You Are Gentle, But You Don’t Love Me - Chapter 20
“You were in pain, weren’t you? The whole time—you were suffering.”
Yet Cassio had never once shown any sign of it.
Whenever they strolled together and Juliet stumbled, he would swiftly extend his arm to steady her. When they drank tea, he would lift the heavy water jug himself.
“You never got better. If anything, they said it might have worsened…!”
And that wasn’t all.
He sat perfectly still for hours in a carriage, pretending nothing was wrong. He even attended social gatherings, standing before people, dancing as if he were completely fine.
“You didn’t even receive treatment.”
That night—when they had fled from Logudoro’s hall—she had fallen into his arms in a daze. She still remembered the scent that had clung to him, cool and bitter.
The smell of medicine.
A scent meant solely to numb pain.
“And yet… you call this just overexerting yourself?”
Thinking back, he had been acting strangely from the very beginning today. His suggestion had come out of nowhere, and his actions had felt rushed.
Cassio, who had suddenly lifted her onto the horse without warning. Cassio, who had yanked the reins so that she had no choice but to cling to him. Cassio, who had spurred the horse to run even faster, despite seeing her fear.
Cassio Bellanea.
“How…?”
How had she not noticed?
None of it had been like him.
His body, so close to hers, had burned with fever.
“How…?”
She resented it. Not him—but herself.
She had been right there, and yet she hadn’t realized anything.
That night, she had smelled the medicine on him but only told him they should go home. That afternoon, she had clasped his feverish hand yet wasted the moment, lost in her own ramblings.
She had been by his side all along, but she had never noticed his pain.
“And yet… how?”
How could he have been more concerned about her wounds? How could he have cared about her pain?
‘I don’t understand.’
How…?
‘If there’s anywhere you want to go, anywhere at all, just say the word.’
‘Let’s go together.’
‘Let’s go where you want, see what you want to see. If we spend time like that, one day, you’ll understand too.’
‘Just how kind Juliet Cagliari really is.’
How could he say something like that?
His voice when he said it had been unbearably gentle.
“Juliet? Look at me.”
At the sound of his voice, she slowly lifted her head.
“…Juliet.”
Her vision wavered with unshed tears. Through the blur, she saw his face, twisted with concern.
He had smiled when his own body collapsed from fever, yet now—just because she had a few tears in her eyes—he looked completely at a loss.
“Hic… Hah…”
Juliet took a slow, deep breath.
‘I won’t ruin this moment again.’
But right now—
“…I’m sorry. This isn’t what I meant to say.”
“Don’t say that. You have no reason to apologize, Juliet. So—”
She didn’t know anymore.
Whether Cassio Bellanea was a kind person or not.
But he was certainly cruel.
Because if he weren’t, he wouldn’t have pushed her so suddenly into this abyss of self-reproach.
‘Not that he meant to.’
Which only made it crueler.
“Please, don’t cry.”
They say that excessive kindness is indistinguishable from cruelty.
“I just… wanted to tell you to recover soon.”
She had thought the same thing when she first rushed into the room.
She couldn’t bear it anymore.
“I’ll take my leave now. I’ll send for Juan.”
She hastily threw out the words and turned away.
Her shadow stretched long behind her as she hurried out of the room.
＊＊＊
“Juan.”
She had skipped dinner entirely—something she usually only picked at anyway—and locked herself in the study.
But late into the night, she finally called for Juan.
“My Lady—ah, no… I mean.”
He had been the Cagliari family’s physician since Juliet was a child. Even after Cagliari Castle had been renamed Escalus, even after the masters he had served for generations had left Sardinia, he had stayed behind.
“Duchess.”
“Call me whatever you like, Juan.”
One of the new masters of this house had barely stayed long enough for him to examine his health before leaving on another campaign.
The other—though she looked delicate—almost never fell ill.
Because of that, Juan had spent his days tending to minor injuries among the servants and treating the occasional cold, leading a rather peaceful existence.
At least, until Cassio returned.
“But—”
“This isn’t the time for that.”
Cassio had not brought a single physician back with him from the grand court of Aragon. Instead, Juan had been the one tending to him all this time, slipping in and out of his chambers.
“Tell me.”
Juan’s face was grim as he repeated what he had said earlier—that Cassio’s collapse hadn’t been entirely unexpected.
He looked devastated. But not entirely surprised.
“Tell me everything about his injuries—from beginning to end. So I can understand.”
At the very least, Juan knew the extent of Cassio’s wounds.
