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Their breaths were shallow and rapid. It was hard to tell who was out of breath. His hand, which had snatched her by the wrist, was even paler than her arm as she blanched.

Even in the most chaotic moments, he was always nearly obsessively caring and in control. Even if he lost control, it was only for a moment. Though he obviously didn't care for his own body, he seemed frightened of the possibility of leaving even the smallest wound on her or causing her the slightest amount of pain.

But right now, he was struggling. He looked completely rattled, almost as though he had lost his mind. The lines of his face, drawn tight, seemed carved from anguish itself.

"Why..." he choked out. He had pulled her close, and it seemed to take all of his self-control not to do anything else in that moment. His eyes were empty and glazed over, as if he didn't realize what he was doing, and he was crying. There were no tears, but grief pooled in every shadowed contour of his expression.

Inés didn't feel even a modicum of pain from his vice grip on her wrist. She was lost. How could she begin to tell him, to lift the burden from his mind? Her own mind was reeling at the sight of her husband breaking down before her.

He had never resented her for what she had done. He blamed himself entirely, even as he asked her how she could have done such a thing. The deep-seated sense of guilt inside him was eating him alive.

Inés stood there helplessly, at a loss for words. You shouldn't have to agonize over this. This is not your fault. I cannot fathom how much of this you have misunderstood, but... She meant to say it all, and yet her lips wouldn't move.

The hunting rifle slipped from his grasp, hitting the ground with a muted thud. His hands, smelling faintly of iron, hovered near her lips before retreating as if he didn't dare to actually touch her.

"Why did you accept something so worthless back into your life?" Cárcel asked weakly, his voice strained. "Why would you even think to touch that thing ever again? Tell me, Inés... why?" His tone grew more and more desperate as he spoke. She couldn't tell whether he was pleading her for an answer that wouldn't come or whether he was punishing himself. The grip on her wrist loosened, and he slowly ran his injured hand down his face. Cárcel's bare chest heaved with the weight of each breath.

He knew something, that much was plain, but he didn't seem to be like her. He wasn't someone who remembered. They were not the same. What else did he know? The thought hung in the back of her mind but fought its way to the forefront. Her other thoughts seemed to freeze in place.

"Why did you not curse and say that it was horrible? You should have just thrown it to the ground..."

Back then, you weren't the one who gave it to me. It wasn't a gift in your name. Even the best gift I ever thought I received from Oscar wasn't from that bastard... Escalante, you fool, this is not worth your guilt. You should not have even known about it. It's enough that I was involved. You have already used up all of your misfortune by becoming my husband again in this life.

"You were the one who said you had never seen it," Inés finally whispered, the strain cracking through her voice. "That wretched man took it from you to offer it to me, and I foolishly flaunted it before you, but... you only smiled. You told me that you had never seen it before, and taught me how to use it properly. I should be asking you the same thing... why?" Her throat burned as her raspy voice rang out. It seemed to her like the boy of fourteen, ears flushed red, was standing right in front of her again.

She slapped away his hands when he reached out to touch her cheeks glistening with tears. "I died by this rifle, Cárcel, because I meant to mock Oscar to the end. In that life, and until the moment you gifted this rifle to me in that valley, it was the only thing I could claim as valuable that wretched man ever gave to me. That's why I chose it. I did it to laugh in the face of the man who tormented me, saying I would never be able to escape from him, not even in death, and that I wouldn't dare to die."

Cárcel stared at her in silence, the weight of her words carving through him like the finest blade.

"If I had known it was all a pathetic lie... If I had known that you had given such a treasured item to your cousin's betrothed without even being able to say it was from you... If only I had known about that foolish heart of yours..."

With every heartbeat, memories of her first ever life surged through her mind: the small study in Calztela, her gaze that didn't bother to rest on the flowers that Cárcel had picked for her from the garden, the slightly irritating noise from the harbor, and the large dog named Alejandro, running across the lawn. She saw him, a young officer of large stature, going out into the garden, calling their dog, framed by the peaceful afternoon sun. The way he took off his round, white hat from his golden locks and beamed at her when he noticed that she had placed his flowers into a vase for the first time.

He had picked flowers for her every morning.

Her tears had been flowing freely without her even realizing it, but now she could clearly feel a tear travel down her cheek.

