"Uh… Duchess Ilena, we didn't mean anything malicious."
"Oh, is that so?"
The Duchess's eyebrows arched delicately as the young man who had participated in the gossip scrambled to make excuses.
"Wait just a moment." Her sharp gaze pinned him in place. "Are you by any chance Baron Austin's son?"
"Y-yes, that's correct. I'm his son."
"Not long ago, I heard a rather disturbing rumor that Baron Austin was caught red-handed in an act of treason." Duchess Ilena's voice carried the weight of absolute authority. "Tell me, young man—didn't your mother ever teach you about the importance of safeguarding your family's reputation?"
"I-I'm leaving! Forgive me!"
The young aristocrat, publicly rebuked for bringing shame upon his family name, rose hastily and fled the salon like a scolded dog.
---
In aristocratic society, the winter season was generally considered the longest and quietest time of year.
Though young nobles occasionally arranged small gatherings in the capital's salons, for the older generation of noble ladies, the period between the New Year's ball and the arrival of spring was typically devoid of major events.
"I didn't even know that such salon meetings took place at this time of year," Marchioness Farnese remarked with genuine surprise.
"I'm not surprised in the least!" Countess Lavon laughed. "Young people are always inventing new amusements because their heads aren't yet filled with worries like ours!"
The Countess had sent invitations to two friends, who in turn invited two more, and so the pattern continued—precisely as the rules of the "Blooming Salon" intended.
But this time, the young aristocrats had gathered with a singular, malicious purpose: to mock Juliet and revel in her disgrace. Now, as their carefully laid plan unraveled before their eyes, they couldn't hide the stunned expressions on their faces.
Moreover, before they could recover their composure, the initiative naturally flowed into the hands of the older generation.
"What about the division of property in such cases?"
"To accomplish that, one needs clear evidence…"
Within a remarkably short span of time, the average age of the salon's attendees rose dramatically. The younger guests found themselves relegated to silent listeners, powerless to redirect the conversation.
"Goodness, I don't even remember the last time I attended such a social event," one elderly lady mused.
"I do hope we'll be able to gather like this more often in the future!"
From that moment forward, Juliet was no longer the focal point of the gathering. Not a single person raised the subject of her separation from the Duke for the remainder of the event.
Juliet smiled softly as she listened to the carefree chatter of the respected socialites surrounding her like a protective circle of armor.
Her actions today had served as a clear demonstration: the Earl of Montague's network of influence was still formidable. She had sent a silent warning to her detractors—a message that she would not allow herself to become easy prey for their ridicule.
*That should be sufficient for now,* Juliet thought with quiet satisfaction.
It had been the organizers of today's salon who had been harassing her servants, after all.
*After such a spectacular failure, they won't dare invite me to another gathering for quite some time. And they certainly won't trouble my household staff again.*
Juliet was confident that if anyone spoke of her as an abandoned woman in the future, they would face harsh reprimands from these formidable elderly ladies. The problem had been adequately addressed.
Soon, Juliet rose from her seat, deciding to depart before the other guests began their exodus as well.
However, as she approached the doorway, someone blocked her path.
"You…"
The figure who stood before her was Fatima. She glared at Juliet with unmistakable reproach burning in her eyes.
"Juliet Montague."
"Your Highness."
"Do you have *any* idea what you've done?" Fatima's voice trembled with suppressed fury. "You've completely ruined my first official salon!"
"…Ruined?" Juliet's brow furrowed in carefully manufactured confusion. "I'm afraid I don't understand what you mean."
She gestured toward a large window through which the assembled guests could be seen, their animated conversations filling the hall with warmth and laughter.
"All of these women are highly influential and deeply respected in society. Cultivating friendly relations with them will only benefit your position—it certainly won't cause you any harm."
Juliet was not exaggerating in the slightest.
All three of the older noble ladies she had invited were precisely the sort of patrons many young aristocrats desperately sought as chaperones and mentors. Their endorsement could elevate one's standing in society immeasurably.
Furthermore, women of their stature weren't people one could simply meet at will. Introductions had to be made through someone they already respected—there was no other way.
