FJ 7

Chapter: 7

The lady of the teahouse thought Juliet looked like a painting when seen from afar, but beneath the tea table her legs were swaying carelessly.

Juliet found the soft rustling sound of her petticoat brushing against her ankles pleasant.

Then, suddenly, she heard the sound of carriage wheels rolling, and before long a carriage stopped in front of the teahouse.

The person who got down and approached was exactly who Juliet had expected.

“I’ve come to escort you, my lady.”

The man with the large scar across his face looked like his entire body was a weapon.

Yet instead of standing up, Juliet stared straight at him and spoke.

“Sir Cain.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Why did you leave your post earlier?”

“……”

Caught off guard by her blunt question, Cain was left speechless.

In the meantime, Juliet smiled brightly.

“Sir Jude told me earlier. He said something suddenly came up for you, so he came in your place. Where did you go?”

“I’m sorry, but I cannot tell you.”

Cain replied a beat too late, in his usual blunt tone, as if to say she shouldn’t ask any further.

When Cain Hall, with his already intimidating appearance, took such a hard line, most people would grow frightened and back off at this point.

In fact, most people avoided even making eye contact with him.

It was normal to cautiously steer clear of this fierce-looking swordsman.

But Juliet Monard was far from normal.

Instead of accepting the answer, Juliet rested her chin in her hand and asked more directly.

Her eyes sparkled playfully—it seemed less like she was probing and more like she already knew the answer and was asking anyway.

“Did His Highness summon you?”

“……No.”

Though her tone wasn’t particularly accusatory, Cain found himself hoping she would stop asking.

His expression didn’t show it, but he was extremely uncomfortable right now.

Cain Hall knew very well that he was bad at lying.

He was far better at fighting with weapons than conversing with words. Originally a slave who had escaped from a gladiator arena, he had wandered battlefields as a skilled mercenary captain.

Rare among mercenaries, he had reached the level of a Sword Master, and the one who hired him was Duke Carlisle of the North.

Duke Carlisle hired anyone competent, regardless of background.

By sheer luck, Cain had caught the duke’s eye. Now he served as a swordsmanship instructor teaching practical combat to the ducal knights, and since coming to the capital, he had been assigned to guard Juliet.

Strictly speaking, however, Cain was not even a formal knight.

He wasn’t just a commoner—he was a former slave who had fled a gladiator arena.

And Juliet Monard was the only person who ever addressed such a man as “Sir.”

A few hours earlier, Duke Carlisle had suddenly summoned Cain and asked about Juliet Monard.

Where she had been recently, whom she had met, and with whom she had been in contact.

“Has there been anything unusual?”

Cain didn’t know why the duke was asking such questions, but he could tell that the duke’s nerves were sharper than ever.

So, within the limits of what he knew, Cain defended Juliet as best he could.

He said she was doing well, with no problems and nothing suspicious.

Of course, he couldn’t simply repeat all of that to Juliet.

Naturally—his master was Duke Carlisle, not Juliet Monard.

Still, Cain felt an inexplicable sense of guilt.

“What did His Highness ask? Did he ask about me too?”

“……I cannot tell you. I’m sorry.”

Cain gave up on making excuses and refused honestly.

“I see.”

Internally, Cain worried she might keep pressing him, but surprisingly, she withdrew immediately.

Juliet didn’t ask any further. She didn’t look particularly disappointed either.

Cain cautiously glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

“Hmm.”

She seemed to have lost interest in him altogether. She didn’t appear offended.

After sitting quietly for a moment as if deep in thought, Juliet suddenly smiled as though nothing had happened and slid a glass filled with a drink toward him.

“Please sit and have some. It’s cool and sweet.”

“……Yes.”

Cain took the seat across from her and accepted the glass.

At that moment, the teahouse owner, who had absentmindedly glanced out the window, nearly screamed.

A former mercenary captain who could supposedly kill an ox with his bare hands was sitting at a tea table across from the duke’s lover, holding a drink.

It was an extremely strange sight.

Only a very small number of people knew this, but Cain Hall didn’t particularly enjoy strong alcohol.

Instead, he liked sweet, cold drinks—an unexpected preference given his appearance.

Juliet was one of the few who had noticed this. She often included him in her solitary tea times.

Just like now.

Cain liked these moments quite a lot.

Juliet Monard didn’t talk much, but she had a peculiar talent for making the atmosphere comfortable.

