A week had passed since his return to the castle.
Lennox gazed down at the dark patches where his hands rested.
His vision remained incomplete—still blurred and unfocused—so he stared at his hands for a long time, struggling to bring them into clarity.
Observing that his skin tone had returned to its normal shade and the fabric of his robe had regained its original appearance, he drew the garment more securely over his bare torso.
The children of the Carlisle bloodline possessed magical power from the very moment they were conceived in their mother's womb.
Some were even born in non-human forms.
The forced introduction of divine power into a body inherently saturated with magic had resulted in agonizing rejection—these were two fundamentally incompatible forces that should never intermingle.
Rolling up the sleeves of his robe, Lennox thought how fortunate he was that Juliet hadn't witnessed him in this state.
Even though she was naturally calm and composed—unfazed regardless of circumstance—she might have been genuinely frightened if she'd seen him like *this*.
The skin deformation, though temporary, had been profoundly unsightly. No—downright *grotesque*.
If she had witnessed it, she might have wept tears of pity for him, filled with even greater sympathy than before. The guilt would have tormented her worse than ever.
"Juliet."
From time to time, he recalled the sound of her voice—struggling desperately to hold back tears. It had seemed a turbulent mixture of fear and surprise, anxiety and sorrow.
*[I'm leaving.]*
What expression had she worn when she spoke those words?
Lennox found himself intensely curious about the look on Juliet's face—what she had been thinking during the entire journey from his residence back to her mansion.
From reports arriving from the capital, he knew Juliet had been residing at her family estate, Montague, this entire time.
*Did she think then how fortunate she was to escape the clutches of a man like me? Or…*
Lennox slowly clenched and unclenched his hand—which had returned completely to normal—sinking deeper into contemplation.
The recovery process was gradual, but his vision was steadily improving.
Simultaneously, as his sight began returning, he'd started experiencing something rather peculiar.
At first, he'd dreamed only rarely.
*Could this be a side effect of the treatment?*
However, recently—specifically since the forced introduction of divine power into his body—he'd been having the same strange dream repeatedly.
No, to be precise, it felt less like a dream and more as though he were peering into someone else's *memory*.
The content remained invariably the same.
In the vision, he walked somewhere and paused before a slightly ajar door leading into a chamber. Inside the room stood a woman.
But before he could glimpse the woman's face clearly, the strange dream always ended.
*Why is she crying?*
He never heard sobs, yet somehow he *knew* she was weeping.
Even upon waking, he couldn't shake the peculiar sensation—her image continued hovering before his mind's eye.
Lennox turned his pensive gaze toward the window.
What was equally strange: the location from his dream was *here*—in his castle in the North.
This very bedroom.
Lennox wondered who this woman was. He desperately wanted to understand why she had been crying.
At first he'd assumed it might be Juliet—but upon reflection, he couldn't recall a single instance when such a scene had actually occurred.
*Knock-knock.*
A rap at the door pulled Lennox from his reverie.
"Your Grace, correspondence has arrived from the capital," Elliot announced, entering the Duke's bedchamber and placing the mail on the table before him.
The most conspicuous letter bore the Emperor's elaborate seal—ostentatious and unmistakable.
The Emperor, as he did annually during hunting season, had sent an invitation to the snow fox hunt.
Naturally, the Duke of Carlisle never accepted such invitations.
He wasn't fond of frivolous hunting. Frankly, he was accustomed to pursuing ferocious monsters—not diminutive foxes.
Lennox turned away without even glancing at the correspondence.
Elliot, realizing the Duke had no intention of reviewing the mail, extracted a small box from the stack and pushed it deliberately toward him.
"What are you doing? Just discard it."
"Your Grace, I believe you should see what's inside," Elliot insisted, hope flickering across his features.
After brief hesitation, Lennox finally reached for the box.
The moment he opened it, the familiar object within emitted a soft, melodious chime.
It was the soul stone he'd seen in Lucerne.
"…Ha."
Lennox didn't need to ask who had sent it—he already knew.
"…She has a simply *colossal* sense of responsibility."
For a fleeting moment, the thought crossed his mind that he could bind Juliet to himself permanently if he simply continued feigning blindness.
He stared at the luminous stone for nearly a full minute, genuinely bewildered. It had been considerable time since Juliet had sent him anything—he felt somewhat taken aback.
"There was a note attached as well," Elliot added subtly, carefully observing his master's reaction.
The box did indeed contain a brief letter. Elliot watched in tense silence as the Duke of Carlisle unfolded and read it.
The Duke's temperament had softened somewhat over the past week—particularly after he'd begun receiving regular reports from the capital—so Elliot cautiously hoped this trend would continue.
The secretary was intensely curious about what Juliet had written. He secretly hoped the letter contained some hint of lingering affection for his master, accompanied by heartfelt wishes for a swift recovery.
However, the Duke of Carlisle—upon immediately reading the brief missive—darkened like a thundercloud.
"Your Grace…?" Elliot ventured anxiously.
But he didn't have time to finish, because at that precise moment—
"***Damn it!*** What difference does it make who's with her *now*?!"
When Lennox suddenly leaped from his chair in fury and cursed with startling vehemence, Elliot blanched as white as the snow blanketing the landscape beyond the window.
---
"The Emperor and Empress have invited me to their annual celebration."
When Juliet spoke of the celebration, she was referring to the fox hunt to which the Emperor invited the nobility each year. Hunting was His Majesty's favored pastime, and he never missed the occasion.
