Page 119 of The Darkest Oath

“I want to be your wife, Rollant.” She pressed her forehead to his chest. “I will take the risks our love demands. Stay with me in Charonne. Let us have whatever time we are given.”

He exhaled a shuddering breath, his hands ghosting over the fabric of her dress.

“Élise, do you know how difficult it was for me to see you in my shirt? To see your bare legs, your hair long, to kiss you?” His voice broke. “I ached every day. Even now?—”

“As did I,” she whispered, meeting his eyes once more. “But isn’t it worth the ache—to be with someone you love?”

Her hands slid up his belly to his chest. “Your presence gives me peace; that is all I want for you too. Live in our home. Lie beside me at night and build a life with me.”

His fingers found the silver band on her hand. He turned it gently, watching the Montvieux crest catch the light—three stars over the mountain.

“Faith, duty, honor,” he murmured.

“The Montvieux crest,” she murmured in return.

“Only two other women have worn it.” His voice was reverent. “My mother and Amée.”

Élise brushed her fingers over his scarred hands, steadying their quiver. “Then, I am honored to be the third.”

He kissed the palm of her hand before pressing it to his cheek. He had spent centuries denying himself love, warmth, and even the dream of a future that did not end in loss.

But she was asking him to choose it. To choose her.

There, in her arms, he found something greater than his fear: the unbearable joy of having her, even for a time.

His hand hovered at his side, fingers twitching. He could not hold her. He loved her, though he should never have loved her. He wanted to choose a life with her, but knew he should not, for its end would be too much to bear as it was with Amée.

But as he searched her eyes, something broke inside him.

He exhaled, slow and trembling, and let his hands rise, grazing the soft linen of her dress.

A quiet shudder ran through him as he relinquished his restraint. His fingers, calloused from centuries of wielding a sword, trembled as they curled into her dress and pulled her close—the only way he knew to return her touch. He exhaled against her temple, his breath unsteady, as if her warmth alone could undo six hundred years of solitude.

He pulled back to gaze into her deep chocolate eyes.

“I promise to honor you in every word and deed,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion.

Élise relaxed into his chest with a bright smile.

“To cherish you every morning, noon, and night—” he hesitated, then let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Even if my way of showing love is making breakfast.”

Élise laughed with tears catching the golden light of the afternoon.

He pressed on through his vows, his forehead brushing hers.

“I promise to be a dutiful husband. To provide, to protect, to put your needs above my own—” His fingers curled at her waist. “Even when you refuse to let me.”

Her lips parted as if inviting his kiss.

“I promise to be faithful to you in heart, body, and mind.” His breath caught. “Until the end.”

The wind stirred the wildflowers at their feet, rustling through the ruins of the past and carrying with it the faintest whisper of the lives that had come before.

Rollant pulled Élise closer, memorizing the pull of her, the weight of her hand in his, the fierce certainty in her eyes.

Once, he had feared time. Now, he feared not having enough of it with her.

He closed his eyes and whispered his choice—not to the stars, not to the past, not to fate, but to her.

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