Sometimes, Cain wondered if that was why his lord, Duke Carlisle, kept her by his side for so long.

When Cain finished his glass, he subtly checked Juliet’s mood.

She seemed to have forgotten their earlier conversation and, without touching her own drink, gazed blankly out at the street.

Then she looked at Cain and smiled casually.

“Would you like another?”

“……Yes.”

The drink was sweet and cool, just as she said, but for some reason Cain couldn’t taste it.

That evening, the imperial palace ballroom, where the New Year’s ball was being held, was as bright as midday.

Renox arrived at the palace slightly earlier than scheduled.

However, instead of going down to the floor, he leaned against the railing of a sparsely populated upper balcony, looking down below.

“I’ve found him.”

A dark-skinned man named Hardin approached and reported quietly.

In addition to its formal order of knights, House Carlisle also had attendants who moved in secrecy.

These operatives, known as the “Shadows,” acted discreetly under the duke’s orders and used any means necessary to obtain the information their master desired.

Hardin was the leader of these Shadows and the duke’s most trusted aide.

“He’s a man living in District Eight. His name is Donovan.”

Only a few hours after being ordered to find the suspicious man who had visited the count’s estate, Hardin had secured the man—whose face and name had previously been unknown.

Yet Renox Carlisle’s expression didn’t change at all as he listened.

District Eight was an area mainly inhabited by wealthy commoners.

One thing was now certain.

At the very least, the mysterious “man” who had supposedly visited Juliet multiple times at the count’s estate did, in fact, exist.

“My lord, how shall we proceed?”

“Keep him detained for now. We’ll decide what to do after the banquet.”

“Yes.”

Even after Hardin withdrew, Renox remained on the indoor balcony.

The man gazed down at the ballroom, lost in thought. While he did, the dance began below.

Among the elegantly dressed dancers moving across the floor, one woman caught his eye.

Wearing a deep blue dress that revealed her shoulders, she stood quietly alone, leaning against the wall.

Light brown hair shimmering silver under the lights, an elegant exposed neckline, slender shoulders—she possessed a captivating presence.

Incongruously playing the role of a wallflower, she was the very woman who had irritated him all day.

If she had come up with excuses and failed to appear this evening as well, he had planned to storm the count’s estate and drag her back north himself, ball or no ball.

But Juliet had kept her promise and appeared safely at the imperial palace.

To be honest, Renox was a little impressed with her today.

His lover, who usually behaved as obediently as a tongue in his mouth, apparently knew exactly how to get under his skin when she put her mind to it.

Juliet Monard was a low-maintenance lover—more bluntly put, she was convenient.

She didn’t beg for things, nor did she whine for affection or attention.

Most importantly, Juliet had never once forced her feelings onto him.

She never demanded emotional reciprocity from him.

In truth, Renox Carlisle’s standards for a lover were not particularly high.

A lack of refinement or status didn’t matter to him. What mattered was that he could end the relationship cleanly at any time.

He didn’t care if he spent money like water or indulged in shocking extravagance—the most important thing was the ending.

That the relationship would end neatly whenever he wanted.

Renox Carlisle was not a lovestruck fifteen-year-old boy.

He detested wasting time on childish notions of love.

He kept people by his side when necessary, but never for long—and that was why.

To avoid the eyes of political enemies, or to ease the emperor’s suspicions.

For such purposes, a prima donna from the grand theater or an actress raised by Madam Ursula made suitable partners.

They were dazzling enough to captivate the public eye, yet could serve as informants or agents without arousing suspicion.

“Yes… that’s how it was.”

Renox’s gaze narrowed as he looked down at Juliet’s pale nape.

Juliet was a picture-perfect beauty straight out of a sacred oil painting—exactly the kind of woman nobles went mad for—but unlike her delicate appearance, she possessed a firm and resolute nature.

With delicate eyes, stubborn brows, a small nose, a rounded forehead, and an elegant neckline, Juliet spoke little but was perceptive.

Unlike his former lovers—who loved chattering at his side and clung desperately to the title of “the duke’s lover”—Juliet rarely made demands of any kind, let alone prattled on in a sweet voice.

Yet despite acting as obedient as a tongue in his mouth, she struck him as both curious and convenient.

“……Convenient.”

Renox had thought he would be the first to grow tired of this relationship.

As always, once he had indulged to his satisfaction, once desire faded, only boredom and cold ashes would remain.