In addition to the fox hunt organized during daylight hours, a small banquet was also held in the evening—arranged by the Empress herself.
This dual nature was precisely why the event was called a *celebration* rather than merely a hunt.
However, the elegant invitation the imperial couple had dispatched to Juliet was far from ordinary.
A small box had accompanied it.
"Why was this included with the invitation?"
Inside the box rested a peculiar-looking hand mirror.
Examining it, Juliet understood that in this refined manner, the Empress had conveyed an additional message.
According to longstanding tradition, a mother was expected to select and bestow four gifts upon a daughter about to wed. The first should be something old, the second borrowed, the third new, and the fourth unexpected.
The mirror undoubtedly represented the first gift—and by sending it, the Empress had indirectly indicated that the matter of Juliet's adoption into the imperial family remained unresolved.
Juliet spoke only after carefully opening the mirror, lifting the lid adorned with a blue sapphire.
"This isn't an antique at all."
The mirror's surface gleamed brilliantly—as though it had been crafted only recently.
Juliet sighed and returned the mirror to its box.
"So I'll have to go and return it in person."
She immediately dismissed the notion of returning it through Lennox. Sending a servant in her stead would be discourteous—she had no choice but to handle it herself. And with that decision came a new complication: if she visited the Empress personally to return the gift, she would need to explain that she had separated from the Duke of Carlisle.
When Juliet grew troubled, uncertain how to navigate this explanation, Roy interjected:
"Do you want me to accompany you?"
"To the imperial palace?"
"Yes. You can use me. Let me help you."
Roy extended his hand toward her meaningfully.
Juliet had no difficulty grasping the implication of the word *"use."* If she accepted his offered hand and the invitation, they would be perceived as a couple in others' eyes.
Watching Juliet's expression carefully, Roy added—seeing her hesitation:
"Is there anything wrong with offering to help a friend?"
"I would genuinely like to accept, but…"
For a heartbeat, Juliet nearly surrendered to temptation.
To convince the Empress, she would need to state plainly that she had separated from the Duke of Carlisle—that they no longer shared any connection.
But if she appeared at the celebration with Roy, no verbal explanation would be necessary. Simply arriving at the reception with another man would prove far more effective than a hundred explanations or excuses.
However, Juliet didn't want Roy's name entangled in gossip throughout the capital.
It was glaringly obvious what sort of shameless narrative the aristocrats would concoct if she attended the banquet with Roy so soon after her separation from the Duke.
"No, it's all right, Roy. I'll go alone. You're dealing with enough difficulties as it is."
Roy seemed exceptionally busy lately.
Though he tried concealing it, his agitation was unmistakable. Juliet suspected his anxious state stemmed from troubled relations with his family.
As far as she understood from his sparse comments, disputes had erupted among family members over succession—complicated by his father's declining health.
She'd considered telling him more than once that if he was so occupied, he needn't visit her—but every time Roy appeared to check whether she was well, she couldn't bring herself to speak the words.
"Don't worry too much, Roy. You'll find your brother soon," Juliet consoled him, understanding that one of his brothers had fled the forest following a quarrel, and Roy hadn't been able to locate him.
"…Thank you, Juliet."
With a soft sigh, Roy buried his face against her shoulder.
Juliet looked momentarily surprised, but then gently patted his back without comment.
When she'd first encountered him on the train, he'd seemed like a child who'd quarreled with his elder brother and fled home. But now he appeared to be genuinely attempting to reconcile his fractured family—she felt somewhat proud of his growth.
"Then let's attend together next time. All right?"
Roy lifted his head and nodded with visible regret.
Juliet had previously heard that all Lycans were intensely private individuals. However, contrary to that information, Roy never concealed his emotions before her.
"I truly want you to introduce me to your close friends, Juliet. As soon as possible."
*'Close friends' isn't remotely accurate for those people,* Juliet thought, recalling the cold stares boring into her back and venomous whispers trailing her footsteps.
"Yes, we'll go together next time," Juliet replied with a smile, keeping her thoughts carefully hidden.
Even those who despised her would certainly wish to cultivate connections with a charming, handsome young man like Roy.
"I must return now. Take care, Juliet."
Roy bid her farewell with a melancholy expression—as though genuinely sorry to leave her alone—then departed to return to the forest. Though he'd offered to accompany her, it seemed he truly was extraordinarily occupied.
---
Some time later, Juliet prepared herself and readied to depart for the palace.
"Where are you going, Juliet?"
She was heading toward the exit when Elsa's head popped out from the kitchen entrance.
"I'm planning to visit the imperial palace. It won't take long—I'll return soon."
"Ah, I see," Elsa replied casually.
Then she took another bite of pie and followed Juliet directly to the carriage.
"Elsa, what are you doing?" Juliet asked with amusement as the girl calmly settled into the seat opposite her.
"Roy told me not to leave you alone."
*Roy? Since when do I require an escort?* Juliet thought wryly, suspecting he'd appointed himself her protector.
She considered her options carefully.
Though Elsa was a striking beauty with unusual, captivating features—and even dressed in simple clothing appeared magnificent—she was a forest dweller, not part of the capital's nobility.
On the other hand, the invitation hadn't explicitly forbidden bringing a companion.
After weighing advantages and drawbacks, Juliet concluded nothing terrible would result from attending together.
"Well, since Roy instructed you, let's go together."
---