Page 39 of The Darkest Oath

She yearned for Rollant’s scent of old wood and candle smoke, a trace of him she could readily keep in his absence. Instead, it was a gift, a blank slate, waiting for her to make it her own. She turned her face into its upturned collar. Its wool absorbed her silent tears. She made a promise in the fibers—she’d been saved many times, and one day, she vowed to save herself.

CHAPTER15

The Path to Destruction

PALACE OF VERSAILLES, DECEMBER 1788

Snow clungto the gilded windows of the Hall of Mirrors, but the December wind’s howl was muted within the King’s Cabinet. Within, the voices of royal ministers droned on as if the unrest in Paris were a distant tale instead of a storm about to strike. The lack of urgency turned Rollant’s blood cold.

The King’s Cabinet was a world unto itself—removed from hunger, from revolution, from reality.

“The Assembly of Notables refused to double the deputies of the Third Estate, but they decided to follow the traditions of the old ways,” Minister Necker said with a despondent undertone.

Another Assembly.

Another path to failure.

Rollant’s frustration simmered beneath his indifferent façade. His time in Paris had given him a growing sympathy for the people. He had pleaded with the King not to follow tradition, to meet with the people directly, to address their demands for equal representation, social justice, and fairness in law and taxation. But his words had landed like stones in a pond, rippling against the stillness and subsequently forgotten.

Instead, the King, persuaded by his ministers, had called another gathering of the nobility not to discuss changes or reform but to determine how to run the Estates-General promised in May of the coming year. They all clung to tradition like a raft in a storm, blind to the tide pulling them closer to ruin. The worst of it, Louis clung to the illusion that the people wanted a king, wanted him, and even liked him.

Louis rapped his fingers on the table. The sound echoed, firm and deliberate, in direct opposition to his character. “I voided the Paris Parlement’s order to double the deputies at your urging,” he said, a trace of hesitation creeping into his voice. “But now you ask me to overrule my own veto? To stand against the Assembly of Notables? To alienate my nobility?” He paused, glancing at Necker as though seeking reassurance. “How will I not look the fool?”

The new Minister of Justice and Keeper of the Seals, Charles de Paule de Barentin, shook his head. “No, my King. That order should have come from the throne, not the Parlement.”

Necker interjected with a cautious tone. “The nobility will retain their traditions, as they have insisted. But I fear their decision to adhere to the old voting system will make passing the tax reforms nearly impossible.” He hesitated, glancing at Barentin before continuing. “Perhaps the Third Estate’s grievances deserve more consideration than we’ve given. It may prevent worse disruptions.”

“Minister Necker’s ‘considerations’ have already weakened the crown’s authority, emboldened the Third Estate, and increased his ever-growing popularity among them,” Barentin said with a pointed glare. “Now he would have us bow to the mob in the name of reforms that will never satisfy them, only to grow his wealth and favor.”

Necker shook his head. “I have done no such thing. The whole objective of this council is not to let the state go bankrupt. I am personally funding the state affairs as of current. We must have the tax reforms passed one way or another . . . and soon.”

“Then we are back to where we started,” Louis sighed and glanced at Rollant. The King wanted his guard to shield him from the decisions that needed to be made. The pamphlets about the Notables decision had already begun circulating throughout France, and outrage was felt in the streets. But Rollant clenched his fists at his side.

As Louis’ attention returned to those seated at the table, Rollant focused on the portraits on the wall. He had never been so immersed in the king’s affairs in several centuries. Only since meeting Élise had he cared one way or the other. Rollant owed his encounter with Élise to Louis’s missions—a fact he could neither resent nor celebrate. Yet, the King’s senseless decisions remained a bitter frustration. He had sent Rollant on these missions to Paris, and then ignored his detailed reports that held clearly worded actions and direction. He leaned on Rollant for his centuries of knowledge and experience, but failed to take any of his advice each time. Rollant was a pure royalist; however, the monarch had chosen time and time again to undermine his own authority, generation after generation, squandering absolutist power.

Rollant didn’t mind the trips to Paris; in truth, he longed for another, if only to see Élise—see if she was still alive. Yet every departure left guilt gnawing at his chest for leaving her with that wretched man. He was torn between duty to the crown, wanting to see it upheld, and Élise, suffering because food was too expensive.

A soft sigh escaped.

Her time to die would come, and he would live on with a second heartbreak for another six hundred years, watching kings squander their birthright for indulgence and luxury.

King Louis tapped his fingers on the large oak table again and rolled one of his hobby locks in the other hand. Rollant noticed the hesitation in his movements and the glance at Necker for reassurance. It seemed the king was to answer a question, but words eluded him.

“Captain of the King’s Bodyguard,” Louis called to him, breaking the tension.

Rollant stepped to attention, his leather boots clacking softly on the polished floor.

“How do you feel about the traditions of the Estates-General?” Louis asked.

Rollant did not want to revisit the same report ad nauseam. The king was well aware of how he felt about the old traditions in the present situation, so perhaps Louis wanted the council to hear.

The fire crackled in the hearth, but the room remained indifferently cold. Rollant scanned the ministers’ faces, each marked by arrogance or dismissal. The council had clung to old traditions, reinstated the Parlements, did not act a decade prior at the first overstep of Parlement power, undermined each other to gain fame, legacy, and riches, and promised an Estates-General, leading the crown into its current predicament—a storm even royalist ideals could not weather. The council had already decided, Rollant realized, that whatever words he spoke would be unwelcome.

“If you cling to tradition, Your Majesty, it will not anchor you—it will drag you under. Paris is already stirring, and another tradition will not silence the mob. Vote by headcount, not by social status. It matters not if the Third Estate is doubled when their vote counts the same weight as each of the First and the Second.”

Barentin gestured to Rollant. “Am I the only one hearing this? Even the Captain of the King’s Bodyguard is not loyal to the absolute authority of the King. Advocating for the mob?”

“I heard it,” La Luzerne, the Minister of the Navy, said.

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