"So you're leaving today?"
"Yes."
Lionel Lebatan—a man who rarely allowed emotion to surface—wore an expression of unmistakable disappointment.
"And where will you go now?"
"I want to visit Alghera."
Alghera was a coastal town nestled near Carcassonne, hugging the eastern shoreline. It had been Juliet's original destination—one she still hadn't reached, thanks to the cascade of unexpected events that had consumed her time in the East.
"And after Alghera? Where will you go then?"
"I... don't know yet."
Juliet laughed softly, but the sound faded quickly. The question stirred an unease she'd been avoiding.
In truth, it was time to return to her family's estate in the capital. But that path would force her to cross paths with people she desperately wished to avoid.
Lionel studied his only granddaughter, concern deepening the lines around his eyes.
"Won't you be in danger, traveling alone?"
"Everything will be fine." Juliet smiled, warmth softening her features. "I'll come visit again, so please take care of yourself until then, Grandfather. And... please look after the baby."
She had decided to leave the little dragon in his care.
If Lionel Lebatan became his guardian, the creature would always be warm and safe—and would never fall into the wrong hands.
After bidding her grandfather farewell, Juliet made her way to the station where the stagecoach to Alghera departed.
While waiting for her modest luggage and that of the other passengers to be loaded, she tilted her face toward the sky.
*I hope it doesn't rain this year.*
Last year had brought too much rain, too much cold.
Juliet withdrew a shard of mirror from her pocket and turned it slowly between her fingers.
She had been so consumed by recent events that she'd nearly forgotten about this small artifact. But now, examining its fractured surface, curiosity stirred. Did Lennox still possess the Eye of Argos? And was it true that this fragment concealed her location from its gaze?
*Let's hope so.*
She didn't want him to know where she was going. Part of that reluctance was pure, stubborn pride.
Lost in thought, Juliet murmured to herself:
"Where could you be now?"
At that moment, someone approached from behind and lifted the suitcase from her hands.
"Roy!" Juliet exclaimed, genuine delight brightening her voice.
Despite his friendly manner, this young werewolf remained an enigma to her.
A few days prior, he had mentioned needing to visit the forest before departing Carcassonne without further explanation.
The territory marked as the Silver Forest on maps was vast, sprawling across most of the central east. Though this wasn't the first time Roy had vanished into those woods, he always returned.
"When did you get back?"
"Just now." Roy hefted her suitcase with casual ease. "Are you going somewhere, Juliet?"
"Ah... there's someone I want to meet. I'm going to see that person."
Roy paused mid-motion, her suitcase suspended in his grip. He turned to face her.
"Who is it?"
"My favorite person," Juliet answered, a wide smile blooming across her lips.
---
## — Imperial Fort, Carcassonne —
The imperial fort in Carcassonne had erupted into a state of controlled chaos. The cause: a high-ranking guest who had arrived without warning.
"Did you say Vincent Bowman?"
The young lieutenant's voice cracked with astonishment when the visitor spoke that name.
Day after day, Vincent boasted of his heritage—the second son of a marquis, a man who had mingled with the highest nobility during his years in the capital. Of course, his brilliant claims stood in stark contrast to his reputation within the Imperial Army. No one trusted a man known as an inveterate gambler who constantly bluffed his way through life.
And then there was the matter of his former fiancée—the one who, rather than marrying him, had become mistress to a famous duke from the North...
*Is all of this actually true?* the lieutenant wondered, his mind reeling.
"I'll locate Sir Bowman immediately. He's currently on duty, so please wait just a moment."
The officer dispatched the nearest guard with urgent instructions: find Vincent Bowman and dunk him in the well if necessary to sober him up.
He was undoubtedly sprawled across a barracks sofa, lost in a haze of alcohol or worse.
However, by this point, the precious guest had already lost all interest in the man he'd come to find.
From the moment Lennox Carlisle had stepped through those doors—even before laying eyes on Vincent Bowman—a cold certainty had settled in his chest.
Juliet could not possibly be in such a place.
The realization filled him with a disgust so profound he thought he might kill someone at any second.
"Your Grace..."
"I know," Lennox cut Hardin off, his voice sharp as a blade.
He no longer cared about Juliet's former fiancé.
His gaze had locked onto the enormous map dominating the wall—a meticulously crafted rendering of the eastern coastal cities.
