Page 93 of The Darkest Oath

Rollant watched them from a distance,sitting in the meadow. Hugo’s arms around her and their lips meeting, Élise returning his kiss—Rollant’s heart twisted, a vise tightening in his chest. He gripped the reins, the leather creaking beneath his hands as he forced himself to look away. He’d told himself to let her go.

He’d come the long way against his better judgment for a chance to see Élise once more as he plotted the King’s escape route amid rising violence and opposition against the crown. It was reckless and foolish, and yet he couldn’t help himself.

As his horse trotted off, a scowl drew heavy on his lips. He had wanted one fleeting glimpse of her—just one. He had convinced himself it would be enough to see her in the garden or hanging laundry, but the image of Élise’s mouth on Hugo’s burned into his mind. Her closeness, her laughter—it was everything Rollant wanted with her. A life of love. A life he could never give her.

Sensing his tension, his mare shifted beneath him, but Rollant remained rooted in the saddle.

“This is what I wanted,” he mumbled to himself. “This is what she deserves.”

But watching her embrace another man, the hollow ache in his chest flared into a storm he couldn’t calm. He wanted her to be happy, and he meant it.

He wanted Élise to be with Hugo, to find love with someone kind and good, to live a normal life, and to be held in love far from his curse. He would rather endure his own torment than see her fall victim to his sins. He had made his choice long ago—her happiness over his own. Yet what he had just witnessed burned like ash in his heart. He hadn’t realized how much it would hurt to see it.

His shoulders slumped as he fought the instinct to turn his horse around, to ride back to her, to pull her into his arms. But what then? Wrap her in his embrace and kill her? Curse her to Amée’s fate?

No. He’d already lied and betrayed her trust. She didn’t want him. Not anymore. Clearly.

His knuckles whitened as he clenched the reins, forcing his gaze forward and away from the stretching meadows.

“At least I will be in exile with the king,” he whispered. “And I can go knowing she is happy, safe, and with a good man like Hugo.” His whisper was thick with sorrow but faint at the mention of Hugo’s name.

Rollant urged his mare forward, his back forever to Élise. The distance between them stretched into the unbearable.

Yes, he had told himself this was for the best—for her—but he couldn’t silence the small, desperate voice in his heart that begged him to turn back. But he couldn’t go back. She deserved a future, even if it meant tearing himself from the one person who had made him feel alive. He just needed one more glimpse. To see her smile. To hear her say his name. But what could he give her except heartbreak?

“Take me away, girl,” he whispered to the mare, his voice thick with sorrow. “Far from her, far from the pain.”

He patted her neck absently, his mind a thousand miles away. But no matter how far he rode, he knew he could never silence the image of Élise in Hugo’s arms.

CHAPTER34

The Flight of Royalty

TUILERIES PALACE, PARIS, JUNE 1791

Rollant stirred in his sleep.Flashes of Élise haunted him in a cruel nightmare: her in Hugo’s shirt, sitting on Hugo’s lap, her arms draped around Hugo’s neck as she kissed Hugo. His fists clenched as he watched from a window, pounding on the glass.

“Élise!” he shouted, his voice desperate, but she only turned to him, her lips curling into a bitter sneer.

“Monster,” she mouthed.

The tolling bells in the background grew deafening, louder and louder until Rollant woke with a start, a thick paste coating his mouth. The supper bell echoed through the Tuileries Palace, but it felt as though it rang only for him.

He rubbed his face, wiping sweat from his brow.

“Tonight is the night,” he muttered, regaining his breath. He swung his feet out of his bed and rolled the ache out of his neck. “Finally, in two days, maybe the dreams will stop.”

Yet even as he spoke the words, he doubted it. Distance wouldn’t erase her. Élise would haunt him no matter how far he went—a shadow he could never escape. He longed for the days when dreams—when feelings—were nothing more than faint whispers lost in his eternal monotony. He’d felt nothing—no joy, no pain, no love—and it had been easier to endure.

He had accepted his plight in the past, but with the Revolution slowly crushing the crown, the sorceress tightened the noose around his neck. He wanted out of the deal. He’d called for her to show her face, to remove it, but it was all vanity. She never came.

Rollant ran his hand through his hair, frustration simmering beneath his calm exterior. Every moment spent with Élise had left an imprint on his soul. Her smile and her laugh lingered in his memory like a forgotten melody. But the more he thought of her, the more she became like a ghost he couldn’t reach, yet she had become his greatest longing. Her rejection cut deeper than any wound, much more than expected. Maybe beyond the borders, far from Élise and the turmoil of Paris, he could finally find peace. Or perhaps he was lying to himself again.

He dressed methodically, ate his supper brought by a servant, and steeled himself for the secret mission to remove the king from the palatial prison. By the time he mounted the black Berlin carriage, seated at the back as an attendant, the royal family was already inside, disguised and anxious. King Louis held his young son tightly, while Queen Marie Antoinette clutched her daughter, her lips pressed into a pale line. The King’s sister, Madame Élisabeth, sat across from them, murmuring reassurances that felt hollow even to Rollant’s ears.

Rollant glanced at his pocket watch in the moonlight. They were already half an hour late. The Queen’s delay in the palace, nearly discovered by Commander Lafayette, had cost them precious time. It was an ill omen for their journey.

The carriage lurched forward.

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