*Who is this girl?*
*The maid said she was the second wife of the deceased Marquis of Guinness.*
Although Juliet had been called the Marquis's wife, her true position had been no different from that of a slave.
In her past life, Uncle Gaspar had sold her to many different men. And her fifth and final marriage had been no different from a life lived in hell.
Her fifth husband, the Marquis of Guinness, had been the worst of them all. Almost immediately after their wedding, he locked her in a room so small she could barely lie down, and chained her to the wall like an animal.
Bound in iron, all she could do was pray for death to come quickly.
The days bled into one another. Just when she felt madness clawing at the edges of her mind in that wretched place, everything changed.
One day, the hell simply *ended*.
The Marquis of Guinness was defeated and killed in a political conflict with the Duke of Carlisle.
Juliet had never forgotten the moment when the lock clicked open and the door to her prison swung wide.
Believe it or not, until that moment, she had never seen a person whose image shone so brightly. The Duke of Carlisle stood in the doorway like a figure carved from light and shadow—and his unique blood-red eyes, whispered about throughout the empire as belonging to a man cruel and utterly devoid of mercy, became her symbol of salvation.
*Your Grace, this wicked woman is said to bring misfortune. It would be best if you ordered us to dispose of her.*
The Duke's accompanying vassals had openly expressed their disapproval.
Their reaction was entirely expected. After prolonged confinement and brutal abuse, her once young and healthy body had undergone a profound transformation—she had become little more than a skeleton draped in skin. The circles beneath her eyes were darker than the eyes themselves, which now resembled dull puddles of rainwater. Her long chestnut hair, which had once flowed like smooth silk, had lost all its luster and hung in matted, tangled strands down her back.
But the Duke had looked down at her with a strange, unreadable expression and simply ordered:
*Bring her to my castle.*
And so she was sent to the Duke's castle in the frozen North. There, she remained as his guest—not as a trophy.
In the ducal castle, no one insulted her, not even with words, let alone raised a hand against her. For the first time in longer than she could remember, she was treated like a human being.
Perhaps that was where it all began—her quiet, one-sided love.
His image had imprinted itself upon her mind and heart the very first moment she saw him, like a brand seared into flesh. It was as if she were a little dragon hatched from an egg, falling unconditionally in love with the first face it beheld.
Even in her second life, she had fallen in love with that face. She did not know whether it was because fragments of her past life lingered in her memory, or because his image had been carved into her very soul.
In both her first life and her second, Juliet loved to watch this man sleep.
When he spoke to her, it always felt like a cold wind cutting straight to the bone. But when she watched him in slumber, there were no harsh words, no distant coldness.
Morning and late evening, when the world still slept, were Juliet's favorite hours. In those stolen moments, this man belonged only to her.
In the brief minutes before dawn, she would always wake and simply *look* at him.
For her, this time was like a waking dream—a magic she could see without closing her eyes.
*But the Duke hasn't sent you away yet. Perhaps he's become a little attached to you.*
The maids had told her this once, while combing her hair.
*You are the first woman the Duke has allowed to remain so close to him, even though the seasons have changed many times.*
Those words had moved her deeply.
A faint hope had been born in her heart. From that moment on, she no longer desperately tried to hide from his gaze.
She had believed that if she stayed by his side and loved him for who he was, one day he might show her even a fraction of his true affection.
It didn't matter if he never laughed with her, never smiled warmly when he looked at her, never spoke to her with kindness.
She did not demand these things. He had once told her that he was born cold-blooded, indifferent to other people by nature.
But that dawn had proven fleeting, and with it, Juliet's beautiful dream had faded.
Soon, she discovered another side of him—one he had never shown anyone before.
In truth, he *was* indifferent to everyone. Everyone except one person. And only to that one special person were his affection and interest ever directed.
The way he looked at Dahlia was strikingly different from the hollow gaze he turned upon Juliet.
---
"…"
As soon as Juliet reached this thought, she pulled herself sharply from the depths of memory.
"Yes, indeed…" she murmured softly, her eyes tracing the sleeping figure before her. "Even though you're an indifferent man who arrogantly turns up his nose at everyone, you're still as attractive as ever. That's something no one can take from me."
The open neckline of his robe revealed a firm chest and sculpted stomach—a body that resembled a sculpture carved from stone by a master craftsman's hands.
With his eyes closed, Lennox looked no older than she did.
Juliet carefully extended her hand toward him.
"You're not even thirty yet, but because you always frown, your smooth forehead is already lined with wrinkles…"
She wanted to brush her fingertips against his brow, but—
"…!"
Her hand froze mid-air. Without even opening his eyes, the man caught her wrist in an iron grip.
"So, how was it?" His voice was casual, no different from his everyday tone. "Did you like what you saw?"
He did not sound at all like a man who had just woken from sleep.
"…"
With a soft sigh, Lennox rose. Without so much as glancing at her, he dragged her toward the bed on the opposite side of the room.
