quality fabrics through one of the finest guilds in the East. Jewelry from Rentor — the largest and most prestigious supplier on the continent. The scale of the preparations bordered on the astronomical, and she couldn't imagine which family among the current nobility would be willing to spend so lavishly on a single ceremony.
"So who on earth is the client? Who's getting married in such a rush?"
"Ah — that's a trade secret. My mother specifically told me not to reveal it to anyone."
But despite Helen's prohibition, it was painfully obvious from Gray's expression that he was *dying* to tell her. He glanced around with exaggerated caution, scanning the camp for eavesdroppers, then beckoned Juliet closer with a conspiratorial finger.
She leaned in, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
"It's the Duke of Carlisle," Gray whispered near her ear.
The smile vanished.
"…Who?"
"I'm telling you — the ***Duke of Carlisle.***"
Every drop of color drained from Juliet's face.