"Dolores never returned?"
Some time later, upon arriving at the Count's mansion, Juliet learned that Dolores had never appeared.
"I believe she already left the Imperial Palace grounds," one of the servants remarked with a casual shrug.
But Juliet could not accept such a simple explanation.
"I still had questions for her," Juliet murmured, half to herself.
However, the moment Juliet crossed the threshold of the house, all thoughts of Dolores vanished.
"Grandfather?"
"Juliet."
The mansion's courtyard buzzed with frantic activity.
Servants packed belongings and loaded leather bags onto waiting horses.
The small space overflowed with movement and urgent whispers.
"You're leaving?" she asked, blinking in confusion.
"Yes.
Urgent matters have arisen."
Lionel Lebatan had already completed his preparations for departure and stood waiting only to bid his granddaughter farewell.
Juliet hesitated, then reached out and grasped his weathered hand.
"But so suddenly?"
"I'm sorry."
And only then did understanding dawn.
She released his hand and stepped away, forcing a small smile.
Ashel was already waiting for her in the living room, seated beside an impressive stack of books piled high on the polished table.
"Don't worry.
This separation won't last forever.
You'll see each other again soon enough."
He gestured toward the towering volumes.
"In the meantime, you should read these."
"What are they?"
"The materials you requested."
Juliet immediately understood—information about the artifact she had recently learned of.
She opened the topmost book, then tilted her head in bewilderment.
"Ashel..."
"Hm?
Is something wrong?" he asked with exaggerated innocence, though his expression made it abundantly clear he knew *exactly* what was wrong.
"This is a children's fairy tale."
"Unfortunately, neither of us can read ancient script."
He shrugged, entirely unapologetic.
"A proper translation will take at least two more months.
For now, this will have to suffice."
Juliet sighed and opened the book.
Its yellowed pages were filled with old stories she had known since childhood—tales of heroes and monsters, of bargains struck in darkness.
Elizabeth Tillman woke up famous.
Rumors of the beautiful servant favored by the Empress herself spread through the capital like wildfire through dry grass.
The whispers intensified after she had openly opposed Juliet from the very first day of her arrival.
Society, which had long harbored hostility toward Juliet Moned, greeted this development with undisguised enthusiasm.
"This way, Miss Elizabeth!
Please, come in!"
In truth, Elizabeth occupied a position far closer to that of a personal physician than a common court servant.
The Empress praised her abilities tirelessly, and her apparent rivalry with Juliet Moned only fueled the court's fascination.
"Since Elizabeth arrived, I've finally been able to sleep peacefully!
What an absolute blessing she's been!"
Thus Elizabeth Tillman integrated herself into high society with remarkable ease.
And through this access, she learned everything—every rumor, every secret, every weakness worth exploiting.
"Who exactly is this...
Juliet Moned?"
"Countess Moned?"
A mocking chuckle rippled through the gathered ladies.
"Ah, *her*..."
For several years now, Juliet Moned had served as society's favorite target for slander.
"One must give her credit for sheer persistence, at least."
"She's been chasing the Duke of Carlisle for *years*," two noblewomen exchanged knowing glances, their fans fluttering.
"So relentlessly determined—one could scarcely imagine anything more pathetic."
Elizabeth, who had been listening silently to their chatter, inclined her head with practiced grace.
"So they've already parted ways?"
"Well... it's not quite that simple.
The situation is rather complicated."
"*Some* say they've separated," one woman confirmed.
"But at the last ball..."
The voices trailed into sudden silence.
Those who had attended that ball remembered all too well: the Duke of Carlisle had drawn his sword, barely containing his fury, his eyes promising violence.
"Exactly.
That's where the strangeness lies."
"So... they *haven't* actually ended things?"
"The Duke never returned to women he had discarded.
Never.
But suddenly..."
"Indeed.
Juliet Moned pursued him for *seven years*.
Seven long, humiliating years, never tiring of seeking his attention."
"It was simply painful to witness.
A woman should possess at least a *shred* of dignity!"
The crowd chattered animatedly, voices layering over one another—until Elizabeth's gaze slid toward the entrance.
At that precise moment, everyone fell silent and turned in the same direction.
The very Juliet Moned they had just been condemning in whispers stood framed in the doorway.
"She has no shame whatsoever."
"And here she comes again..."
Ignoring the disapproving stares that followed her like shadows, Juliet dismounted her horse with fluid grace.
It was customary to arrive at ceremonial events honoring the approaching Great Lent on horseback rather than by carriage—an old tradition meant to demonstrate humility and physical discipline.
Today's gathering was particularly elegant: guests had been personally selected by those closest to the Imperial family, or drawn from descendants of the most ancient noble houses.
It was the formal reception for the delegation from Lucerne.
"Elizabeth possesses an *incredible* gift of healing," the Empress proclaimed the moment Juliet appeared in the arena.
She praised Elizabeth with obvious pleasure, surrounded by fawning courtiers and foreign ambassadors.
"I witnessed with my own eyes how she aided the suffering in Varena.
Such a kind and gentle soul."
"You flatter me, Your Majesty."
Elizabeth lowered her eyes with practiced modesty.
"I merely did what anyone with my abilities would have done."
Although the gift of healing among laypeople was considered rare, it was not impossible.
But Juliet's mind kept returning to her memories... to *that* day.
When fear for her unborn child had seized her throat like iron fingers.
When it seemed there was no way out, no path forward, no hope remaining.
The only one who had extended a helping hand to the desperate, fleeing Juliet... was Dahlia.