*"I don't want to do this anymore, Your Grace."*
He understood everything only then.
All this time, he had believed he was the one holding her—that he could release her whenever he chose. But the truth was precisely the opposite.
He had been clinging to her desperately.
In reality, Juliet was the one who had patiently endured all his thoughtlessness.
The same thing had happened in Alghera, when he'd given her the lapis lazuli mine.
It wasn't that Lennox Carlisle hadn't realized Juliet was upset.
He simply hadn't known what to do with a woman who lay fever-stricken in bed after foolishly walking alone to the lake in a torrential downpour.
All he understood was that gifts—not words—were the way to express feeling.
No. The truth was simpler, and uglier: gifts were merely *convenient*.
Resourceful Juliet had always seen through him. But she bore it all in patient silence.
And even though he had never wanted to lose her, the love he showed her must have seemed false and superficial.
*Damn.*
He had always known this day would come.
*"I'm tired of this."*
It was hardly surprising that Juliet had eventually grown exhausted by his selfishness and left.
He had known the truth, but he'd turned a blind eye to it—because confronting it would have meant facing something from which there was no escape.
He had been naive from the start, believing that ignoring his feelings was the safest option. If only he had accepted them sooner, he would have understood how much space a woman named Juliet Montague occupied in his heart.
But he had realized it too late.
And now, genuine fear gripped him.
Because even if he married her—even if he offered her a family of her own—it would mean nothing unless *she* wanted it.
So what the hell could he possibly give her to make everything return to how it was before...?
Lennox began cataloguing what he could offer. What he could sacrifice.
A child was the very last item on his list.
*Damn it...!*
It was time to finally admit the truth.
*"Our relationship had no future."*
No—that wasn't right!
It wasn't that they had no future. It was that he didn't know what she wanted, so he couldn't give it to her even if he tried. But he couldn't say that aloud.
*Then go to her. Ask.*
Lennox resolved to return to the town where he'd left Juliet and inquire among the locals if anyone had seen her. It would be better to hear directly from her what she needed—even if he had to beg—than to keep guessing blindly.
And then, as he rode through the forest past the sandy beach, he heard her voice.
"...What am I supposed to do with you? Why do you keep following me?"
He watched Juliet sink down onto the sand as the small creature he'd seen beside her the previous night scrambled toward her.
"I can't take care of you..."
After those words, the black creature—which had been trailing her like a shadow—suddenly squealed, filling the air with its pitiful cry.
"It's hard enough for me to take care of myself, you know?"
But no matter what she said, the cub refused to calm down. Finally, with a sigh, she gathered him into her arms.
"...Alright. But only until your wings are fully grown."
The moment he heard her soft whisper—the moment he saw her cradling that unknown creature tenderly against her chest—an idea sparked to life in his mind.
---
## — The Following Day —
Waiting until dawn, Lennox began executing his hastily formed plan.
"You wish to purchase it?"
"Yes."
"Unfortunately, the view from here isn't particularly picturesque. As you've likely noticed, the houses below obstruct the scenery due to their proximity—though the sea and beach remain partially visible..."
The speaker was the house's owner, and his tone carried obvious frustration as he glared at a small blue house nestled below.
But did he realize that this very circumstance was precisely why Lennox wanted to buy?
Either way, it didn't matter. The location was perfect.
Early in the morning, when the air still held its cool edge, or in the evening as the sun descended—by simply opening a window, he could observe a woman with chestnut hair walking along the sandy beach.
In particular, at sunset, he watched Juliet stroll barefoot across the white sand, accompanied by that clumsy little creature that looked like something spawned from the underworld.
Moreover, sometimes he noticed how she embraced and stroked even such an awkward-looking animal.
*Why? Why does she fuss over him like that...?*
"...What the hell is so endearing about that thing?"
He couldn't comprehend it.
"Kyun!!"
"......"
When he had nearly driven himself mad with endless rumination, a terrible realization struck him like lightning.
He was no better than that wretched beast she cradled in her arms.
Just as helpless. Just as weak.
Now he felt as though he would do *anything* to capture her attention.
So—the first question: Why had this compassionate woman ever turned her gaze toward him in the first place?
Was it because she had recognized his inner ugliness and foolishness? Had she felt sympathy for him?
He bit his lower lip.
If she had rejected his marriage proposal, refused his money and the promise of family, then... only one thing remained.
A child.
"......"
Juliet Montague was a soft-hearted person who could not walk past anything small and vulnerable.
In that case—he could not let this opportunity slip away.
