"Why did you…?"
Lennox whispered the words so quietly they sounded more like an exhaled breath than a question.
Then he felt a fragile, trembling hand touch his cheek.
He held his breath, suppressing the violent urge to seize that wrist immediately and push it away.
It was a strange sensation—someone's hand against his skin while every nerve in his body screamed with tension.
Lennox *hated* being touched.
It was an old habit, forged during the years when he'd been sent to die on distant battlefields—where he had learned, through blood and brutality, how to survive.
There, he had learned that the human head contained thirty vital points. Sixteen of them could easily end an opponent's life if struck with precision and the element of surprise.
Pushing away the woman whose hand now rested against his face would be easier than snapping a child's wrist.
And yet…
The indescribable, excruciating pleasure flooding through him had seized him so completely that he could not simply shove her away—even knowing that this touch could mean his death.
"Juliet." His voice emerged low and menacing, though it carried an unmistakable note of pleading. "Please. *Don't*."
"……"
"Please… stop crying."
Even though he couldn't see, he knew exactly what expression the woman before him wore.
Juliet had never cried in front of him—not once in seven years. He had absolutely no idea how to comfort her now.
In that moment, he would have done *anything* to make it stop.
The woman he had so desperately wanted to capture was now in his arms, crying silently… out of *sympathy* for him.
The realization felt like being thrown into a bottomless black abyss.
*How pathetic I've become. Apparently, this is all I deserve.*
She was the woman who had abandoned him even when his eyes functioned perfectly—who had fled without a single backward glance.
And now, after discovering he'd gone blind, Juliet would feel *guilty*.
*In that case, perhaps I should keep her with this… use her guilt to bind her to me…*
Lennox clenched his jaw, struggling desperately to suppress the insidious thought.
*And then what?*
"Damn it—did someone *die*?"
"No. And I'm *not* crying."
The response came immediately, delivered in such an indignant voice that she seemed barely able to restrain harsher words from spilling from her tongue.
Naturally, it was a lie that even a child wouldn't believe.
---
Juliet knew how much he despised women's tears.
From the very beginning, their relationship had been built on a foundation of her disturbing him as little as possible. So now she cried quietly, without making a sound. Large tears rolled down her cheeks one after another, leaving glistening tracks behind—the only evidence of her weeping. But the man, robbed of sight, could not see them.
"Juliet."
Yet somehow, he still *knew*—even though he couldn't see.
"…I told you to stop crying."
The words emerged half threatening, half pleading.
Under normal circumstances, he would have simply pushed her away, turned his back, and walked off with perfect composure instead of asking her to cease. He didn't do that now—probably because his blindness prevented him from leaving so easily.
Juliet quickly slapped her own cheeks to clear her thoughts.
They had something else to discuss.
"Lennox…"
But she was forced into silence by a sudden noise coming from just beyond the door.
"*Achoo!*"
"……"
The next moment, without thinking, Juliet pushed herself off Lennox's lap and rose to her feet.
With determined strides, she crossed the bedroom and flung the sitting room door wide open.
"Oh! …How are you, Miss? It's been quite some time since we've seen each other."
Not only the Duke's physician stood there, but also Elliot and several other servants—all pressed against the door like eavesdroppers caught red-handed.
---
"I'm leaving."
Having heard the complete story from the doctor, Juliet rose gracefully from her chair. With a cold, reserved nod of farewell, she turned toward the exit.
"Oh! I… I'll see you out."
Elliot, desperately trying to understand what had transpired between Juliet—who hadn't even mentioned returning—and Lennox—who made no attempt to stop her—quickly stood and followed.
After a short while, the sound of gravel crunching beneath carriage wheels drifted through the window.
"Miss Montague has departed," Elliot announced upon returning from seeing her off.
"Fine. Now leave me alone."
"…Yes, Your Grace."
---
Lennox wasn't remotely surprised by her departure.
Perhaps she wouldn't return. Or perhaps she would.
*If I lose my sight forever, will I be able to keep this woman?*
It wasn't as though he hadn't considered the possibility. But Juliet wasn't an ordinary woman. What she was thinking remained maddeningly difficult to fathom.
By cultivating a deep sense of sympathy and guilt within her, one could theoretically keep her close—even if only an empty shell remained.
Under such circumstances, Juliet naturally couldn't abandon him, even if she grew weary or he became tedious to her.
It would be simple enough—skillfully manipulating her feelings of guilt and pity.
*But would it work? No… I'm afraid not.*
Lennox laughed bitterly at himself.
He had known from the start that he couldn't keep Juliet by his side through cheap sympathy.
Nor was it a question of wounded pride or an inability to bear her pity.