But Fatima seemed utterly oblivious to this reality.
"What are you *talking* about? You orchestrated all of this to humiliate me!"
"…Your Highness," Juliet said calmly, her voice cool as frost, "if I were in your position, I would choose my friends far more carefully."
If Fatima truly wished to forge profitable connections to secure her future role as princess, she should have distanced herself from those who had encouraged her to host a salon for the express purpose of gossiping cruelly about someone else's private affairs.
Instead, she herself should have invited women of genuine social influence—like Duchess Ilena—to her very first salon.
For her part, Juliet believed that *not* inviting such pillars of society to the future princess's inaugural event would have been in appallingly bad taste.
"It seems our perspectives on what constitutes 'friendship' differ considerably." Juliet's smile was gracious, even kind. "In any case, thank you for the invitation. I really must be going now."
"…Yes. Of course."
Juliet bid Fatima a polite farewell and swept past her with elegant composure.
---
Leaving the noisy hall behind, Juliet reflected briefly on what had transpired.
*Yes, that's right. It's always been this way. I've long since grown accustomed to handling everything myself. It was the same when I lived in the North.*
Straightening her shoulders, she walked with a light step toward the exit of the Imperial Palace. But as she moved through the palace's meticulously manicured gardens, passing beneath sculpted topiaries and flowering winter jasmine, a figure stepped into her path once more.
"……?"
"Leaving so soon, Miss Montague?"
Juliet did not answer immediately. She regarded the man before her with cautious wariness.
Standing before her now was the Emperor's second son—Prince Cliff, Fatima's fiancé.
Juliet inclined her head in a respectful bow.
"…Greetings, Your Highness."
*What does he want? Did he follow me out here to exact revenge because his fiancée failed to humiliate me as planned?*
A rather cold smile touched Juliet's lips as this thought flickered through her mind.
Prince Cliff was an ambitious man—but he kept those ambitions carefully restrained because of the Duke of Carlisle's fearsome reputation. Furthermore, since he displayed open hostility at nearly every encounter, he had never made a favorable impression on Juliet.
Unable to express his dislike for the Duke of Carlisle directly—for he feared the man—the Prince had adopted a different strategy: projecting his resentment onto Juliet, the Duke's former mistress.
But today, Prince Cliff looked strangely different. He was smiling sweetly, as if he were in exceptionally good spirits.
"Don't look at me so severely, Miss Montague."
"…I am *Countess* Montague, Your Highness," Juliet corrected him, her smile remaining cold and brittle. "Not Miss Montague."
Few people addressed Juliet by her proper title, though in truth she had inherited it after her parents' deaths.
Due to her imminent departure for the North with Lennox, the official investiture ceremony had never been held. But since she was the only direct heir of her family, no one could legitimately challenge her right of succession.
"Oh yes. For now, at least."
Prince Cliff didn't seem remotely bothered by her correction. Instead, he continued casually:
"But we'll be family soon enough. So we can dispense with such formalities, don't you think?"
"…Family?"
"You may consider me your brother, Juliet."
*What brother? What in the world is he talking about…?*
As Juliet's expression froze into an icy mask, Prince Cliff added:
"Surely the Duke of Carlisle has told you by now?"
---
The Duke's physician, who had been urgently summoned from the North, was utterly astonished by what he observed.
The Duke's physical condition left much to be desired—there were still legitimate concerns for his life. The monstrous resilience he had displayed over just a few short days was nothing short of phenomenal, but…
"So you still cannot see?" The doctor's voice trembled slightly. "Why hasn't your vision recovered yet?"
"…Is that truly what you're asking me?"
"Oh! F-forgive me."
The physician hastily bowed his head in apology.
"At first glance, everything appears normal."
Since the cornea showed no damage and no visible wounds could be detected, the doctor struggled to prescribe any effective treatment.
"If this condition persists…" He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "You may lose your sight permanently."
Unlike internal organs, the eyes were an exceptionally delicate part of the human body—one that might never recover from even a single severe injury.
"What ***nonsense*** are you spouting?!"
Elliot, who had been listening in tense silence until now, felt as though he might faint when he heard the doctor's grim prognosis.
