With that, Juliet turned her head. Wearily turning her body, the woman said, “I’m sorry, but I’d like to rest now.”
Enoch noticed a subtle change in her mood; however, since he couldn’t know the direct reason, he could only speculate that she was simply exhausted.
It was a reasonable assumption. After all, a frail person who had been crying since dawn and fainted would naturally be exhausted beyond imagination.
Yes, since dawn.
How did she happen to wake up at that time? Enoch didn’t know. As far as he knew, Juliet’s days began only after the sun was fully up.
But what happened today exactly?
Did she have a bad dream? Did she dream of his death? The thought crossed his mind, but it was a ridiculous notion. Why would Juliet be sad over his death when he was nothing to her?
If he died, Juliet would gain her freedom. She could return to the country where she was born and raised, living in the embrace of her loving family.
Perhaps she could even remarry. Just his death alone wouldn’t close off such possibilities for her; she was too radiant for that.
Maybe she could choose a decent man from her own country.
Despite the discomfort it brought, Enoch wished for Juliet to live that way—doing and enjoying everything, happier than anyone else.
Of course, this would require his death first.
If it were a justifiable death, no one could object. As Enoch walked back to his study, he pondered. If the separation was rational enough that even Kinas and his retainers couldn’t say a word, Juliet could regain all her freedom without a blemish.
But such a method didn’t exist yet.
In any case, the point was that his mere death shouldn’t make Juliet grieve.
In fact, nothing about him could make her sad.
Nevertheless, despite all this, Juliet looked truly mournful at dawn, which puzzled Enoch.
It seemed like he was the cause, but if asked what exactly about him had made her so unsettled, he had no answer.
In the end, Juliet couldn’t return to her bedroom that day.
As soon as he left, her fever began to rise as if it had been waiting.
Initially mild, the fever soon escalated alarmingly, rendering her unable to even raise a hand without trembling. All she could do was hold on to her throbbing body and suffer.
The maids, who couldn’t even catch their breath, administered medicine and wiped away her sweat as she moaned beside them. Juliet, who was irritated by even this, reflexively lashed out at them, but the maids, who were accustomed to caring for their frequently ailing madam, skillfully soothed her.
But the fever refused to go down. Juliet, in her dazed state, desperately called for people who couldn’t possibly come: her brother, Driene, and her father, saying she was in pain.
However, the only ones who answered her were the maids who had accompanied her from Rosenta.
They held her trembling hand and whispered in their native language, “Princess, you’ll soon feel better. Please endure a little longer.”
Juliet realized they were imitating her brother, Driene. Whenever Juliet, a much younger sister, fell ill, Driene would always hold her hand.
However, imitating someone’s actions only serves to remind one of their absence.
Still, Juliet couldn’t push their hands away. She was too sick to do so. Like anyone who is sick, she feels terribly lonely—a loneliness that doesn’t go away even when you have someone by your side.
Juliet squeezed her eyes tightly shut, shivering from the chill the fever brought. She had also fallen ill when she first arrived in this land.
₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊
She was nineteen.
To be precise, she turned nineteen on her way to Hervental, the man’s estate.
Originally, the schedule had been different, but many things were delayed due to her fragile health.
This caused the man great distress. He grew increasingly anxious as her birthday approached, and when she ended up celebrating her birthday on the journey, he repeatedly bowed his head in apology.
He had promised to host a splendid birthday banquet upon their arrival at the mansion. He had said he would give her anything she wanted.
Juliet lashed out at him as if he were a great sinner.
“What can you possibly do for me?”
The question was clearly meant to be offensive. Juliet glared at him, filled with irritation. She wanted to hurt him in any way possible.
However, despite the clear hostility, the man responded steadfastly. “Shall I give you an island? How about the sea? There are ancient royal jewels. If there is anything else you desire, I will procure it for you.”
So just say the word.
He didn’t add the last sentence, but everyone present knew the omitted afterword.
And among them was Juliet, who, as soon as she realized it, couldn’t contain her boiling anger.
“Oh, is that so? Then bring my brother to me right away. It’s been almost two months since I last saw him.”
She knew it was a meaningless demand, but she said it anyway.
She was already outside Rosenta’s borders. It would take even a well-trained horseman a week to get from the capital to where she was, and that was only if he rode his horse to death.
In addition, Driene was a crown prince. The heir to the throne of a kingdom could not easily leave the capital in case of any unforeseen circumstances.
Despite being aware of all these facts, Juliet said it. At that moment, she felt she could do anything, as long as it made the other person uncomfortable.
And he must have known that.
Yet the man, though perplexed, did not say it was impossible.
“I will send a letter as soon as we arrive at Hervental.”
Hervental was the name of his estate. Juliet snorted.
“Do you really think that will make my brother come?”
“I will do my best.”
“What difference do you think your efforts will make?”
Are you going to drag your brother like you did to me? As she said this, Juliet almost cried. She was more upset than sad.
She loathed the man. She was furious at being deceived, resentful of having trusted him, and sorrowful at not being able to resist. It was a form of coercion she had never experienced before in her life. The fact that it was happening was even more unnatural.
So, without any sense of guilt, she blamed him. Bringing her brother here would be quite difficult. Her father only had two children, so her brother must inherit the throne.
Ah, if he starts a war, it’s possible. Lead an army, and tell them to act wisely if they don’t want to live as royalty in a ruined country. Is that the kind of ‘effort’ he’s talking about—to threaten him to crawl out on his own?
After yelling like that, she should have felt relieved, but strangely, she didn’t feel that way at all. It had just been frustrating from start to finish.
So instead of getting angrier, Juliet turned her head away.
“Leave. I don’t want anything you’re offering. I don’t need a banquet.”
After all, you can’t give me what I truly want.
Not many would be able to stay in their seats after hearing those words.
The man behaved like most people would. Juliet didn’t look back at him as he left the room without making any excuses.
Soon enough, they reached their destination, and all the things he had said he would do for her became unnecessary. Juliet had fallen ill, just as if she had been waiting for it.
Of course, it wasn’t the first time for her, as she had frequently suffered from fevers since childhood, but it was the first for the man.
Many doctors came and went, and all kinds of medicines were brought in. Even as she deliriously suffered from the fever, Juliet thought the man who had arranged all of this was pretentious.
It was a fever that she suffered once a year, anyway.
She was the one suffering, and she was the one who had to overcome it, so why was he making such a fuss?
But the man acted as if she were dying. He kept begging for forgiveness by her bedside and promised to give her anything she wanted if she just got better.
Juliet didn’t want to hear it, so she told him to leave. Though her voice was weak from the fever, and her hand barely had the strength to push, it still had an effect.
After that day, the man never came back whenever she had a fever.
It wasn’t because he didn’t care. Juliet could tell from the flowers he sent her that he did. To be able to react so quickly, he must have been focusing all his attention on her.
When she recovered, Juliet would repeatedly reject the flowers the man sent, taking out her anger on them. Strangely, she didn’t feel any better. She felt strangely uncomfortable, even though she was doing what she wanted.
But it didn’t change anything. She soon buried her discomfort, determined to hate him even more than she already did.
Until he died,
