You Are Gentle, But You Don’t Love Me - Chapter 33

That evening, instead of going down to the dining hall, Juliet had a quiet meal alone in her chambers.

Not for any particular reason.

If she had to justify it—well, she felt like she might choke if she had to eat while sitting across from Cassio.

That gaze of his…

Even with Elijah present, it made no difference.

Cassio did not ignore Elijah, but he certainly didn’t spare him even half as much attention as he gave to Juliet.

No—more accurately, he spent the entire meal looking only at her.

Of course, Cassio had always been that way.

Whenever they were together, his pale green eyes were always on her.

She had long since grown accustomed to his gaze.

Or so she had thought.

Maybe… he really does like me.

But ever since the idea had taken root in her mind, his gaze had become unbearable.

For the first time, Juliet realized that a person’s gaze could have weight, texture, even warmth.

The way his eyes brushed against her nape made her skin tingle.

Her cheeks grew hot.

Really… maybe…

After dinner, she had taken a long bath.

With droplets still falling from her damp hair, she returned to her room and sat by the window, reading as she waited for it to dry.

She had read the book so many times that the pages hardly held her interest anymore.

“…”

So instead, she simply listened.

Before long, the sound of slow, measured footsteps echoed up the staircase.

The footsteps paused once—then resumed, approaching gradually.

And soon, a voice, warm with laughter, filtered through the door.

“Juliet, if you sleep with wet hair, you’ll catch a cold.”

“…It’s dry now.”

“Make sure you close your window before bed.”

“Yes.”

Lately, Cassio had taken to bidding her goodnight every evening.

He never knocked, never opened the door—

He simply spoke from the other side.

“Sweet dreams, as always.”

Thanks to him, Juliet had also learned that a person’s voice could have warmth.

Like a feather brushing against her skin.

Like the golden glow of twilight.

That was how Cassio’s voice felt.

“…You too, Your Majesty.”

“Haha, yes.”

Juliet pressed down the words that threatened to spill out and returned his farewell.

His footsteps faded down the hall.

Only then was her nightly routine truly complete.

And yet, she remained seated by the window a while longer.

Tonight, for some reason, her chest felt uneasy.

Perhaps it was the night air drifting through the slightly open window.

Or perhaps it was something else.

A strange premonition.

As though the peaceful summer night was merely the calm before a storm.

“Your Majesty! Duchess…!”

Premonitions like that were never wrong.

A young maid’s voice called out from beyond the door—hushed yet urgent.

From the adjacent chamber, where Juliet’s attendants rested at night, she heard the rustle of someone rising quickly.

There was a brief exchange of hushed words—

Then, a knock.

“Your Majesty, are you awake?”

Should I pretend to be asleep?

The thought crossed her mind.

If she acted as though she had already fallen asleep, perhaps she could delay whatever this was.

Whatever this uneasy feeling in her chest was.

“…Wait a moment.”

But in the end, she didn’t.

Instead, she stalled for just a few extra seconds.

She retied the knot of her robe, adjusted the slipper barely clinging to her foot—

Then, finally, walked to the door.

“…What is it?”

As expected, two maids stood in the hall, their faces drawn tight with apprehension.

One was young, someone who normally wouldn’t even be allowed on the noble’s floor.

The other was older, assigned to attend Juliet at night.

And—

Cassio.

“Juliet.”

“…Your Majesty.”

Almost at the same moment she opened her door, he had stepped out from across the hall.

Had he been unable to sleep?

Or had he never gone to bed at all?

Had he been reading, only to hear the commotion and step out as she had?

His silk robe, perfect without a single crease, gave nothing away.

“A guest… a guest has arrived,” the young maid stammered, visibly rattled.

But before Juliet could ask who, Cassio spoke first.

“I’ll go.”

“But, at this hour…?”

“It’s—It’s the Marchioness of Arborea!”

The young maid’s urgent outburst silenced Juliet immediately.

Cassio, too, let out a small, exasperated laugh.

“I won’t be long.”

＊ ＊ ＊

Late at night, a tea table had been set in Juliet’s chambers.

Of the two teacups placed upon it, one remained empty.

The other, sitting in front of Juliet, was still half-full—but she had yet to take even a sip.

She merely gazed at the steam rising from the cup, lost in thought.

Her mind was elsewhere—beyond the closed door.

“That can’t be right.”

That had been Juliet’s first thought upon hearing the maid’s announcement—

That Marchioness Rosalyn Arborea had arrived.

