He was reading, his back resting against the side of the bed.
"...Your Mightiness."
Juliet looked at him with an expression she couldn't quite name — flat on the surface, aching underneath.
Sadness found her before she could guard against it. It always did with him. He never sought her out without reason, and once he'd gotten what he wanted, he forgot her as easily as setting down a glass.
She studied him for a long, feverish moment, trying to determine what had brought him here — what possible purpose she could serve while half-conscious and burning — and finally asked:
"What about your hunt?"
"...Are you genuinely asking me that?"
His tone suggested the question was beneath consideration.
"I cancelled it."
He closed the book, rose from the floor in one fluid motion, and stood at the head of the bed. Juliet looked up into those red eyes and wondered, as she had wondered a hundred times before, how anything so vivid could be so utterly cold.
"I bought a boat instead."
"...Why?"
"Didn't you say you wanted to go boating?"
The words landed strangely — too simple, too direct, too close to something that resembled *caring*. Juliet didn't know what to do with them. She turned her face away, unable to hold his gaze.
"Juliet."
His voice carried a note of displeasure — at being avoided, at being denied. Then came the touch. His fingers found her chin, gentle but insistent, and turned her head back toward him.
Only then, in the dim half-light of his bedroom, did Juliet notice her small suitcase.
It sat in the rocking chair in the far corner — closed, latched, untouched. No sign that anyone had opened it or unpacked her things. It looked exactly as it had when she'd snapped the clasps shut and run for the stairs.
*Does he understand what it means?*
The question surfaced and sank again almost immediately. She answered it herself before it could take root.
*No. Impossible.*
One of the countless servants had probably carried it in while she was unconscious. He wouldn't have given it a second thought — wouldn't have wondered why she'd packed a suitcase, why she'd been running *out* of the palace rather than *into* her room, why the case had been waiting under her bed like a promise she'd been making to herself for years.
He didn't think about things like that. He didn't think about *her* like that.
A wave of dizziness swept through her, and she squeezed her eyes shut against the sting building behind them.
*Nothing will change.*
*Nothing at all.*
She swallowed her tears the way she always did — whole, silently, without letting them reach her face — and spoke in a voice that was almost steady. Almost.
"Next time... next time. But right now, I just want to rest."
---
## — The Road to Carcassonne —
Magda and her daughter Dana decided to travel with Juliet's party, as Magda needed to reach Lucerne — a destination that lay along the same route as Carcassonne.
Dana and Isabella, Zachary's daughter, were close enough in age to become instant conspirators. Within an hour of meeting, they were inseparable — chasing each other between wagons, inventing games out of sticks and pebbles, filling the convoy with the bright, uncomplicated noise of childhood.
"Big sister!"
Dana burst from the tent one morning and sprinted to Juliet's carriage, finding her mid-breakfast.
"Look — these are Mom's drawings!" She thrust something into Juliet's hands with the breathless pride of a child presenting treasure.
"Oh... how beautiful."
It was Magda's sketchbook. Juliet turned the pages slowly, her eyes widening at the quality of the work — confident lines, graceful proportions, faces rendered with a sculptor's instinct for three-dimensional form.
"Did your mother draw all of these?"
"Yes! My mom draws the *most* beautiful pictures!"
Dana was five years old. Showing off her mother was, at this stage of life, a sacred duty.
"What's everyone looking at?"
Passersby drifted closer, drawn by the gathering. Soon a small crowd had formed around the sketchbook.
"Are these Mrs. Magda's sketches?"
"She's a famous sculptor, you know."
"Oh — are these designs for the Sorrowful Saint?"
"The Sorrowful Saint? Let me see!"
One by one, curious faces leaned in to admire the drawings. With each new exclamation of praise, Dana's chin lifted a fraction higher, her small chest swelling with reflected glory.
"Dana! Stop bothering Miss Juliet!"
The exhibition continued until Magda arrived and scolded her daughter into sheepish retreat.
"It's perfectly fine," Juliet assured her. "If anything, I should apologize for looking through your sketchbook without permission."
"Please — don't worry about it."
Magda waved away the apology and, after a moment's hesitation, invited Juliet to see the remaining pages as well.