Juliet had simply assumed they weren’t that serious. She had never once asked Juan what had happened to him.
Looking back, it was a heartless thing to do.
And the weight of that realization now crashed down on her.
This was the price of her indifference.
‘So now, I need to know the truth.’
Perhaps it was because everything had been so overwhelming. Juliet had barely understood half of what she had overheard outside Cassio’s room.
“…Tell me.”
Even if it was late, she had to ask.
“What exactly happened? Where was he injured, and how is he now? What’s his prognosis?”
“My Lady…”
“The Duchess.”
It hadn’t been long since she had told Juan to call her whatever he wanted, yet Juliet deliberately corrected his words.
“I am the Duchess.”
Her unwavering amber eyes reflected the image of the old physician, his hair now completely white.
When she had been a child, even the slightest fever had made Juan fret over her as if she were his own granddaughter. Even after she became the mistress of Escalus, he had cared for her with sincerity.
Yet despite that lifelong devotion, they were still master and servant—bound by duty and responsibility.
Even as she watched Juan’s face turn deathly pale, Juliet did not so much as flinch.
“…Yes, of course, Your Grace.”
He conceded.
“The Duke’s injury is a gunshot wound.”
Juan spoke cautiously, his face filled with concern, as if afraid she might not be able to handle the truth.
“A bullet lodged in his right shoulder…”
The story he told was not as severe as she had feared. At least, not compared to the anxious look on his face.
“…It didn’t pass through completely.”
But it wasn’t good either.
The bullet had shattered the bone in his right shoulder. It had lodged itself between the fragments of broken bone and torn flesh.
“If he hadn’t received proper treatment on the mainland, there would have been nothing I could do. Here in Cagliari—no, in all of Sardinia—we lack the medicine and the expertise to treat such wounds.”
It was a wound he could have died from. No, one so severe that his survival seemed nothing short of a miracle.
The very man who had leapt off his horse and smiled as if nothing had happened—his injury had been that grave.
And even worse, when his wound began to heal and the bones started fusing together…
“The fragments didn’t set properly. His shoulder had to be broken again and reset.”
It was a procedure Juan had never performed before. Had Cassio not been treated on the mainland, he could have been left crippled.
“For a while, he was recovering well.”
Until he started moving again.
Cassio had refused further treatment.
“Still, it could have been worse. He’s endured thanks to his naturally strong constitution.”
“…”
“If he follows through with proper care, he’ll be able to live as he did before, without issue.”
Juliet remained silent the entire time.
Sensing her unease, Juan added a few gentle words of reassurance.
“So please, don’t worry too much. He truly will recover.”
And what was she supposed to do after hearing that?
Was she expected to burst into tears and run to his bedside? Or should she have gasped in shock and collapsed on the spot?
As the wife of a man who had suffered such a serious injury, what was the appropriate—natural—reaction?
‘I don’t know.’
She had no idea.
“Perhaps…”
“Yes?”
“…No, never mind. Go.”
“Pardon?”
“Go tend to the Duke. Request whatever medicine you need from the steward.”
Juliet merely blinked a few times before dismissing him, instructing him to return to Cassio’s side.
“…Yes, then.”
Juan gave her a long, searching look before finally obeying her order and heading toward the Duke’s chambers.
“Haa…”
Only then did Juliet let out the breath she had been holding.
The tension she had forced upon herself, the effort to maintain an authority she never truly possessed, finally left her shoulders.
She sank into the armchair, drawing her knees close to her chest. The supple, well-worn leather embraced her silently.
Even so, she felt cold.
Her pale face was void of expression—like a lifeless doll.
‘Are you curious about war?’
Her eyelids fluttered as she trembled slightly.
Shattered bones. Torn flesh. A bullet lodged deep inside.
Had there even been time for him to drink strong liquor before someone pried it out of him?
A shoulder that had to be broken again—so he wouldn’t be crippled for life.
‘It must have hurt.’
It must have been agonizing. Not just physically—but emotionally as well.
‘Or… are you curious about me?’
Cassio Bellanea had once been one of the finest marksmen in all of Aragon. A man like that, suffering an injury so severe that even he had been helpless against it.
He was lucky to be alive, but after that, another thought must have crept into his mind.
The possibility that he would never use his arm the same way again.
‘At least you must be happy.’
Juan had tried to comfort her. He had said that with proper care, Cassio would recover. That in time, he would be able to live as he always had.
‘Joy always outweighs sorrow.’
Juan was wrong.
Cassio Bellanea would never live as he had before. Never.
But even if Juliet knew that—what difference would it make?