Rosalyn was now the head of her house. She could no longer live recklessly as she had in her youth.

Besides… not yet.

Since that day, the two of them had not crossed paths again.

Even at the ball in Rogodoro, they hadn’t exchanged so much as a greeting before parting ways.

So there was no reason—no way—that Rosalyn would travel all the way to Escalus at this hour, unannounced.

Unless something had happened.

Something very, very serious.

And yet, Cassio had yet to return.

It had been a long time since he had descended the stairs—long enough for Juliet to have ordered tea and for it to have grown lukewarm in its cup.

“I won’t be long,” he had said.

And yet, he was still not back.

Could something have actually…? No, that’s impossible.

Her heartbeat quickened with unease.

To calm herself, Juliet began counting the beats.

One hundred twenty-one. One hundred twenty-two…

She lost track several times, starting over again and again.

At last—

Footsteps.

“…!”

Juliet sprang from her chair and rushed out of her room.

Leaning over the balustrade, she gripped the railing tightly, her nightgown fluttering around her ankles.

“…Juliet, really.”

Cassio, mid-step on the stairs, looked up at her with faint surprise before his lips curled into a smile.

But Juliet—

She could not bring herself to smile back.

“You… What happened, I mean—”

“Calm down.”

Cassio ascended the stairs in quick, easy strides.

“You were waiting all this time?”

“I… what—”

Her pulse still raced. She barely had time to gather her thoughts before he reached her.

And then—

Cassio reached out.

Not to take her hand—

But to gather a handful of her hair between his fingers.

“You said your hair was dry.”

…A lie.

With her thick, naturally wavy locks, it always took ages for her hair to fully dry.

Even now, this late into the night, a faint dampness clung to the strands.

But Cassio paid no mind.

He merely lifted the ends to his lips.

“It smells like lavender.”

“…”

“I like it.”

He murmured the words as if to himself, then grinned.

Just like that—

In an instant, Juliet had lost the ability to speak.

The restless urgency pounding in her chest faded, pushed aside by his touch and his words.

Gently, he turned her toward her chamber.

“You should rest. We can talk later—”

But as he stepped inside, he stopped.

His gaze fell upon the tea table.

His expression shifted slightly.

“Two cups. One of them was for me?”

Juliet could not bring herself to lie.

“…”

“No, I suppose not.”

Only after he answered himself did she realize she should have said something.

But Cassio didn’t seem to mind.

Instead, he pulled out a chair for her and gestured for her to sit.

Then, after taking the seat across from her, he frowned slightly—as if displeased.

And without hesitation, he rose again.

“Ah—wait—”

Before Juliet could stop him, he picked up her teacup and unceremoniously poured out its contents through the open window.

“I made you wait longer than I thought.”

He spoke so nonchalantly, as if this were the most natural thing in the world.

Placing the now-empty cup before her, he lifted the teapot and refilled it with fresh, steaming tea.

“Even if it wasn’t meant for me, I can still have a cup, can’t I?”

And, as though nothing at all had happened, he poured himself one as well.

The two cups filled with a pale, shimmering brew, their soft fragrance curling into the air.

At last—

Juliet exhaled, some of the tension leaving her shoulders.

Not entirely, but at least partially.

“If it really was Rosalyn who came…”

Her voice came out softer than she intended.

“I would have expected her to come straight to me.”

Cassio chuckled.

“Ah. So that’s why.”

His gaze flickered toward the tea table once more before he lifted an eyebrow playfully.

The teacup before him—

Unlike Juliet’s, which was plain white porcelain, his was adorned with delicate pink roses.

“…I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. Roses suit me rather well, don’t you think?”

Without hesitation, he lifted the tiny floral cup to his lips.

In his large hands, it looked absurdly small.

And yet—

Somehow, Cassio made it work.

As he himself had said—

It suited him rather well.

“…I suppose so.”

At last, Juliet’s lips curled into a faint smile.

She reached for the teacup she had ignored all evening.

The warmth seeped into her fingertips, carrying the gentle scent of herbs and steam.

The chaos in her mind slowly settled, like tea leaves sinking to the bottom of the cup.

Outside, the night breeze drifted in through the open window.

Once again, all was peaceful.

As if nothing had ever happened.

But if nothing had happened—

Then neither of them would be sitting here like this.

“It was her.”

Cassio’s voice, low and quiet, broke the silence.

“The Marchioness of Arborea has come.”