Page 54 of The Darkest Oath

She chewed the inside of her cheek, debating everything she would trade for a peaceful life in Charonne. It would be someone else’s fight. The Third Estate’sbourgeoisierepresentatives had heard the people’s demands. They were crafting their list of grievances. Maybe she could stay.

No, she told herself, not after finally finding her purpose. Her fingers cradled the cup of tea, and her attention fell to her breakfast in thought before returning to Rollant’s intense gaze. He had given this life to her. He cared for her, the only man—the only person—in the world who did. Tears welled in her eyes. It was his only request: to stay in a safe place while the world burned.

At her silence, his eyes begged her. “Please, Élise,” he whispered.

She sat back, running out of excuses and short on willpower. “What of Madame Marie? She was the only one who cared for me when I was ill. I can’t leave her with nothing. I must go back and give her bread.”

“I will ensure she has enough to buy bread until the Estates-General adjourns,” Rollant promised.

The question from the night prior pounded on her mind’s door until it blurted out. “Are you rich, Rollant?” she asked. “How can you afford this home? How can you afford to make promises to feed a family for months, perhaps even a year? Tell me I can live here for three years without paying so much as alivre?”

His hand slipped to hers. His thumb slid up and down her forefinger. His eyes held no deception, and his words were deliberate. “If I told you how I can afford such a place,”—he leaned forward with the sear of agony branded in his gaze and a whisper on his lips—“you would not believe me.”

His words reached her heart and squeezed. “What did you do?” she asked.

“If you stay in Charonne, I will tell you when I return,” he said. “And hope you believe me.”

“You have not given me a reason to think you would lie to me,” she replied. “Tell me now.”

He shook his head. A glint crossed his eyes. “You would never look at me the same way again,” he whispered.

He was ashamed, she realized. Whatever it was, it could wait. He gave her so much. Yes, it could wait. She turned her hand in his and squeezed in affirmation. “If you provide for Madame Marie, I will stay in Charonne until the Estates-General is adjourned and agreement on reform is reached.”

He blinked back the glisten, and a soft sigh of relief forced out of his chest. “I’m glad,” he said and sat back, returning to his breakfast.

She ate her eggs in silence, wondering what he had done to secure such an allotment of coin and if she would have to stay alone in this place. But did she have to stay alone?

But before she could ask him to desert the king’s navy, he scooped up the empty bowls and plates. “I will teach you to survive the fight you may find yourself in should the Estates-General fail or if a man tries to harm you again.” He placed the dishes in the basin. “Bring the knife I put by your coat. I will ready the room.”

She finished her tea and brought her cup to the basin as he washed them all. She did as he asked but stopped to look at him in the doorway. He was a mystery, one she wanted to know. The need to unravel his secrets made him more desirable. Because in his secrecy, he dangled nothing in front of her out of ill gain. Everything was her choice.

The dagger was where he had placed it the night prior. Its weight felt different than the baker’s knife. The dagger was a weapon meant to kill rather than feed. Dark blood stained the hilt. She swallowed the lump in the back of her throat, envisioning the men who’d been stabbed with it. A deep breath filled her lungs as she settled her nerves.

The screech of furniture sliding across the wooden floors brought her back to the present. She returned to the main room to find Rollant standing in the cleared room, with the table and chairs next to the sofa.

“Please, come stand here,” he said, gesturing to the spot beside him.

She obeyed.

“Now, face the bedroom door, and place the knife in your coat pocket.”

Rollant stood, facing her profile, with one hand tightly wound behind his back. His posture was unwavering professionalism. Her gaze lingered on his handsome face. The shadow of stubble on his chin plucked him from perfection. His jaw tensed when he stepped closer.

His hand covered her hand, his fingers laying atop hers—warm, calloused, steady.

“If a man attacks you, you will first pull your blade up.” His breath, edged with mint and sage, brushed her temple. She resisted the urge to lean into Rollant’s presence, to anchor herself in the moment.

He reached her hand into her coat pocket. The dagger’s handle fit perfectly in her palm. The blade felt heavier in her grip, as if weighted with purpose.

He moved her hand in a swift, fluid movement to brandish the blade. “Anticipate he will attempt to hit you in the face, so you must either stab him first or block his blow.”

He moved her hand again as if it were a dance or a soft beat in a rhythm as he guided her to practice both movements. “And again,” he said, releasing her hand. “Return the dagger to your pocket,” he said with a quiver in his voice.

She glanced up to find him looking at her as if searching for something. His hand overlaid hers. “Pull the blade up,” he said again, guiding her hand through the motions. Her heart thrummed louder with every deliberate movement. His fingers tightened over hers, gently insisting that she follow his lead. She tried to focus on the blade, on the imagined threat of Gabin, but the weight of his presence pushed all else from her mind.

His breath faltered when their gazes met. Their faces were too close, but neither pulled away. His eyes lingered in her hold, spilling all his secrets into an indecipherable pool for her to swim. But as quickly as the vulnerability appeared, his eyes shifted and returned guarded once more.

“Now you,” he said, his tone cool, the warmth stripped away again. “Without my aid.”

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