For the first time in his life, Lennox felt truly pathetic. Helpless. Everything he had offered had been rejected, and now he had to rely on Juliet's compassion rather than his own strength—a strength he had depended on for as long as he could remember.
But he had already lost all pride the day she fled from him.
Now, he would use any means necessary to bring her back.
*"I just want to do things my own way."*
At the very least, he wanted to believe there was a better option than creeping up to that rocky overlook every day and watching her from afar, paralyzed by his own uselessness.
*If only I could bring her back...*
Whatever it took—he was prepared to do it.
---
## — The Temple of Lucerne —
An elderly priest, visibly exhausted, entered the main hall of the temple.
The chamber was constructed of pristine white marble, its vaulted ceilings soaring high overhead, catching the light that streamed through narrow windows.
"Greetings, Your Holiness. Your humble servant, Gilliam, has returned."
Gilliam was one of the oldest priests in the order and held a prestigious position within the temple's ruling elite. His vestments were nearly as luxurious as those worn by the bishop himself.
"Oh, finally!"
A man with a brilliant smile rose swiftly from his chair, hastening to greet the arrival. He wore flowing white robes and a crimson stola—a silk ribbon draping past his knees.
This was Sebastian, the new Bishop of Lucerne.
His features were so perfectly composed that his age remained impossible to determine at a glance.
Sebastian extended his hand to the elderly priest, that gentle smile never wavering. Gilliam bowed before him and silently pressed his lips to the back of the bishop's hand. Then, with obvious effort, he rose from his aching knees.
"Thank you, Father Gilliam. You've expended considerable effort to accomplish this difficult mission."
Bishop Sebastian's praise flowed graciously—almost too graciously.
Gilliam slowly raised his eyes to meet the bishop's gaze.
"I trust you will provide us with an answer worthy of our long wait?"
On the surface, the question seemed innocuous. In reality, it dripped with barely concealed sarcasm.
Just a few years prior, Gilliam had been considered the strongest candidate to become the next bishop.
Sebastian, on the other hand, was a former priest-inquisitor around whom many unsettling rumors swirled.
When Gilliam and Sebastian had faced each other at the election assembly, both had assumed the elder priest would prevail.
The result had been precisely the opposite.
The moment Sebastian claimed the bishop's seat, he had begun summoning Gilliam constantly, assigning him the most grueling and degrading tasks available.
"Yes, Your Holiness. The sculptor Magda, from the village of Kanavel, has created a truly beautiful statue of the Saint."
Gilliam's mission had been to transport the new statue of the Saint of Sorrows—to be unveiled at this year's festival—directly from that remote mountain village to Lucerne.
It was an arduous journey for a man of seventy years.
"Your Holiness, this was the perfect mission for Father Gilliam! An excellent idea, as expected!"
Father Solon, standing at the bishop's side, smiled with undisguised mockery.
Solon held a position similar to Gilliam's, but he was a frivolous man who had sworn allegiance to Sebastian the instant the new bishop assumed power.
"Oh, Father Gilliam—we're naturally delighted your mission succeeded, but why didn't you think to bathe before appearing before His Holiness?"
Father Solon pinched his nose theatrically, giggling at his own wit.
Gilliam merely smiled in silence.
"So, where is the finished statue now? The sculptor worked on it for quite some time—I'd like to examine it personally."
"You're absolutely right, Your Holiness. It would be quite problematic if a flaw were discovered later, after all our efforts." Father Solon echoed quickly, ever the sycophant.
Gilliam was no fool. He understood immediately that they had no intention of allowing him rest after his exhausting journey.
It was too much for a man of seventy—his bones ached, his muscles screamed for relief—but Gilliam maintained his polite smile.
"Of course. Father Solon is welcome to accompany us."
Though the long journey had left him feeling as though his body might crumble at any moment, Gilliam refused to display weakness before these men. He led them through winding corridors toward the secret chamber where the statue was temporarily stored.
Whatever they said, the old priest remained confident in his mission's success.
Magda of Kanavel was a meticulous artisan, zealous in her craft. She had created a flawless sculpture.
Although this assignment might seem trivial compared to his previous responsibilities, Gilliam—who had personally traveled to that small village to meet Magda—felt satisfied.
Moreover, this way he had ensured the statue of the Saint would arrive safe and undamaged.
"This way, please."
*Rustle.*
Gilliam carefully drew back the thick covering from the statue.
As the black cloth slid away, a white marble figure emerged before the three servants of God.