Along the shoreline, names were inscribed in careful script: Balthasar, Carcassonne, and... *Alghera*.
The moment he saw that final name, a memory surfaced unbidden.
*"Do you remember what I received for my birthday last year?"*
Just before her escape, Juliet had asked him exactly that.
In retrospect, it had been a strange question. He had answered that it was lapis lazuli from Alghera.
*"Yes. You remember."*
But something in her expression that day had suggested his answer wasn't what she'd hoped to hear.
*The coast of Alghera...*
Why had she asked about her last birthday gift? Juliet never posed questions without purpose.
His contemplative expression hardened into something fierce.
"What is today's date?"
"Pardon?" The lieutenant scrambled to check the calendar. "Today marks the celebration of the Full Moon Festival."
"How long to reach the coast of Alghera from here?"
"Approximately four hours by fast horse. But with the festival underway, the roads may be—"
Before the young officer could finish, Lennox rose and strode toward the exit with lethal purpose.
"Sir!"
"Duke of Carlisle...?"
He couldn't recall the entire conversation from that day. But with each passing moment, his certainty grew.
This time, he had chosen the right direction.
---
## — The Road to Alghera —
The eastern coastal cities were renowned for their beauty.
Small houses lined the shoreline, their whitewashed walls gleaming against ribbons of pale sand and the endless expanse of sea beyond. The landscape was nothing short of picturesque—a painting brought to life.
Though winter held the calendar, the coastal breeze carried no bite. The air felt temperate, almost spring-like, soft against exposed skin.
Seated in the back of a covered wagon, Juliet pretended to admire the passing scenery while casting sidelong glances at the man beside her.
"Roy, you might not find this trip very interesting," she warned—for the third time.
"Everything's fine," Roy replied.
Then a gentle smile curved his lips.
"On the contrary, this journey is quite exciting for me. After all, Juliet—you're going to meet someone you love."
For the third time, he gave the same answer.
Juliet felt a twinge of regret over her hasty decision.
*Why did I so readily agree when Roy asked to accompany me?*
It must have been the excitement—the anticipation of reuniting with someone she hadn't seen in far too long.
She held an envelope in her hands now, and she was heading to the address inscribed within.
Gazing at the worn paper with unfocused eyes, a question that had nagged at her for some time finally surfaced.
"Roy."
"Yes?"
"May I ask you something?"
"Of course. Anything."
"How did you know I was in the village of Kanavel?"
The question had lingered unspoken for too long.
Wasn't it strange that he and his men had "accidentally" rescued her from that pit in the mountains when they'd only met once before—on a train, no less?
And this very morning, it had happened again. Roy always seemed to know precisely where to find her.
He and his companions appeared and vanished like ghosts, yet he visited her often—especially recently.
"By smell."
The answer was simple, but Juliet froze the instant she heard it.
She had once read that the Lycan people possessed extraordinarily keen senses of smell—and that the scent of humans was unbearable to them. It was supposedly the root of their legendary hatred for humankind.
Roy chuckled softly when he noticed her expression clouding with worry.
"What are you thinking?"
When Juliet carefully relayed what she'd read, Roy laughed—a brief, warm sound—then spoke.
"It's quite the opposite with you. I found you *because* you smell so good."
"Really...?"
"Yes. Extremely."
Roy nodded with such solemnity that Juliet almost believed him.
After a moment's hesitation, she decided to test his claim. Pretending to adjust her hair, she raised her wrist and inhaled discreetly.
*Hmm. Nothing special.*
Only a faint floral scent lingered on her skin.
When she looked at Roy with obvious confusion, she caught him barely suppressing laughter.
"Ahem."
Heat crept up her cheeks. She coughed and pretended not to notice his reaction.
Roy's voice softened, taking on a hesitant quality—as though he were searching for words.
"It's not simply body odor... it's... difficult to explain this feeling."
He fell silent for a moment, then murmured, almost to himself:
"It's a shame you can't sense what I sense. Honestly, I'd like that to happen... as soon as possible."
Genuine disappointment colored his words.
"Don't worry so much. It's just a smell, that's all."
When she answered with casual dismissal, Roy's expression grew serious.
"You know, Juliet—because of this, I will *always* be able to find you. Wherever you are."