You Are Gentle, But You Don’t Love Me - Chapter 27

As with most castles, Escalus Castle had several courtyards within its walls. Though each courtyard varied in theme, they were all meticulously maintained to align with their designated aesthetics.

The scene stood in stark contrast to the rear garden, where lemon, orange, and pomegranate trees grew in a seemingly haphazard manner across the wide hill.

Juliet had no particular desire to take in the scenery anew, yet she found herself walking towards one of the courtyards rather than the rear garden.

“Wow…”

Upon reaching her destination, Juliet let out a soft murmur of admiration.

Short cypress trees lined the edges like a natural fence, encircling a vast expanse of flourishing lavender. Under the summer sun, clusters of pale purple blossoms spread over the vivid green like strokes of watercolor.

It was a sight that felt refreshing just to look at.

Yet, more than the view, it was the scent that stood out—the crisp fragrance of fresh grass, undiminished even under the blazing sun. A cool yet subtly sweet floral aroma lingered in the air.

If sleepless nights are troubling him, this should help.

After all, the scent of lavender and cypress had a peculiar way of soothing one’s mind.

Juliet, too, had once placed sachets filled with dried lavender beside her bed when she struggled with sleep.

It had never been a magical cure that instantly sent her into slumber, but at the very least, it had kept her from staying awake through the entire night.

Drying and preserving flowers or leaves was a small pastime of hers. She had stopped ever since a maid had mistakenly thrown away her carefully dried collection…

“That’s fine.”

The weather was nice, after all.

Day after day, the sun continued to shine relentlessly, unbothered by exhaustion. The occasional shower never lasted long—just enough to momentarily cool the heat.

A summer where even the salty sea breeze dried up in an instant, leaving no trace of moisture in the air.

It’s fine. It’ll be easy.

All she had to do was place them in a well-ventilated shady spot. Turning them over once or twice a day, she would have beautifully dried lavender within a few days.

“Hmm…”

Standing in the slanting sunlight, Juliet hesitated for a moment. Should she cut the stems long and tie them into a bouquet, or shorten them into small bundles?

The former would make a lovely dried bouquet, while the latter was perfect for sachets. If it were for her own use, she wouldn’t hesitate to make sachets.

“But perhaps a bouquet would be better for the princess?”

Recalling the nickname she had overheard days ago, Juliet chuckled softly before bending down.

Picking flowers was a rather tedious task, but the thought of Cassio, sleeping with a bouquet hanging by his bedside like a princess, made it oddly amusing.

Her fingertips, unknowingly, became stained with a faint blue—perhaps from the flower or the grass. Immersed in the fresh scent, she continued plucking stems until her arms were filled with lavender.

“Oh…”

Just then, a dazed voice broke the silence.

Straightening her back, she turned toward the sound and saw Elijah standing there.

“Ah, Elijah.”

“…Duchess.”

Elijah, looking somewhat lost, slowly approached her. When Juliet extended a hand, his forehead—dark curls tumbling over it—brushed against the back of her fingers before pulling away.

His face was strangely flushed.

“The heat must be stifling, isn’t it?”

“Yes… It is.”

“Are you faring well?”

Adjusting the bundle of flowers in her arms, Juliet inquired.

She felt slightly self-conscious about personally picking flowers despite her title as the duchess, but surely, there were noblewomen everywhere who enjoyed arranging flowers in vases. It wasn’t too unusual.

“Yes, I am… More importantly, I’m relieved to see that you seem to be well, Duchess.”

“Hm?”

“At the ball… I heard you left in a hurry because you weren’t feeling well.”

“Ah.”

So that’s the excuse they came up with. Cassio must have handled everything swiftly before she even knew about it.

To think he had used her as an excuse when he was the one who had been truly unwell.

“I’m fine. It was just a brief bout of dizziness. But thank you for your concern.”

“I see…”

Juliet suppressed the flicker of annoyance that briefly surfaced. After all, her condition had been far from perfect that night. It wasn’t as if she could take out her frustration on Cassio now—especially when he was likely fast asleep, oblivious to everything.

“It’s not me you should be worried about—ah, that reminds me, Elijah.”

“Yes?”

“You haven’t asked about the Duke’s injury.”

As she recalled her favorite place in the castle—the library, with its cool air and faint scent of dust—an image of Cassio sleeping on the couch surfaced in her mind. He had been lying there, resting his head on a cushion she had placed earlier.

His shoulder had been wrapped in bandages.

Back in Logodoro, he had shown up in perfect condition, even assuring her that he had fully recovered. Yet now…

However, Elijah did not seem surprised at the sight of Cassio.

Though, given the circumstances, it wasn’t something he would have had the time to react to.