During the short distance, Juliet searched desperately for signs of weakness in his movements—any trace of the illness the rumors had described.
But his movements were as fluid and dexterous as those of a predatory beast.
She sat on the edge of the bed, doubt flickering in her eyes.
"I heard… that you are very ill."
"Really?" He arched a brow. "Were you so afraid I was dying that you came to check on me in person?"
Lennox settled into the chair opposite her and laughed—a low, ironic sound. His arms crossed over his chest, and his eyes remained half-lidded, as though he couldn't be bothered to open them fully.
His manner of speaking and his attitude were exactly the same as always.
Juliet studied him suspiciously but found nothing different from his usual behavior.
"Then why…?" she began.
*Why did Hardin stand guard outside the door like a sentinel? Why did the servants look as though they were on the verge of a nervous breakdown? And what of the rumors that he was dying?*
He smiled sweetly—too sweetly.
"I just wanted to try something."
"And what is that?"
"As a rule, when someone falls ill, the person who cares about them will come running as fast as they can."
"…?"
A moment later, Lennox rose abruptly and closed the distance between them.
His hands seized her shoulders, and in one swift motion, he pushed her down onto the soft bed.
The hairpins holding her hair in place came loose from the impact, and chestnut waves scattered across the sheets like spilled silk. The pearl-studded clip tumbled somewhere beneath the bed.
The sequence of movements happened in the blink of an eye—swift and relentless as a rushing current.
Now Lennox hovered above her, his arms braced on either side of her body, pressing her into the mattress.
"You got along *so* well with the wolf cub during that little hospital play," he whispered, his breath warm against her skin.
Juliet, stunned by the absurdity of his words, stared up into his half-closed crimson eyes.
"…A hospital play?"
While she struggled to comprehend his meaning, Lennox lifted her hand to his lips. He kissed each fingertip in turn, his touch unbearably tender.
"So where should we start?" he murmured against her skin. "Perhaps I should injure my eyes first?"
Only then did Juliet understand what he meant by *"try."*
He was talking about Roy's injury at the banquet hall in Lucerne—and the way she had treated him afterward.
"Your Highness…"
Juliet drew a deep breath, pushed him away with all her strength, and rose to her feet.
"I've confirmed that you're perfectly well. I'm leaving."
"Didn't you come here to care for me because I was *gravely* ill?" His voice followed her, soft and mocking. "How can you simply leave when the patient hasn't recovered?"
"It's easier to leave when the illness isn't real."
Juliet swept past him, her expression cold as winter frost.
*Tap. Tap. Tap.*
The sharp sound of her footsteps echoed through the hallway as she left the bedroom and made her way toward the entrance.
---
Lennox remained alone in the room, his eyes closed, until the sound of carriage wheels faded into the distance beyond the window.
"Hardin."
"Yes, Your Grace?" His faithful aide, who had been waiting just outside the door, responded instantly.
"I told you not to let her in."
"…I'm sorry."
Only then did Lennox release a deep, drawn-out sigh. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair with a casualness that belied the tension in his frame.
In those brief moments she had spent in his room, his forehead had grown slick with cold sweat.
"Do you think she noticed?"
"I don't believe so."
Hearing the answer, Lennox finally sank into his chair, burying himself deeply in its worn leather.
"…Damn it."
Hardin observed the Duke's fingertips trembling slightly as he reached for the glass on the table.
"No," Lennox muttered under his breath. "I couldn't do that twice."
Although he appeared perfectly healthy on the outside, his internal organs were severely damaged.
He, too, had coughed up blood—just as Juliet had done in the temple at Lucerne.
Perhaps it was only natural. When the sacred barriers had been violently destroyed, the divine curse had fallen upon him as well.
Moreover, he had destroyed *all* of the temple's remaining barriers. This meant the number of curses reflected back upon him totaled ninety-seven—Juliet had only broken three.
As far as he knew, there had been one hundred barriers erected in the temple. By the time he arrived, three had already been shattered. For each barrier he destroyed, he received one divine curse.
Their combined force had dealt a nearly fatal blow to his organs. And though the wounds were invisible to the naked eye, he knew their severity all too well.
Nevertheless, the pain was bearable.
*That's all.*
He recalled a time when he had been barely ten years old, fighting on the battlefield, when he had received a fatal wound to the stomach. By some miracle, he had survived.
But now, what he found difficult to accept was not the pain.
It was the loss of his sight.
Curses varied in duration and type. There was no telling how long this blindness would last.
In that brief moment of reflection, a few drops of cold sweat rolled down his chin.
Juliet had been fortunate—the curses placed upon her had worn off within a week, and she had awakened without lasting consequences.
"You know what will happen when Juliet finds out," Lennox said quietly. It was not a question.
"Yes."
*Obviously, she will blame herself.*
"Don't let this reach her ears."
"…Yes, Your Grace."
---