Page 114 of The Darkest Oath

He smoothed her cheeks with his thumbs and kissed her lips.

“I . . . “ He sighed with a bright smile. “I don’t deserve you, Élise. That is true.” His smile faded. “And one day, you will realize what you gave up here, and once we return to Charonne, whenever it may be, I will release you from this lie.”

“It is not a lie,” she said, her brow furrowing. “I don’t understand why you can’t believe I love you and will always love you.”

“Because I am not natural, not living, not dead,” he replied. “I exchanged death for service to the crown. One, I have failed time and time again. What makes you believe I will not fail you as well?”

“Because—”

But he interjected. “I love you, Élise, and will carry your love for centuries, but I refuse to believe you would give up your life for someone like me. I will cherish these days, months, years, however long I have with your belief in your love for me, but one day, I know it will end, just as all things do, just as Hugo hoped. One day, your love for me will fade to nothingness.”

She shook her head. Her words jumbled, leaving her speechless.

He tenderly kissed her, fresh tears on his lips. “I will cherish the time I do have your heart,” he repeated again in a whisper, his hot breath fluttering against her flesh. “I will never forget your love and hold it close to warm me on my darkest nights.“

He said, “I will return when it is safe. Then, you will know what the rest of your life will be like and decide if you want to rescind your ring.”

“I will never rescind,” she said as he cradled her face.

“I hope it to be true,” he murmured before placing a parted mouth over hers and kissing her with every passion she wanted.

“If I don’t leave now, I won’t leave,” he said, tearing his lips from hers. “And who knows what other curse may befall me,” he whispered.

He pulled away and walked off into the night without another word. The sunset was in the distance as she watched him walk away toward his ancestral home, his first home, his home with Amée, his first love. She would find his secrets there and find a way to show him his guilt, and his self-imposed penance would keep them apart if he let it.

Her fingers grazed her lips as she calmed her rapidly beating heart. “You’re wrong, Rollant de Montvieux. You will always have me,” she whispered to herself, bringing her hand to her side in a relaxed fist, feeling the warm silver ring between her fingers. Her back straightened, and her chin lifted. “And one day, you will finally believe it.”

CHAPTER42

The Twilight of Fate

VALMONT, CHARTREUSE MOUNTAINS, MAY 1794

The winter had not been kindto the village. It had gnawed at the crops, at the livestock, at the bones of those unable to find warmth. But Hugo had healed many and, in doing so, gathered many hearts unto his own—until one, at last, had claimed him.

Élise had smiled at their betrothal, standing in the gathering dusk of the spring festival, hands clasped in quiet resolve. At the elder’s request, she had even given them her blessing on behalf of Seigneur Montvieux as though Rollant had been there to bestow it himself. And when May arrived, she watched Hugo take the candlemaker’s daughter as his wife.

Afterward, the community still shunned her, as if the stain of her broken betrothal had not yet faded. Hugo’s mother had been the most unrelenting. But the villagers—those who had welcomed her from the start—had not turned her away. They called her one of their own. It was a new type of home, a place of possibility. But as soon as the last of the frost melted from the fields, Élise found herself saddling a borrowed mule and turning toward the hills. Toward the estate that had belonged to Rollant before time had stolen it away.

The early morning sun struggled to pierce through the heavy canopy of trees, casting the world around Élise in shades of green and gray. A damp stillness clung to the air as if the forest itself held its breath. She pulled her scarf tighter around her shoulders, her heart pounding with each step closer to Rollant’s estate.

“Hello?” she called out, her voice breaking the unnatural silence.

A flurry of birds erupted from the branches above, scattering into the brightening sky. The rustle of leaves and the distant scampering of forest creatures reminded her she was not truly alone—but not truly safe, either.

Her thoughts turned back to the villagers’ tales, the way their voices would drop to hushed whispers whenever they spoke of the ghostly knight who haunted the grounds. “He takes the souls of those who trespass without blood or bond to Montvieux,” they had warned her, eyes wide with fearful reverence.

Her fingers curled tighter around the reins.

She had no true claim to Rollant—not by marriage, not by name. They had never spoken vows, never built a life in the way a husband and wife should. What if the villagers were right? What if the knight, whoever or whatever he was, saw her as an intruder?

She hesitated at the gate, staring at the iron bars laced with vines.

"His great-great-great-great—" she faltered, the legend catching in her throat. “Grandfather.” She exhaled sharply. “He still stalks the place. An angry man clad in chainmail, with the fleur-de-lis on his chest . . .”

She shook her head at its absurdity. “You’ve already faced ghosts, Élise,” she told herself. “One has been haunting your heart for four years.”

Swallowing her unease, she tied the mule to a post and pushed open the gate. The rusted hinges screamed in protest, the sound tearing through the quiet woods like a warning.

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