Page 63 of The Darkest Oath

She froze, her breath catching. “Rollant?” she whispered, the name tumbling from her lips. Why had he lied about his noble status? Because she was a revolutionary, and she was supposed to hate him.

Hugo’s eyebrows raised, clearly confused at her reaction. “Well, Mama, at least, says he’s the landlord,” Hugo said, smiling faintly. “Father says he and his father were always so generous, never asking for rent. They must come from a wealthy family, at least.”

Élise’s heart pounded. Rollant, the landlord? The one who owned all of the land, who had given it to the community freely? It made no sense. Her mind reeled with questions. Why hadn’t he told her? Why had he lied about being an orphan, about living off a sailor’s wage? Each thought pricked at her heart, unraveling the trust she’d built in him.

She tried to speak without letting her words falter. “Rollant told me he was orphaned at eight. His future wife’s family took him in before he married Amée and joined the Navy. Why would he lie?”

Hugo shrugged, oblivious to the storm brewing in her thoughts. “I don’t know, Élise. Maybe it’s not a lie. Maybe his father passed away years ago, leaving Amée’s family to raise him. Maybe he didn’t find out about the inheritance until later. But if he doesn’t collect rent, I don’t know how he pays his taxes unless he is of the nobility and exempt from taxes.” He shook his head and shrugged again at her dumbfounded expression. “Maybe he pays out of a navy man’s wage. Or maybe he’s an officer in the Navy. Most wealthy sons are usually officers, that is,” Hugo said, licking his lip.

She sat dumbfounded.

He fidgeted and tapped his knee until he finally asked, “Would you like to get back to reading?”

But his words fell on Élise’s deaf ears. She stared past Hugo. Her hands gripped the table’s edge until her knuckles whitened. The man she had given her heart to—the man she trusted above all others—was a stranger. Whether he’d lied or simply withheld the truth, she didn’t know. But her heart ached with longing, even as questions burned within her. Why had he left? And who, truly, was Rollant de Montvieux? Why was he ashamed to tell her how he could afford the home? Was it because he was nobility and he knew how she felt about the rich? Their conversation rushed back to her. But why had he given her a common name? Why was he atAu Pain Roux?

Her chest tightened as the pieces began to fall into place. The land she’d come to see as her sanctuary, the home he had given freely to her and others, was his. Rollant’s. Rollant’s land.Hishome.

Why hadn’t he told her? Why had he let her believe he was just a sailor, scraping by on navy wages? Every memory of him shifted, twisting into a mystery—like the shadows stretching long after sunset. And yet, her heart ached with the longing to see him again.

She willed Rollant’s return, unsure whether to slap him across the face or fall into his arms. But one thing was certain: there would be no peace until her questions were answered and she uncovered the true identity and motivations of the man wrapped in mystery.

CHAPTER24

The Tinderbox of Change

PALACE OF VERSAILLES, MAY 1789

Rollant stooda sentinel behind King Louis, scanning the room. The Estates-General was a stage, and the actors followed pre-written scripts, none of which addressed the primary grievance: social inequality and injustice. The same tired premise of noble support dominated the agenda, ensuring the king’s reliance on the First and Second Estates remained unshaken.

Even if Louis had the best intentions, they were lost on the Third Estate. It didn’t help that delegates were forced to wear black while the First and Second Estates paraded into Versailles with their best clothes, uniforms, and vestments. Worse, they waited hours to bow before the king. When Louis finally appeared, the Third Estate had kept their hats on in silent protest, forcing him to remove his own in return. Rollant had scoffed under his breath. For a king so unwilling to concede power, Louis seemed not to mind shedding it in public spaces.

The opening speeches were as dull as expected. The king and the new Keeper of the Seals delivered platitudes that drew only polite applause. But the mood shifted when Jacques Necker, the Third Estate’s beloved celebrity minister, took the floor. Delegates leaned forward in their seats, eager for substance.

It never came.

Necker’s voice failed early, leaving a moderator to drone through his words for three hours, stripped of the minister’s zeal. The delegates wore scowls for lips and daggers for eyes. There was no mention of social injustice, no acknowledgment of the grievances Rollant had outlined in his report—ignored again, tucked away for some undefined future.

He understood why Louis and his advisors were reluctant to order the nobles to do anything. They were the generals and the bankers with families boasting a long history of support for the king. Still, the issues at hand were not adequately resolved in the decades prior, slowly building under the heavy weight of financial burden. He tried to tell Louis and his Cabinet again in February, but the fools brushed him off as they had in December. Mocked him even:What did the Captain of the King’s Bodyguard know about economics and government?

Their taunts echoed in memory, as did their chortles. They had dismissed him as a soldier who couldn’t comprehend the intricacies of governance. Perhaps they were right. But Rollant didn’t need their numbers and charts to understand suffering. He had seen it in Élise’s haunted gaze, in her fury at a world that ground people into dust. Her beautiful face came to his mind, but he immediately pushed her away, unable to bear his love for her. Every instance where she came to mind was a harsh reminder of the life he could never have. He straightened up and focused on the room to distract himself from the agony of his decision never to see her again.

Half the soldiers in the room also appeared disgruntled, their gazes fixed on the Third Estate delegates as though weighing allegiances. He doubted any of them would give their lives to defend the palace if the crowds outside rebelled.

He hated standing idle, watching history unfold in gilded circles. Yet, despite his frustration, he knew his place, his eternal loyalty to the throne. He was the king’s shadow, his ageless weapon, bound by duty even as cracks formed in the crown they both served.

The first day adjourned with no further progress. Rollant escorted King Louis to the Cabinet, where they waited for the advisors to follow. Louis paced alongside the long table while Rollant stood in his usual position.

Unable to contain himself, Louis whispered, “How do you think it went?”

Rollant shook his head, eyes still on the wall across the room.

Louis pursed his lips. “That bad?”

Rollant sighed, knowing Louis’ request for advice would come; he would give it, and it would be ignored.

“What should I do?”

Rollant’s gaze shifted and met Louis’. “Your Majesty, you have nearly six hundred delegates from the Third Estate and the crowds outside in their support. If you command the First and Second Estates to give up their privileges and demand equality, the people will agree, and you will earn some favor with them.”

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