Page 10

The Path of Longing

The wooden sign with Au Pain Roux burned into its worn surface swayed in the midday breeze.

Rollant walked past the entrance while glancing inside.

He saw men but no élise, so he kept on walking.

She could be anywhere in the district. Just because she had spoken in the bakery didn’t mean she lived there.

But he wasn’t there for élise, he reminded himself.

He adjusted his coat and pressed onward, taking the sharp corner onto Rue de Charonne, slowing his gait and taking in the townspeople.

This part of the city needed a good cleaning.

The dirt and grime on the streets had not been apparent at night, but the sunlight did not hide the stains on the stones.

People hustled back and forth across the street.

Heated haggling stung his eardrums. It was much different than the palace filled with whispers.

He stood a head above others, or perhaps it was how he walked—fully upright.

The others slumped over from burdens as if too tired or too weak, too thin, to afford the energy to pull back their shoulders in the hustle of life.

These people were suffering, and he would make sure the king knew of it.

Just as he resolved he had seen enough, a red scarf caught his eye.

élise.

There she was, handing a small chunk of bread to a group of children.

Their hands grabbed at her skirt and arms. One pulled her down by the hair to kiss her cheek.

Her laugh echoed down the street as a hope-filled beacon in a sea of bitterness.

A corner of Rollant’s lips turned up at the sound of its crystal ring.

He trailed her for a while, observing her hand out chunks of bread to the elderly, the widowed, and, more assumedly, orphans.

The small act of sharing food in the middle of a hunger crisis softened his hardened heart.

Most would hoard or price-gouge the poor.

Generosity was usually the first casualty of scarcity.

But perhaps there was some good left in the world.

Or, he reconsidered his grand notions for élise’s motivations.

These people could have paid for the bread in advance, and she was simply making deliveries.

Maybe she worked at the bakery and sold small pieces of bread for an overpriced amount to those who could not go to the bakery.

His lips thinned. It was most likely the latter.

From his experiences over the centuries, selfishness won whenever people became hungry to the point of violence.

“Forget her,” he told himself as he hurried past her.

But she turned suddenly and bumped into him.

She tripped. He caught her before she fell—one hand on her arm and the other steady at her lower back.

They locked eyes, and he pulled her upright.

The warmth in her closeness and her breath on his chest muted his tongue.

His fingers lingered on the fabric of her dress before he forced them away from her.

She had not died, so he did not love her—it was just infatuation.

He could walk away from infatuation before it blossomed into something more, or at least he hoped.

“Rollant?” she asked in a whisper, quieting the chaos around him.

His eyes must have lit. She remembered him from fourteen days prior, not only him but also his name. After centuries in the king’s courtrooms and dalliances across the country and the world in honor of the king, words were not foreign to him, yet with élise, words were all but forgotten.

“It is good to see you again,” she said with a smile, smoothing her apron.

He returned with a smile of his own that he forced himself to erase from his eyes.

“Where have you been?” she asked, putting her hand on her hip.

He fumbled with his words as they finally returned to him. “I’ve been traveling around the neighboring districts, trying to find a place I could call home.” He looked past her with a faint smile. “No one’s waiting for me where I come from.”

élise shifted her weight, clearly uncomfortable with his lonely answer. “Well, I don’t know how much you have saved, but outside the city walls is probably your cheapest option.”

He nodded, his gaze locking with her eyes. “I was afraid of that. But from what I can tell, you are right about the prices, Mademoiselle.”

She adjusted the bread in its cloth wrap to ensure the heat didn’t leave it. “I bet you don’t remember my name, do you? It’s why you haven’t used my name yet.” Her eyes narrowed as if she had already written him off. “I’m just a pretty face to you, aren’t I?”

He chuckled at the direct questions that had accusatory implications for his nature. She had pegged him for a skirt-chaser.

A smug grin passed over her mouth. “Like all the rest, I see,” she muttered.

He shook his head and held up his hands. “No, no. You see, you are incorrect, élise.”

Her grin fell flat at hearing her name, but her eyes grew wide in surprise.