“Well, it wasn’t an injury that would heal easily. Frankly, the surprising part was seeing him appear at the ball as if nothing had happened.”

“That’s what I thought…”

Elijah must have known about Cassio’s injury long beforehand—unlike Juliet, who had been oblivious until the moment he collapsed.

“He rarely let it show, even when he sustained minor wounds in battle. So, I simply assumed it was the same this time.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, though he was never injured this gravely before. To think that it happened just as the war was coming to an end… I’m not sure whether to call it fortunate or unfortunate.”

Elijah’s previously curt speech stretched out again, his words flowing at length.

Whenever it involved Cassio, it was always like this—proof that his admiration ran deeper than mere respect. He could speak endlessly, recounting Cassio’s achievements with such intricate detail that Juliet had even learned a few things she hadn’t known about him. The conversation had only been cut short when the man himself appeared.

“Hmm…”

Juliet half-listened to Elijah as she mulled over her thoughts. That tea time had been pleasant enough, but it still left her feeling unsatisfied.

She hadn’t heard the one story she wanted to the most.

Would I find out if I asked?

How exactly had he sustained such a grievous wound? What had happened? How had he been before, and what had followed after?

Why was Cassio Bellanea so unreasonably kind to her?

Of course, he was always a kind person.

A small chapel, sunlight filtering through stained glass in flecks of white and gold—

Even upon their first meeting, Cassio had smiled at her gently, as if trying to reassure the stiff and wary girl before him.

Yet, lately, he was different.

His innate kindness alone wasn’t enough to explain the way he behaved now. The way his face twisted into an almost painfully sweet smile whenever their eyes met. The way his gestures, no matter how affectionate, carried a trace of self-destruction.

“Hello, Juliet.”

Even the way he said her name—

There was something off.

Like a piece of candy lodged in her throat or a grain of sand in her shoe, it was small, insignificant even, but persistently irritating.

Was it simply because Juliet had never truly known him before? Or had he changed in the time he had been away?

She couldn’t be certain. But she could guess that Cassio Bellanea had lost something.

Perhaps, in that moment when he had been closest to death, he had let go of something vital.

It could have been his certainty in the future.

Or his will to live.

Or perhaps—

“Go where you wish. See what you want to see. If you do that, one day, you’ll understand.”

The words he had spoken to Juliet so tenderly—had someone once said them to him on a particularly harrowing day?

Someone who was now gone.

Perhaps the odd sense of wrongness Juliet felt stemmed from that loss.

I won’t know unless I ask him directly.

Yet, asking someone what they had lost was far too cruel.

Even if she turned to Elijah for answers, it wasn’t certain she would get any. But—

Maybe, just maybe, I’d find a small clue…

Lost in thought, Juliet didn’t even realize she had been gazing at Elijah intently.

At some point, he had fallen silent as well.

In the lavender-scented courtyard, not even the breeze stirred.

“Elijah, I… I have something to ask—”

Juliet finally mustered the courage to speak, but Elijah appeared strangely tense.

A faint rustling noise, as if leaves were brushing together—though there was no wind.

“Elijah?”

“Juliet.”

A firm arm wrapped around her waist.

It was so natural that, for a split second, she didn’t even register it as strange.

But the arm didn’t stop there—it gently pulled her in.

Her footing faltered, a brief stumble, yet she didn’t fall. The arm encircling her waist held her steady, allowing no room for misstep.

Cassio had caught her.

“Once again, you’ve left me sleeping and run off, my lady.”

His voice dropped just above her forehead, startling Juliet belatedly. Her arms nearly loosened their hold on the bundle of flowers she had gathered so carefully.

Perhaps it was the thought of wasting all the time she had spent plucking the best blooms—but, somehow, she managed to collect herself before they all spilled to the ground.

“What were you doing?”

“…Picking flowers.”

The once neatly gathered bundle had become slightly disheveled from her shock. Cassio plucked one or two stray stems with casual ease.

“You picked all these yourself?”

Even as he spoke, the arm around her waist showed no intention of letting go.

“Yes, but more importantly—”

“Hm? Juliet.”

His voice was warm, thick like honey melting in the sun—too close.

This wasn’t the first time.

There had been moments when she had been pressed against his chest, times when they had held hands while dancing.

Compared to that, being wrapped in his arms with their upper bodies lightly touching was nothing.

Nothing at all—

And yet.

Her head spun.

The arm snug around her waist, the firm press of his chest, the ghost of his lips brushing against her forehead—

“Elijah was—”

“Ah.”

Juliet never finished her sentence.

She didn’t push him away.

Even knowing that someone else could see them like this—she couldn’t.