Each morning, she would wake up to an empty bed, but a flower always lay in his place. He had risen early and left before she did, as if to prevent her from seeing something she didn't want to. Fearing that she might not even like the flowers from him, he never handed them to her in person. And just because she once placed one in a vase, he thought she loved that particular flower and filled the garden with its blooms one day. It was the kind of flower that only bloomed in a corner of the garden. He placed that flower on his pillow for her every morning, thinking it was her favorite. He wanted it to be the first thing she saw in the morning. He never sought her love; he only wished to make her smile.

After he had left to war, the emptiness became unbearable. She remembered how much courage it took for her just to reach out and touch the pillow he had slept on every night. The garden was still full of those flowers in spring, but she didn't feel anything when she looked at them. Alejandro, sitting alone, waiting for its owner, mirrored the inner feelings she had never dared acknowledge.

She had realized then that she might have never liked those flowers. It was the fact that he had picked them for her that she had loved. She had been happy about the habitual time he had spent solely for her each morning. How he had hurried across the garden each morning and picked out the prettiest flower just to lift her mood a little before going back up the stairs, backtracking his earlier route, so he could place the flower next to her, on his pillow, and stand there for a moment, just watching her.

"If I had known, I never would have chosen this rifle... I at least would have found another way. I swear, Cárcel. Forgive me, it's all my fault. I should have-"

"Inés Escalante de Perez." He cupped her cheeks with his large hands, drawing her close until the tips of their noses met. His blue eyes had steadied, but embers of emotion still glimmered. "A woman of Perez does not beg anyone for forgiveness. You told me this once. Do you remember?"

It had been long ago, yet the memory stood out sharply against the faded, frayed recollections of her first life. It was from the days when she had been married to the crown prince. She had justified her refusal to kneel and beg for forgiveness using her own lineage, which she should have put behind her, rather than her title as the crown prince's wife.

"A woman of Perez does not ask anyone for forgiveness except God," she had declared.

She had explained that she would gladly apologize to even a lowly servant if she had done something wrong, but that she would never utter even the smallest apology without being at fault. In response, Empress Cayetana had claimed that it was the virtue of the imperial family to know how to humble themselves.

"Luciano said the same thing," Cárcel continued. "He explained that it was not an excuse to act without consequence, but a reminder to never sin under God. And..."

"If you are wrongfully accused, never admit it for the sake of preserving yourself."

"Because that would disgrace the honorable land of House Valeztena."

Inés was rendered speechless for a moment. The man she had once chosen to escape from the Valeztena name was now, ironically, reminding her of her roots.

"You did nothing wrong, Inés. This is not your fault." His lips kissed away the tears on her cheek. They then trailed up to her eyes where he left featherlight butterfly kisses on her trembling eyelids. "You do not need to seek forgiveness, not from me, not from anyone."

"But I..." The words faltered on her tongue. You are mistaken. I must...

"That rifle was never taken away from me. I gave it to Oscar willingly, because I wanted you to have what was best for you. I only held back from gifting it to you myself so I wouldn't trouble you with any associations that might have complicated things. That was why. I was simply pleased to see you have it."

"I have so much to apologize to you for, Cárcel," she whispered, tears pooling anew. "So much that I cannot remember it all..."

"I acted of my own volition. You do not need to remember things like that."

His lips trailed down to hers and captured them in a kiss. Their breaths intermingled. At the end of the short kiss, she let out a long sigh as if she had been holding her breath, and he closed the distance between them once more.

"When you gave me your grandfather's hunting rifle again in this life..." She drew in a short breath. "From that moment on, it was not longer the cursed thing I place between my teeth. It was a completely different object. That's what I was happy to receive it. Because you were the one to give it to me."

"I know."

"I cannot possibly know what else you remember, or what on earth happened to you, but... Oh, Cárcel. Cárcel..." The words she spoke instilled a fear in her that made her wrap her arms around his shoulders in a tight embrace. Cárcel's eyes were dark as he pressed light kisses against her temple and picked her up. Her voice cracked with grief as she asked him, "What on earth did the apostle do to you? Did he also..."

"I will continue to be unaware of what you do not want me to know," he said firmly, as if to push back her horror, and sat her down on the windowsill. "So don't run away and stay by my side. Don't disappear or apologize. Just stay with me, Inés. I'll do anything..." he muttered, burying his face against her shoulder and nuzzling her slender neck.

Inés did not respond.

His gloomy eyes watched the duke's carriage leave the manor grounds. "That bastard can never take you away ever again. Not from me, or from you."