You Are Gentle, But You Don’t Love Me - Chapter 1

“Has it been three years?”

“No.”

When he had left, it was early spring. The sunlight was pale, and the wind still carried traces of winter.

“It’s been a little longer.”

Now, upon his return, the scene before him was one of dazzling early summer.

“Well, summer is nearly here,” she remarked.

“Indeed.”

Three years. And then some.

It had been a long time since his last return.
“I didn’t think we’d make it back so soon.”

Elia, his lieutenant, riding beside him, kept up the conversation.

“Are you disappointed?”

“Of course not.”

Elia’s tone, befitting a soldier who had spent years wandering the seas, was formal and slightly stiff. Yet even that couldn’t fully mask the undercurrent of joy in his voice.

‘And why wouldn’t he be?’

For men who spent their lives adrift, the chance to step onto their homeland again was always cause for celebration. As the only Sardinian among Cassio’s lieutenants, Elia had more reason than most to rejoice.

“I’m glad we made it back before summer. In Sardinia, we call it the season of blessings.”

“Do you?”

“The weather has to be perfect for it.”

And perfect it was.

The sunlight spilled through the plane trees lining the road, scattering in golden fragments. The dappled light danced across Cassio’s face as he rode leisurely.

Early summer’s sunlight was always brilliant and golden. Out of habit, Cassio squinted against it, as sailors often did.

“…I see.”

The sunlight on the ever-rolling waves had been just as blinding. But aboard a ship surrounded by endless seas, that golden light never felt comforting.

Under the vast, empty sky, the sunlight’s relentless brilliance could wound the eyes. Stare at it too long, and faint red and blue afterimages burned into the mind, refusing to fade.

Perhaps that was why, on days of such glaring sunlight, Cassio often found himself sleepless, tossing and turning late into the night.

But here in Sardinia, the sunlight felt different. Its broken, shimmering rays seemed softer, even gentle.

It was the kind of light that felt as though, if he reached out, he might actually catch it.

“Colonel?”

Cassio raised a hand as if to grasp the sunlight, then let it fall.

“It’s nothing.”

What a foolish gesture. He had known it was impossible from the start. All that lingered in his clenched fist was a faint warmth, a ghost of the light he’d tried to catch.

Such was the nature of this sunlight—fleeting, leaving behind only a soft warmth where it touched.

‘Ah, yes.’

The sunlight of Sardinia reminded him of Juliet.

“The Duchess will surely be delighted. After all, her husband has finally returned,” Elia remarked with a grin.

“Will she?”

At Elia’s innocent remark, Cassio gave a wry smile and lightly waved his bandaged right arm. Elia’s expression quickly turned sheepish.

“Oh, no, that’s not what I meant…”

Despite his impressive skills as a soldier and sailor, Elia was still young. Born the third son of a noble family in Logudoro, with ties to the infamous Paspari pirates, he had embraced life at sea as his destiny. But moments like this reminded Cassio how inexperienced he truly was.

“I just meant… it must be exciting to see her again. You barely had time to enjoy your honeymoon before heading off to war.”
“I know. I was only teasing.”

Cassio chuckled, watching Elia’s sunburned cheeks flush with embarrassment.

Would Juliet truly be happy? Would the mere return of a husband who had spent only five days and nights with her before vanishing make her glad?

“Your parents must be the ones truly overjoyed. I’ve worked their precious son to the bone for far too long.”

“Precious? Hardly. My mother says I’m useless the moment my feet touch solid ground.”

“‘Useless,’ huh?”

“Oh, it’s just something she says,” Elia replied with a sheepish grin.

“A Corsican phrase?”

“No, it’s Lurian. But they probably use it in Corsica too.”
Whether it was because he was a Sardinian native or because he had grown up roaming the seas, Elia often dropped words that Cassio couldn’t immediately place as Sardinian or Corsican.
Born and raised in mainland Aragon, Cassio still struggled to fully understand the nuances of Elia’s speech.

“My Sardinian has improved, but I still can’t figure out the dialects.”

“You’re doing more than fine. Honestly, you speak as if you’ve lived in Sardinia for years.”

“Flattery doesn’t suit you, Lieutenant.”

“I’m serious, sir. You even know Sassariano. These days, even Sardinian kids don’t understand that.”

“Guess I’m no child anymore. What a shame.”

Elia let out a booming laugh, the kind only a sailor could muster. His laughter startled a flock of birds, sending them fluttering into the sky.

As the faint sound of their wings faded into the distance, Cassio allowed himself a small smile.

“What’s so great about being a child?”

“You wouldn’t know, sir. You’re too old to remember.”

“Do I look like a child to you?”

They rode their horses at an easy pace, exchanging idle banter. Then, suddenly—

‘The scent of water.’

