Page 80 of The Darkest Oath

Malo and Yves’ faces dropped before faint smiles perched on their lips.

“Welcome home, Élise,” Olivier said with a nod.

Silence reigned as Gabin paraded her to the back wall. “Is that how you treat my woman on her grand return?”

Applause and whoops sounded immediately.

But Élise squirmed out from under Gabin’s arm. “No, Gabin. I am not here to stay. I will not stay with you!” she yelled and tried to run to the door, but Gabin caught her and threw her into a chair.

“You’ll do as you’re told,” Gabin growled. “The streets aren’t safe for a little dove like you wandering alone.”

Élise rubbed her elbow and fought back tears. “I don’t care. I’m not staying with you. I’m never staying with you again.” She got up to leave, but he shoved her back down. Her shoulder cried out in pain.

“Stay like a good little dove, unless . . .” He smirked before throwing his hands wide to his audience. “Unless I should let the streets teach you a lesson instead! Let’s round up a few rich men and show them what it’s like to be beaten so far down they can’t get up?”

A shout raised in the air.

Élise’s eyes opened wide at the deliberate purpose of their escapade.

Gabin pointed to Malo and Yves. “Are you coming this time, boys?” They glanced at Élise and nodded, raising a tentative fist.

“Good,” Gabin said. “Get the others,” he barked at a few attendees Élise had never seen before. Gabin grabbed the hair at the back of her head and pulled her up. “You want to leave, then we can leave, my little dove,” he whispered in her ear as he led her out.

“What is the Third Estate?” Gabin bellowed.

“Everything,” was the cry.

“What is the Second Estate?” Gabin bellowed.

“Nothing,” was the cry.

Men and women joined the small party turned large as they marched through the district of Bastille, where charred remnants of barricades lined the streets, a grim reminder of the July uprising. Residents peered out from cracked shutters as the mob thundered past. Many joined them with guns in hand as they continued to Les Halles.

Gabin’s voice dropped to a hiss as he marched her forward. “See how they cheer for me, Élise? You should be grateful. Without me, where would you run? Back to that royalist lover of yours? Back to your lies? No, little dove. You belong here. With me.”

The smell of rotting vegetables from the abandoned market stalls filled the air in Les Halles, mixing with the bitter tang of torch smoke as more men and women joined their ranks. They marched until they came upon Rue Saint-Honoré. The street unfurled before them, lined with Paris’ oldest homes, standing like fortresses of wealth. It stretched before them, its cobblestones gleaming in the dying light. Grand façades adorned with wrought iron balconies and gilded shutters stood like silent witnesses to the mob’s fury. The Tuileries Palace loomed in the distance, its shadow stretching long and dark over the scene, a stark reminder of the power they sought to tear down.

Gabin passed Élise to a pair of men. “Hold her,” he ordered, and their grips intensified on her neck and arms as Gabin took his place at the head of the mob. His gaze swept the crowd until it landed on a young man near the edge with torchlight dancing in his nervous eyes.

“What’s your name, boy?” Gabin called.

The man stammered, “Jean.”

Gabin pointed at him with pride in his eyes. “Tonight, you fight for justice. For bread! For France!”

The crowd roared, and the young man’s hesitation melted into a raised fist.

Élise’s stomach twisted as Gabin’s words whipped the crowd into a frenzy. She’d marched before, shouted slogans, even dreamed of change—but this was different. This wasn’t about justice. It was about destruction.

The houses loomed ahead, their golden windows catching the last rays of sunlight, and for the first time, she wondered how many innocent people were trapped inside.

“Let’s show these pathetic scum they have dared step on the wrong estate!” Gabin yelled. The crowd’s shout shook the perfectly maintained cobblestone street.

“Tear them from their silken beds!” Gabin roared. “Let them feel what it’s like to bleed on the streets they’ve ignored! And if the cowards aren’t hiding inside—burn it to the ground!” Gabin’s voice rose above the clamor, a sharp command that sent the mob scattering like wolves scenting prey.

Screams of families littered the night, and Élise shut her eyes tight, wishing to forget the curdling sounds.

Gabin slowly walked the street with the two men holding Élise behind him, admiring all he had accomplished. She tried to squirm free, but the two men’s grips only tightened.

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