He had always tried to do what was best for her—to give her only the finest things. Juliet might not have realized this. Perhaps she had never thought about it. Or, at worst, she simply hadn't cared.
Yes, he had done all of this guided solely by that intention. But now he could not hold onto the woman—because he himself had broken her with his own hands.
He sat habitually twirling the small silver dove figurine between his fingers when a memory suddenly surfaced.
*How cheap this is.*
He felt as though he himself had become the same cheap ornament.
And then, unbidden, a recollection emerged from a secret corner of his mind—something that had happened long ago but had never truly left him.
---
Juliet often reviewed the letters and gifts sent to Lennox. After opening them, she sometimes returned items if she found them unsuitable.
She was exceptionally particular and possessed excellent taste. She selected things by color and design with such precision that they suited Lennox perfectly—and he, in turn, trusted her judgment implicitly in such matters.
But why had he paid attention *that particular day*, instead of simply passing it by as usual?
He had accidentally discovered her examining certain documents with unusual seriousness—papers that had, at first glance, seemed quite interesting to him.
They were marriage proposals addressed to him.
"I… I was simply tidying your desk."
It hadn't been intentional. He'd genuinely noticed them by accident.
In any case, there wasn't a single document on his desk she shouldn't see—he had never wanted to hide anything from her.
In truth, he hadn't even glanced at the proposals himself. He had no intention of considering them. But Juliet had, for some inexplicable reason, carefully arranged them in order—from the most advantageous to the least appealing—as though simply reading them hadn't been sufficient.
"Forgive me if I was too presumptuous."
Seeing the woman apologize with such an utterly indifferent expression—as though she held nothing more than blank sheets of paper—had shocked him.
*Is this the expression a woman should wear when reading passionate marriage proposals addressed to her lover?*
Lennox himself hadn't known what he would have wanted her to do in that situation. But the way she had looked in that moment had caused him tremendous irritation.
Juliet's face showed neither betrayal nor sorrow.
He didn't yet understand what emotions he had been searching for on her impassive features. He had simply found it strangely, unbearably frustrating.
It was only the following day that he learned the true nature of that feeling—right after he unexpectedly found Juliet animatedly conversing with someone, a genuinely cheerful expression lighting her face in the castle's banquet hall.
It had not been a pleasant sight.
Juliet had been forced to attend the banquet on his behalf—a duty that gave neither of them any pleasure, since most of the northern aristocrats were arrogant and unkind.
Some were downright rude and didn't bother concealing it. But there were others who displayed a certain… *interest*.
The silver lining was that most didn't require much effort to assess. Common sense and good breeding were immediately obvious. Such people generally didn't need to prove they'd grown up in respectable families and received proper educations.
And Juliet Montague needed to prove it even less.
That day, her expressive sapphire eyes—which he saw every single day—had shone so brilliantly, filled with such genuine interest, that it was glaringly obvious to everyone present how utterly captivating she was.
Juliet had been discussing *painting* with a man who served as secretary to one of the visiting nobles. His position had been clear at first glance.
The conversation between them had been nothing more than carefree chatter—on a subject of no particular consequence or benefit.
But it was *then* that Lennox had discovered on Juliet's face the very emotions he had desperately sought the day before.
Afterward, he had behaved as he always did.
Or, more precisely, he had immediately disposed of her conversational partner—just as he eliminated all annoying inconveniences, without giving the matter a second thought.
Later, Lennox had wanted to console Juliet, who seemed disappointed she would no longer see her acquaintance. However, instead of being delighted by the lavish gifts he offered, she had merely regarded them with cool indifference.
And then, some time after that incident, as he was heading to his office, he had glimpsed Juliet in the castle's back courtyard—holding a tiny silver figurine with an expression of pure happiness.
"Do you like this cheap trinket?"
"…It's not cheap. Please give it back. It's *mine*."
Lennox had grown angry every time she refused his gifts.
He hadn't understood why she showed such attachment to an inexpensive piece of silver while remaining unmoved by his expensive presents.
---
Now, Lennox closed his eyes quietly, stroking the tips of the dove's wings with his fingertip. The silver had grown dull in his hand over the years.
He felt just as cheap as that little figurine.
"Belloctia," he said with a heavy sigh.
***Flash!***
The sword leaning against the wall burst into brilliant flame. The next instant, a ferocious beast with sleek black fur materialized in its place.
*[Tsk. And you're only now thinking to speak with me?]*
"Shut up."
*[Your charming manner of speech hasn't changed one bit.]*
Despite the rudeness directed at him, the giant black beast stretched luxuriously.
*[So—what are the conditions?]*
---