Page 122 of The Darkest Oath

His tears fell atop her hands, and she nuzzled his cheek, her whispers finding the crevices between their flesh. “Find peace, Rollant. Come home to me. Let this place be your refuge. Let me be your sanctuary as you are to me, and when I am in the grave, come here with a smile, not in pain. Remember our life together. Talk to me. Talk to my grave. I will still share your burdens. You will never have to be alone again.”

Rollant looked at her, his eyes filled with both gratitude and sorrow. “Oh, Élise,” he said, gingerly stroking her neck. “I must have done something right over the past centuries to be blessed with you by my side.”

She wiped his tears with her thumbs and brushed his lips.

“I hate leaving the boy, but after my shift, there is nothing more I can do,” he said. “I will come here every night and leave every morning.”

“It is over an hour’s walk each way,” Élise said with eyebrows raised.

“I don’t care. I don’t want to spend another night away from you.” His hand slid up to her cheek. “We’ve already spent so many apart.”

She reached for his hand again, squeezing it tighter this time. The silence between them thickened as the fire crackled softly in the hearth. His thumb traced circles on her skin, and for a moment, the rest of the world felt distant.

Rollant’s breath was shallow. His hands trembled as he cupped her face, his calloused fingers feather-light against her skin. The intensity in his eyes dove deep into his soul, raw and clear.

Élise swallowed, her heart pounding. She should pull away, seeing the flame of desire in his eyes. She should remind herself of the risk of what happens when his arms enclose her. But how could she, when every fiber of her being ached to ease his sorrow? To be the light that chased away his darkness? To fuel the flame neither wanted to extinguish?

She lifted her hands, threading her fingers through his hair.

His gaze searched hers, still holding back.

"Let go," she whispered, knowing his desires, his needs, her needs, her desires. "Just this once."

And so he kissed her—soft at first, tentative before the pressure of his lips deepened as if he was letting go of everything he’d been holding back: centuries of restraint and the fear of losing what he had finally found.

The fire crackled softly in the hearth. The weight of time, of fate, of curses—none of it mattered at that moment. There was only this. Only them.

As they moved, the kitchen hearth dimmed behind them, and the bedroom hearth light flickered.

The dark closed in as if it already knew what they were about to risk.

He made her forget he was cursed. But curses never forget.

* * *

Her lungs burned,clawing for air that wouldn’t come. Darkness crowded the edges of her vision, and panic swelled in her chest. Death waited.

“Breathe! Élise, breathe!” Rollant’s voice cracked with fear and carried her through the darkness. His hands trembled as he cradled her head, trying to pour life into her through sheer will.

Death receded. A haggard breath filled her lungs.

The next thing she knew, Rollant had her head up and a cup of cool mint tea at her lips.

The curse’s weight on her chest pressed against her lungs in a dull ache. She rolled to her side and coughed it away. Rollant pressed his hand against her back, supporting her as she regained her breath.

The cool wood floor soothed her forehead until normalcy returned. She sat up, rubbed her chest, and then lifted her gaze to Rollant’s. He sat back against the bed. He was pale. Shaken. His elbows rested on his knees, his face buried in his hands.

“Élise, I want to be with you as much as you want to be with me, but I was cursed for a reason.” He shook his head with eyes full of fear. He slammed his fists on his knees and let out a shuddering breath with words barely composed. “I can’t—I can’t keep risking your life, Élise.”

She reached for him, but he pulled away, his hands balling into fists on his thighs.

“I’ve spent centuries as a knight and a soldier. Fighting, killing, watching others die—this body has been my weapon, my curse. And now, with you, it’s supposed to be something more, but all it does is hurt you.” With a clenched jaw, he fidgeted with the hem of his linen breeches with angry fingers. “I’m afraid to love you as a husband should. I’m afraid I’ll kill you.”

A small groan escaped her lips as the last of the curse pricked her chest.

Rollant whispered, “Three times. It has happened three times. I will not risk a fourth.” He stood up, offering her a hand, which she took. Instead of pulling her to her feet, he pulled her close, grabbing the sides of her chemise. His lips brushed against the curve of her neck—a kiss full of longing and restraint. “This,” he whispered, his voice trembling, “is all I can give you.”

Élise’s hands caressed the scars on his chest as her gaze fell there. Rollant exhaled sharply as she traced the lines of his scars, her fingertips featherlight over skin that had long forgotten gentle touch. “I’ve seen your scars, but I’ve never asked. Where did you get these? I thought your body always healed?”

---