Page 61 of The Darkest Oath

“I know you will, Élise,” he said. “I told you in Le Marais; you are stronger than you know.”

He withdrew his gaze and scanned the hearth and counter before letting a finger brush the top of the table. “Would you like to have breakfast one last time together?”

She shook her head. She said what needed to be said, and there was nothing more. Her arms crossed at her belly to keep the pain inside.

“Then I shall get an early start to port. It may be beneficial since the river is likely frozen.” He took a last sip of tea before walking toward the bedroom to pack his bag.

Her eyes shut tight, and she called out, still facing the table, as his footsteps neared the bedroom door. “Will you leave your long shirt?”

The wooden planks creaked as his weight shifted as he likely debated an answer.

Her voice quaked with justification. “I’ve found it comfortable.” She drew a deep breath and stared at his empty cup of tea. “For sleeping, that is.” The request was small, almost trivial, but it carried the weight of her longing—something to hold onto when he was gone.

He hesitated but finally said, “Of course, Mademoiselle.”

A while later, he emerged with a packed sack slung over his shoulder.

Élise was seated at the table, sipping her mint tea. She had not touched her bread and cheese, as her appetite had vanished.

He lingered in the doorway between the entry room and the main room with his hand firmly on the post as though it were the only sturdy frame to keep him upright. He turned to face her. “Don’t tell anyone in the city about this place, Élise,” he said quietly. “They’ll tell Gabin in exchange for bread, and then he’ll come for you. Keep this place a secret, please.”

Her lips pressed thin as the corners of her mouth pinched tight. Those were his last words to her? She pushed the thought aside and instead spoke her feelings. “Always the protector, Rollant.” He remained silent, so she agreed. “To honor your gift, I promise this home will be a secret to everyone in the city.”

He nodded in gratitude before his façade dropped. The desire to run back to her, take her in his arms, and stay forever flooded his eyes.

She stood with a fluid grace, hoping for him to do so.

“Goodbye, Élise,” he whispered, straightened, and turned from her sight. The bar lifted. The door opened. Deliberate footsteps echoed. The door closed. He was gone.

She didn’t watch him go. She didn’t trust herself to.

Instead, she spun toward the hearth, the embers still faintly glowing from fresh wood. The scent of mint and smoke filled her lungs, grounding her in the nightmare.

The air shifted—both lighter and heavier all at once. Élise allowed herself to cry, raw and unrestrained. She sank to her knees, wrapping her arms around her belly as it heaved. Her heart broke, giving rise to a burning ache in her chest. Every word he spoke, every moment they’d shared, every smile on his lips when he thought she wasn’t looking, and every time his voice softened when he said her name—those fragments felt like sunlight slipping through her fingers.

* * *

Whenno more tears were left to fall, she drew a shaky breath over trembling lips and grasped the chair to help her stand. Her legs wavered, and she swayed against the wood of the chair. The fire blurred in sight as the silence pressed in around her.

She had a choice now, and she would make it.

If Rollant chose to leave, she would make sure her own life, her own fight, would be something worth living for. Something worth loving. Something worth dying for, in the end.

“This isn’t the end, though,” she whispered to the empty room. It couldn’t be. The embers caught a glimmer of new light. She wiped her cheeks. “Not for me.”

But the day had already been long, and she turned toward the bedroom, her body heavy with exhaustion but her mind refusing to let go of him. She rounded the doorway and found his shirt neatly folded on top of the dresser, next to his dagger, and a coin in place of her red scarf. She placed her hand over the coin’s cool metal. Her heart clenched at the unspoken message it carried. He took a reminder of her as she had asked for one of him. The coin was more than a means to replace it with another—it symbolized what he believed she could build without him. Practical, like he always was, yet so achingly personal. She clutched the coin tightly, her tears threatening to fall again.

She grabbed his shirt and collapsed onto the bed with the collar pressed against her nose. He truly loved her, believing he was doing what was best for her. But if he took her scarf, maybe, maybe one day, he would return. Perhaps after the Estates-General adjourned, he would be free from duty and could come back to her. She clutched the soft cotton and held it tight.

If he ever did, she would be ready. She promised herself she would make this place a sanctuary, not just for him, but for herself too—a home she could be proud of, one built with her own hands and strength.

CHAPTER23

The Land of Secrets

CHARONNE, PARIS, APRIL 1789

The winter wasthe harshest Élise had ever witnessed, forcefully bleeding into April. The crops failed. Her garden was devastated. The price of bread tripled from the year prior. She crossed her arms and shivered as she stared out the window at the snow on the ground. She sighed at the injustice beyond the window and approached the sofa where Giselle had given up on her supervisory duties and fallen asleep. Élise pulled the blanket over Giselle’s shoulders before returning to Hugo at the table.

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