The sketches depicted women of impossible beauty — winged figures in flowing robes, celestial beings rendered with painstaking devotion. Juliet turned the pages slowly, pausing at an image of a woman holding a sharp-edged sword in one hand and a set of scales in the other, her expression serene and absolute.
*Sculptors really can draw,* Juliet thought, quietly impressed.
Every face in the sketchbook belonged to a woman who seemed to exist beyond the boundaries of the real — too perfect, too luminous, too *other* to walk among ordinary people.
"May I look as well?"
"Of course."
Ethelid settled beside Juliet and began examining the sketches with the focused attention of someone conducting research rather than browsing art.
"You mentioned the statue is still unfinished?"
"Yes — the face is all that remains." Magda's smile dimmed. "But I still haven't decided what kind of face to give her."
She could have simply chosen one of the faces already drawn in her sketchbook — any one of them would have been stunning. But Magda's dilemma lay elsewhere, in a place that technique alone couldn't reach.
"If I don't resolve this soon, she may end up a faceless Saint." Magda laughed, though the worry beneath it was unmistakable.
Juliet, who had been admiring a drawing over Ethelid's shoulder, looked up.
"But does the Sorrowful Saint *have* to be a holy woman of unearthly beauty who weeps?"
"...I'm sorry?"
"Well — if I were her, I wouldn't cry." Juliet's tone was matter-of-fact, as though stating something obvious. "She's the one who delivers retribution to sinners. Shouldn't she look *strong*?"
Silence.
Ethelid, who had been listening without comment, stared at her as though she'd just suggested the sun rose in the west.
"Why on *earth* should the Sorrowful Saint look strong?"
"I've heard she's the last Saint to descend on Judgment Day — the one who passes final sentence on the condemned. That makes her the most powerful of all of them, doesn't it?"
"...That is simply a matter of *interpretation*—"
"Then her expression is also a matter of interpretation! Why should she stand there crying prettily? She's the *Punisher*."
"Your idea is—"
"Much more compelling. Wouldn't you agree?"
Ethelid opened his mouth, found nothing to say, and closed it again.
Juliet grinned — sharp, unrepentant, thoroughly pleased with herself.
"Why is the Sorrowful Saint considered the most beautiful woman in the world?" she asked, turning back to Magda.
"Well... tradition holds that since she descends last — as the final and most important figure — her beauty must surpass all the others. The main character always appears at the end, and the last to appear must always be the most beautiful."
"The logic of a stage play," Ethelid muttered.
"Big sister!"
Isabella came running from the tent, a fluttering piece of paper clutched in her small fist.
"Brother Theo drew this for me!"
*Theo can draw?*
Juliet and Ethelid exchanged a look of shared, profound skepticism. She took the paper from Isabella's outstretched hand.
"...Is this a mouse?"
"What are you talking about? It's clearly a bear."
"I think it's a pig."
"It looks like a dog to me..."
As each person offered their interpretation — none of them correct, none of them even *close* to each other — Theo's face darkened like a storm cloud rolling in from the horizon. He stalked over and snatched the paper from their hands.
"Give me that. *Now.*"
"What *is* it supposed to be?"
The answer came from Isabella, who was bouncing on her toes with unshakable confidence.
"A rabbit! My brother drew me a ***rabbit!***"
Juliet regarded Theo with a long, mournful gaze — the kind reserved for things that could not be helped — then turned away before he could see the smile pulling at her lips.
Magda, who had been watching the exchange with quiet amusement, tilted her head thoughtfully.
"Miss Juliet — what expression *would* you give the Saint?"
"Oh — I can't draw."
An awkward flush crept up Juliet's neck. Her artistic abilities, she was forced to admit, were not meaningfully superior to Theo's.
"It doesn't matter — it's a sculpture, not a painting!"
"Drawing or sculpting, the principle is the same. I think the face should look..."
She paused. Considered.
"If it were me..."
A small, crooked smile.
"I don't think I'd weep beautifully and pitifully for those who had sinned."
Ethelid, chin propped on his hand, arched an eyebrow.
"You would be a merciless Saint."
Juliet shrugged — light, casual, entirely unapologetic.
---
## — Farewell at Lucerne Road —
"You're heading to Lucerne?"
"Yes."
