Page 124 of The Darkest Oath

“Rollant?” she whispered.

His hazy gaze was full of adoration, and a soft smile spread over his lips. “You’ve taught me eternity is empty without love," he whispered on her lips. “I would trade the thousand lifetimes I’ve lived for just one life with you.”

Élise pulled back slightly, her heart tightening in her chest as she registered the depth and pain of his raw confession. His words etched into her soul.

Her eyes burned. She brushed away his tear that had fallen onto her fingers, tracing the hard line of his jaw, and memorizing the vulnerability in his eyes as if she could hold onto it forever.

Her gaze fell to the twine between them—the simple rope she had woven, imperfect but strong. A promise bound by her own hands. A thread linking past and future. A tether between them in the only lifetime that mattered.

She curled her fingers around it, gently pulling, drawing him closer, not to fate, not to eternity, but to her.

"Then let this be the life that matters," she whispered, kissing him softly. "Let this be the one where we choose each other. Where we choose love."

The muscles in his arms twitched as if still resisting, still afraid of taking what she had given him long ago. But as her lips brushed his again, he surrendered and leaned into her warmth, her love, and their fragile, fleeting miracle.

And in that moment, Élise knew—love was not measured in lifetimes but in moments. And she would make every moment of her life with Rollant count for the thousand lifetimes he would endure without her.

CHAPTER45

Fate of the Bourbons

THE TEMPLE, PARIS, JUNE 1795

It had beencenturies since Rollant first swore to protect the crown, yet he could not remember a time when the oath had felt so heavy—so utterly futile. Rollant had watched kings rise and fall, but never had he felt so powerless as he did now, kneeling at the bedside of the boy who would never grow into his crown.

The room was dim, and the flicker of a single candle cast trembling shadows across the damp stone walls of the Temple. Louis Charles lay still, save for the faint rise and fall of his tiny chest. Each breath was harder won than the last, rattling, a sound that echoed in Rollant’s ears like the tolling of a bell for a life too short.

Rollant’s immortal hands were useless against the cruel march of death.

“Monsieur,” Louis Charles said, his eyes slits. His hand touched Rollant’s face while the other clutched his father’s small cross. “I remember you at the palace.”

Rollant held a finger to his lips. “Don’t tell anyone,” he said.

The boy labored to breathe. “You are my father’s friend,” he whispered.

Rollant nodded. “And now yours.”

Louis Charles’ ashen skin paled. “I am glad you are here.”

“Me too,” he said, taking the boy’s hand. Louis Charles squeezed it with what strength he had left, the fear palpable in his touch.

“Do you believe my father and mother will be waiting for me at the gate of Heaven?” he asked, sputtering with labored breath.

Rollant smiled. “Waiting with open arms.”

“Will they recognize me?” Louis Charles whispered, his small hand clutching the cross. “I don’t look like I did before.”

Rollant blinked back tears. “They’ll know you, Your Majesty. A parent always knows their child.”

The corner of Louis Charles’ mouth twitched. “I am trying to be brave,” he whispered. “But I am afraid.”

“There is nothing to fear, Your Majesty.” Rollant leaned forward and stroked the boy’s sweaty brow.

“I am afraid they won’t love me for the bad things that mean man made me say about them,” Louis Charles sputtered. “I am sorry I said them,” he whispered through weak coughs. “I didn’t mean them. I just wanted the man to stop hitting me.”

Rollant’s jaw grew taut. “None of that matters now,” he said through clenched teeth, wishing he could do more for the child. “They know. They see,” he whispered.

“I am so tired, but I’m afraid to die,” Louis Charles rasped.

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