It wasn’t the sharp, salty tang of seawater that lingered faintly as they moved further from the harbor. This was something different—cleaner, fresher.

‘Is there a spring nearby?’

Cassio furrowed his brow slightly, something faint stirring in his memory. With his expression still creased, he narrowed his eyes.

Through his half-lidded gaze, he saw a small square coming into view in the distance.

‘Ah, that’s right.’

A fountain stood in that square. For an island surrounded by the sea, it was extravagantly large, bordering on excessive.
“A… fountain?”

Elia stared at the rapidly approaching structure, his voice tinged with surprise.

“Was that always here?”

“They must’ve built it recently.”

The rhythmic clip-clop of hooves slowed as they neared the fountain. Elia circled it on horseback, his eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“Three years away, and it feels like a lifetime. All this has changed…”

The paving stones beneath their hooves were pristine, without a crack in sight, gleaming as if they’d just been laid.

“Yes, it has been a long time,” Cassio said quietly. Longer and farther than he had imagined.

He swallowed the rest of his thoughts and gestured with his chin.

“Save the sightseeing for later. Let’s get home.”

“Yes, sir…” Elia replied, a hint of reluctance in his tone.

“You’ve returned safe and sound, a hero. They’ll be thrilled.”

Elia turned toward Cassio, raising a fist to his chest in a quick, informal salute.

“I’ll visit your estate later, sir.”

“No need.”

“Well, I suppose I’d only be in the way if I did.”

“Exactly. Stay home and practice that Corsican dialect I can’t understand.”

Elia burst into laughter, the hearty sound echoing through the square. Cassio watched his cheerful lieutenant for a moment, threw a few more teasing remarks his way, and finally turned his horse toward the road ahead.

Cassio spurred his horse into a gallop, the sound of hooves kicking up clouds of dust in his wake.

“Because only you call me by my name.”
Her voice echoed in his mind, soft and clear, as if he’d heard it just moments ago—or perhaps as a distant memory, blurred by time.

“Everyone talks about love as if it’s something extraordinary, like a divine fate or a sacred duty… something that overflows.”
“But for me…”

He pulled gently on the reins, slowing his horse. Only then did the view spread out before him.

Hills blanketed with wild grass and flowers, a small grove of trees clustered together, barely taller than a person.

Familiar, yet strangely distant—like something seen in a dream.
It had been just three years.

But it felt as though he’d wandered a faraway land for an eternity before finding his way back.

“Come back safely… to Sardinia.”

Her soft brown eyes, her lush curls of the same color, her slight frame.

All of it seemed achingly distant, and for a moment, he found himself short of breath.

“I’ll be waiting…”

Cassio urged his horse forward again, quickening his pace. A wave of impatience swelled within him.

“…I have to go.”

The road flanked by plane trees gave way to a narrow bridge over a shallow stream, then fields of wildflowers and rolling hills. Past the small grove, past the spring—there it was.

On the distant hill, crowned in sunlight, stood a castle of gray-brown stone nestled within a forest of silver poplars.
Cagliari.

No, Escalus.

＊ ＊ ＊
The entire household of Escalus stood gathered before the castle gates. At the very front of the line, Juliet tilted her head slightly as she watched the road.

‘The sea is out of view.’

It was a fact she already knew, yet she felt a twinge of disappointment. She hadn’t seen the sea in so long.

It had been three years—and several months more—since Juliet had last stepped beyond the castle walls. From within, the sea was impossible to glimpse.

Instead, what filled her vision was the endless golden sunlight and the vibrant green of flourishing new growth.

The familiar summer of Sardinia.

The sunlight pooled on the deep green leaves of the silver poplars surrounding the castle, gathering until it dripped, drop by drop, to the ground below.
“Isn’t it hot, my lady?”

“No, I’m fine,” Juliet replied, brushing off her maid’s concern.
She wasn’t the type to grow dizzy from a bit of sunlight.
“It would be better if there was a breeze…”

“Yes, that would be nice,” Juliet agreed lightly.

If there had been a breeze, the trees would have whispered their familiar rustling, a sound reminiscent of waves.

But in the early summer of Sardinia, the wind was rare.

“It’s fine. It’s a good day, isn’t it?”

Juliet smiled faintly at her maid, then turned her gaze forward again. Her own words echoed softly in her mind.

‘A good day.’

It wasn’t untrue.

A day of endless early summer sunlight. A good day.

The day Cassio Bellanea Escalus—her husband—returned.

‘But…’

A return meant coming back to where one belonged.

So was this truly a return for Cassio Bellanea Escalus?

‘No, it couldn’t be,’ Juliet thought calmly.

The man who had left without so much as a promise to return.