*Who is he?*
I stood in the courtyard, the smell of gunpowder still hanging in the humid air. In my previous life, the rebel leader had been a phantom who emerged from the shadows to execute Emperor Franz and dismantle the Imperial family. I had died without ever seeing his face.
I’d tried to pre-empt him this time by securing **Barakiel** and the production of firearms, thinking that if I controlled the weapons, I controlled the war. But the mastermind was ahead of me. He had already developed replicas with superior range, bypassing my monopoly with terrifying ease.
“My lady.”
Sardin stood nearby, his head bowed, his hands shaking with a guilt that looked as if it might consume him. “I’m sorry. My detection was... I failed you.”
I looked at him, seeing the exhaustion in his gray eyes. I knew he was blaming himself for Eric being the one to save Damian. I stepped forward and handed him the child, a gesture of absolute, unshakeable trust.
“Take him inside, Sardin. Double the guards at the nursery. Do not let anyone—anyone—enter without my word.”
“But, ma’am... what about the Duke?”
I shot a glance at Eric, who was staring at the distant rooftop with the intensity of a hunting hound. “There is no need to worry about another sniper. The 'Hero of the Empire' is here. He won't let his 'reputation' be tarnished by a second bullet.”
I gestured for the servants and guards to return to their posts. Then, I turned to Eric. “Follow me. We have terms to discuss.”
***
I led him into the drawing room, slamming the door behind us. Janet tried to follow, but I held up a hand.
“Stay outside, Janet. I need to speak with the Duke alone.”
Janet hesitated, her eyes flicking to Eric with a wariness that felt genuine, before she bowed and retreated. I watched her go, a knot of conflict in my chest. She had thrown herself in front of me today, just as she had protected Damian four years ago. *I want to believe in you,* I thought. *But I can't afford to be a fool twice.*
I turned to the man who had been my husband and my executioner.
“Eric Lennon Brant, what exactly do you think you’re doing?”
“Ensuring your survival,” Eric said, his voice flat and practical. “Your guards are exceptional, Cornelia, but they are helpless against a sniper with a long-range firearm. You need someone who can sense a bullet before it leaves the barrel. You need me.”
“And why would you do that?” I asked, stepping into his space, my voice a low, dangerous hiss. “In our last life—and in the reports I’ve seen—you were perfectly happy to sacrifice me to the Arguins for the sake of your family’s safety. What’s changed? Have you found a new way to use me?”
Eric’s blue eyes flickered, a crack appearing in his icy facade for the briefest of moments. “Legally, you are my wife. The boy is my son. That is all that matters.”
“Ah, the noble Duke,” I sneered. “You’re doing this for your 'duty'. You want to be the magnanimous husband who takes back his scandalous, runaway wife so the capital can praise your tolerance.”
I walked around him, circling him like a predator. I remembered the letter Zenon had shown me in my first life—the agreement signed by both the Brants and the Arguins to use me as a scapegoat for the rebellion.
*I will use you, Eric,* I thought. *I will use your strength to destroy the mastermind, and then I will cut you out of my life for good.*
“Fine,” I said, stopping in front of him. “You want to be my shield? I’ll let you. But there are conditions. You will escort me to the capital. You will confirm my survival to the Emperor. And you will obey every command I give you until this threat is eliminated.”
I expected him to argue, to demand his rights as the head of the household. Instead, Eric reached out, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from my face. I drew in a sharp breath, my body tensing at his touch.
He leaned in, his voice a soft, terrifying whisper in my ear.
“It doesn't matter what the conditions are, Cornelia. I’ll do whatever you ask. I’ll burn the capital to the ground if that’s what you want.”
With that, he turned and left the room, leaving me staring at his retreating back with a mix of fury and confusion. *He’s a madman,* I thought, my skin still tingling where his fingers had touched me. *A beautiful, dangerous madman.*
***
In the nursery, Sardin sat with his head in his hands, the guilt of his own double-life a crushing weight.
*If it hadn't been for the Duke, Damian would be dead,* he realized. *And it would have been Ivan’s bullet. Reinhardt’s bullet.*
He felt a small, warm hand on his cheek.
“Sadie, are you thinking about that mean man again?”
Sardin looked up into Damian’s violet eyes. The boy looked remarkably calm for someone who had just been targeted by an assassin.
“Young Master, I... I failed you today.”
“No, you didn't,” Damian said, a sad, ancient smile crossing his face. “I already knew they were coming. I stayed silent because of the law of causality. I can’t tell Mom and Dad everything, or the world will break.”
Sardin stared at him, unable to comprehend the boy’s words.
“I have very little mana,” Damian continued, looking at his small hands. “I can only use a few spells before I faint. I have to be careful.”
He looked out the window at the gardens where Eric was pacing.
“But it’s okay, Sadie. I trust someone to protect us.”
“Who?” Sardin whispered.
“My Dad,” Damian replied, his eyes filling with a bittersweet longing. “He kept his promise in the other dream. He’ll keep it in this one, too.”