Page 26 of The Darkest Oath

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Her breathing fellinto an inconsistent cadence as she slept. She was sick. Rollant knew it. He racked his mind, trying to figure out how to help her. Where could he take her? To an inn?

No, Gabin would realize she was missing, and she might be dead the next time the king sent him to Paris.

Could he take her to his home in Charonne? Hide her away from all this madness?

He sighed.

No, she was too headstrong for that, and he risked her discovering his true nature and the lies he’d told. He rubbed his neck after he finished her chores. Making bread was a skill he had learned at one point several hundred years ago when he had nothing else to do, but he wasn’t sure how the bread he’d just made would turn out. He licked his lip, hoping Gabin wouldn’t punish her for it.

He replaced Gabin’s apron and approached her. For the briefest moment, he allowed himself to touch her—but only enough to keep her steady on the chair. It was all he dared to do with the sorceress’ curse. She hadn’t died in his arms when he picked her up, and it only meant he hadn’t fallen in love with her yet.

No, not yet—he wouldn’t fall in love at all.

She was just a woman who needed help—a temporary friend in his immortal life.

“I do not love her. I cannot love her,” he whispered. He draped his coat over her shoulders and brushed a stray hair from her face.

A customer came in and saw him. “Is she well?” the man asked.

Rollant shook his head. “No. How can I help you?” he asked and took Élise’s place behind the counter.

“I don’t deal with strangers,” the man of about thirty years asked. His clothes were torn and his coat was thin. Two teeth were missing in the front of his mouth.

“I am Rollant Montvieux,” Rollant said. “I came here to barter for bread but found Élise near exhaustion and the Gabin Roux nowhere to be found.”

The main pursed his lips and scanned Rollant’s clothes. “The name’s Malo.” He narrowed his eyes as he studied Rollant’s face. “I remember you.” He pointed a dirty finger in his face.

“I have been away at port. I’m a navy man,” Rollant offered by way of introduction. He grabbed a loaf of bread and wrapped it in a rag to scoot it across the counter. “What’ll it be?”

Malo turned a corner of his mouth up. “You are either stupid working for free or you have a good heart. As a kind word of advice, don’t tell anyone you are in the king’s navy. People around here don’t like people like you.” Malo raised an eyebrow and jerked his head toward the bakery entrance.

Rollant chuckled. “Good to know. I appreciate the frankness.”

Malo waved off the gratitude and laid three pieces of textiles on the counter. “This is my usual barter. You’ll just have to trust me.”

Rollant scanned Malo’s arms. He wasn’t carrying anything else, so he assumed there was no maliciousness.

A shadow loomed in the door as the trade happened.

“Élise!” Gabin’s voice boomed, jolting her from her slumber.

She shrunk beneath Rollant’s coat. Gabin’s head spun to Rollant. “You?!” He marched inside with fists. “I told you to leave, sea rat!”

The counter blocked Gabin’s approach, but Rollant stood calm, a fury building behind his eyes. Diplomacy might win this, and if not, he’d knock the man out. No, he couldn’t do that. Élise wouldn’t leave, and it would only worsen her plight if he did such a thing in front of a customer.

As much as it pained him, the only way was to appeal to Gabin’s vanity and pride. He saw the fist coming, but he didn’t flinch and let it come. The smack of Gabin’s fist against Rollant’s cheek echoed throughout the bakery. Rollant overplayed its impact, staggering to the side and catching himself on the counter to avoid a fall.

Malo had stepped back with eyes darting between the three of them.

“Quite the fist there, Monsieur Roux,” Rollant said as he maneuvered his jaw to sort the pain. He rubbed the sore spot.

“Get out, thief!” Gabin’s eyes were bloodshot, and spittle formed in the corner of his mouth.

“Gabin, leave him alone,” Élise whimpered from the corner. Sweat dripped from her brow, and her breaths were ragged.

“Shut your mouth, you lazy harlot!” Gabin spun around with a tightly wound fist pointed in her direction. “I’ll deal with you later,” he spat between clenched teeth.

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