*Why didn't he tell me sooner that he couldn't see anything?*
Only now did Elliot understand why the Duke had not left his bedroom for an entire week.
"No—there must be *some* way to fix this!"
He forgot himself entirely, raising his voice despite the Duke's presence.
His mind raced frantically. The Duke of Carlisle had countless enemies. If they discovered this weakness, they would descend upon him like vultures circling a dying animal.
*If something happens to His Grace, then we're all…* Elliot's thoughts spiraled into panic, but he couldn't finish the notion—it was too terrifying to contemplate.
The Duke's current condition was being kept a closely guarded secret.
Only four people knew: Hardin, who stood sentinel outside the bedroom door; the Duke himself; his personal physician; and now Elliot, his secretary.
"…You said this was a divine curse received in Lucerne," the doctor murmured thoughtfully after a brief silence.
He possessed some understanding of magic and divine afflictions.
"Even the high priests won't be able to resolve this problem easily. But first, you need to know *exactly* what this Curse of Reflection entails."
"This is absolutely ridiculous…"
Unlike Elliot's visibly distressed expression, Lennox's features remained almost unnervingly composed.
"Are you saying that identifying the precise nature of this curse will solve the problem?" he asked calmly, as if discussing someone else's trivial ailment.
"Theoretically, yes. Or…" The doctor paused. "There is another method: destruction. Much like shattering the barrier itself."
In other words, he proposed breaking the curse by severing the sacred bonds through sheer force. Whether magic spell or divine curse, it could potentially be undone by applying greater power.
Lennox tapped his fingers thoughtfully against the arm of his chair.
"However," the physician cautioned, "if you act recklessly in attempting to remove the curse, you may experience severe side effects."
"Damn it all…" Elliot stood abruptly and kicked the chair beside him with such force that it flew into the center of the room. "Fine. I'll handle it."
---
Lennox's other senses had sharpened to an almost supernatural degree in compensation for his blindness.
Elliot exhaled quietly and attempted to restore some semblance of calm to the room.
"In any case… please keep me informed of any developments. And remember—*nothing* you've learned here may leak beyond these walls. Is that understood?"
But the doctor seemed not to hear Elliot's stern warning.
"……"
He couldn't tear his gaze away from his master, who stood on the far side of the bedroom.
When the examination concluded, the Duke of Carlisle began buttoning a crisp white shirt over his bare torso.
The physician stared, his expression mingling professional admiration with something bordering on awe. The Duke's physique resembled a masterwork sculpted by a legendary artist—powerful shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, every muscle defined with almost inhuman precision.
Until this moment, the doctor had never actually seen the Duke's unclothed body. His Grace was notoriously averse to being touched and had always been a difficult patient, offering only the briefest descriptions of his ailments. Even his personal physician had rarely glimpsed more than was absolutely necessary.
"……"
Elliot was somewhat taken aback by the doctor's behavior.
Though the Duke's half-dressed form was undeniably an impressive sight, the physician's stare was crossing the boundaries of professional decorum—so intense and unblinking that it bordered on unseemly.
But just as Elliot opened his mouth to reprimand him—
"Oh, my lady—wait!"
Shouts suddenly erupted from the courtyard below.
"Your Grace, I'll step out for a moment to see what's happening."
After these hurried words, Elliot rushed from the bedroom. The doctor, equally curious, moved to peer out the window.
Someone was approaching the mansion at a rapid pace.
"…Lady Juliet?"
The face of the uninvited visitor seemed familiar.
"…*Damn it.*"
At the same moment, Lennox cursed softly when he heard the physician speak her name aloud.
A heartbeat later, the Duke of Carlisle—his upper body still only partially clothed, covered merely by the loosely buttoned shirt—moved through the bedroom with a decidedly awkward gait, muttering curses vivid enough to make the doctor's ears burn crimson.
He jerked his head in the direction where the door to the small adjoining sitting room should be located.
"Get out."
"…Do you want me to *leave*, or to *hide*?"
"Yes, damn it—***hide!***"
The doctor, grasping his intention immediately, darted into the sitting room and pulled the door nearly closed behind him.
---