“And you are not just a pretty face; though, you have a beautiful one,” he said.

A rosy flush grew on his cheeks. Had he just called her beautiful?

Aloud? He had to stop and walk away forever.

The test of his will had failed. He needed to bid adieu and return to the palace attic, where living in immortal punishment was easier.

She scoffed. “You may know my name, but you are a liar. No one has ever called me beautiful.”

“Then everyone must be blind,” he said without a second thought, desperately wishing to keep his mouth closed.

She stepped back and visibly swallowed. “I have to go,” she stuttered, narrowing her eyes before spinning on her heels.

Against his better judgment, he followed and walked beside her. “Are you making deliveries? I could assist you.”

“These aren’t deliveries,” she said quickly, eyes straight ahead.

“No?” His will shattered, thinking his latter judgment of her was incorrect and made her even more desirable. “Then what are they?”

She side-eyed him. “Nothing.”

Rollant wanted to tell her he had seen her hand out bread to numerous people, but that would indicate he had followed her for quite some time. At her continued silence, he asked, “Would you like me to leave?”

“No, I mean, yes.” She shook her head. “I . . .” She took a deep breath and stopped walking.

Rollant stepped to face her. Again, their gazes locked.

“If you ask me to leave, I’ll never engage with you again if that is what you wish,” he said, wishing she asked him to leave because he feared he was not strong enough to walk away as he had previously determined he would.

Her mouth opened, but no words came out. Her eyes searched his. “Gabin . . . I am with Gabin Roux,” she said with a shallow breath as if he should know who that was. “I am his woman. Not married, but he saved me from my father and aunt, as I’m sure you heard me say in the bakery two weeks prior.”

Rollant’s lips pressed together as his chin ducked.

He could walk away. She gave him an open door but did not tell him to leave.

However, he needed to walk away from Faubourg Saint-Antoine to save himself from the heartache of watching her die either by time or in his arms. If he had loved her, she would have died when he caught her from falling.

Something so simple could have ended her life, but there was a light in her eyes as if begging him to stay, as if she needed him for a small sanctuary in the hardship of life.

He felt pulled to élise, and along with it, a pang of guilt surged in his belly.

Yet, there he was, asking too many questions and entering the dangerous ground before the fall.

Amée’s memory warned him to stop. But the allure of human connection with a woman that intrigued him after centuries of solitude, distanced from all, kept him rooted to the present, cherishing each forbidden moment and feeding the craving his heart desired.

“Say something,” she said in hushed tones. It was more of a question than a statement. “I apologize if I have misunderstood your compliments as interest in me or if I gave you an indication of interest. I only thought I should be upfront with you.”

He shook his head. “No, you have not misunderstood,” he said with a hesitant smile.

“You have stolen my words yet again, Mademoiselle.” The brisk spring winds whipped through them as if telling him to “Go, now.” But he defied it, unable to draw himself away.

“Do you need my assistance with your non-deliveries, or do you want me to leave you alone?”

He bit back his error. He should have left, but something within needed the absolute confirmation of her desire for him to leave.

“I want you to . . .” Her voice trailed off as she cradled the bread in her arm and again adjusted the flap. “I want . . . or rather . . . if you have the time . . . I request your assistance.” She kept her eyes on the bread.

“I’m glad to,” he said and stepped out of her way.

Her eyes snapped to his with a furrowed brow. “And you want nothing in return. I cannot pay you for your time.”

“I want nothing but your company,” he said and hated himself for it.

Both corners of her mouth lifted, and her eyes seemed to be at peace. It was enough for him to forgive himself.

“I think you might be getting the raw end of the deal,” she chuckled.

“I doubt that,” he said and gestured to hold the bread for her, to which she refused.

He folded his hands behind his back as they walked.

It was foolish to let his heart venture into this acquaintanceship.

He had already vowed long ago when Amée passed in his arms never to let himself linger near love, for his sake and the one who held his heart.

“I wanted to hear you speak again,” he said.

“Will you also be at Au Pain Roux tonight?”