Magda closed her sketchbook and tucked it carefully into her bag. She'd been drawing something just before they reached the point where the roads diverged — hunched over the pages with a focused intensity that Juliet recognized. It was the look of someone in the grip of an idea that wouldn't let go.
She had been like that for days, in truth — lost in thought, her eyes distant even during conversation, her pencil moving across paper in stolen moments as though racing to capture something before it faded.
*Absorbed* was one word for it. *Bewitched* might have been more accurate.
*I don't know what's taking shape in her mind,* Juliet thought, watching her. *But I hope it turns out to be everything she wants it to be.*
Magda's face brightened when she learned that Juliet's party would be passing through Carcassonne on their way to Lucerne for the carnival.
"That's wonderful — truly!" A flush of genuine excitement colored her cheeks. "As soon as I finish the statue, it will be installed in the sanctuary at Lucerne."
Juliet's eyes widened.
*Of course.* She'd mentioned the temple was the client — Juliet remembered the conversation with Ethelid now. But hearing it confirmed, understanding the *scale* of the commission—
*This really is something extraordinary.*
She looked at Magda with new eyes — not as a fellow traveler or a grateful mother, but as an artist entrusted with one of the rarest honors on the continent.
"Miss Juliet." Magda took both of Juliet's hands in hers, her grip warm and earnest. "I truly hope you'll come see the statue of the Sorrowful Saint when it's finished."
"I will. I promise."
Juliet smiled, squeezed her hands in return, and said goodbye to Magda and Dana — who waved furiously from her mother's hip until both figures disappeared around a bend in the road.
---
## — Captive in Comfort —
After that, the journey continued — and Helen's protectiveness settled over Juliet like a velvet cage.
She was not permitted to leave the carriage. The mere suggestion of her fever returning was enough to make Helen's expression harden into something immovable. Riding horseback was forbidden. Walking beside the convoy was forbidden. Standing for too long near an open window was, apparently, also cause for concern.
"But—"
"No. Lie down and rest."
*At this rate, I'm going to develop genuinely terrible habits.*
The carriage was exquisitely comfortable — soft seats, smooth suspension, a gentle rocking motion that lulled the body toward sleep — but comfort, Juliet discovered, became its own kind of torment when paired with boredom. She would have traded every silk cushion for an hour on horseback.
Only belatedly did she realize that Helen's insistence on the dress that morning had been strategic. Her aunt had praised the gown lavishly — *how beautiful it looked, how the color suited her* — all while knowing that a woman in a full skirt and bodice could not reasonably mount a horse.
*No wonder she was so enthusiastic about the dress.*
She had been outmaneuvered before the day even began.
At some point, Theo appeared alongside the carriage, apparently irritated by the sight of her pressing her face against the window like a bored cat.
"You know you can ride sidesaddle in a dress, right?" he muttered, just loudly enough for her to hear. "Don't be stupid about it—"
Helen materialized behind him as though summoned by the violation itself. One hand closed around his ear. Without a word, she hauled him away from the carriage.
Juliet did not see Theo again until they reached their destination.
---
"Roy!"
She spotted him riding alongside the carriage — appearing, as he always did, without warning or sound — while she leaned against the window frame, chin in hand, watching the landscape scroll past in an unchanging blur of green and brown.
Roy smiled and held something out to her.
Strawberries. Three of them, perfectly ripe, wrapped in broad green leaves.
*Strawberries...?*
The sight triggered a memory — sharp and immediate. The edge of the forest. Elsa's face, inches from hers, glowing with delight.
*"She smells like strawberries!"*
Roy's companions — Nathan, Elsa, and the others — had traveled with the convoy since that day, though *traveled with* was a generous description. They vanished frequently, dissolving into the forest without explanation, only to reappear hours later as silently as they'd gone. At first, Juliet had wondered where they went. Eventually, she decided it wasn't her concern and stopped tracking their movements.
Elsa wasn't present at the moment, so Juliet saw no harm in mentioning what she'd said.
"When we were in the forest," she told Roy, biting into a strawberry, "Elsa said I smelled like strawberries."
"...Elsa?"
The change in Roy's expression was subtle — barely perceptible — but it was there. A flicker of something that passed too quickly to name before his features settled back into their usual warmth.