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Her feet carried her to the bread counter.

She began pulling the dough again, but her arms shook from fatigue.

Rollant stepped behind her and slid his hands down her arms, calming the ache.

He was warm and grounding. His fingers interlaced with hers, lingering a second longer than he should have and anchoring her trembling hands.

His words were low and almost lost to the sound of the streets just beyond the door.

“This will not be forever, élise, I promise,” he spoke a quiet oath.

At his assurance, she leaned her head back into his chest and gave up her will to stand. He lifted her in his arms and carried her to a nearby chair in the corner by the fire.

The next thing she knew, warm water was at her lips, and she drank freely. Then, warm bread. At first, she refused, muttering, “Gabin will not like me eating his bread.”

Rollant’s soothing response allowed her to eat. “I paid for it.”

Soon, it was gone, and through her eye slits, she observed Rollant snatch Gabin’s apron from the wall and take up the dough she’d abandoned. Her eyes closed fully, and for the first time, she believed, even briefly, that true rest was within reach. She only had to be brave enough to take it.

* * *

Her breathing fell into an inconsistent cadence as she slept. She was sick. Rollant knew it. He racked his mind, trying to figure out how to help her. Where could he take her? To an inn?

No, Gabin would realize she was missing, and she might be dead the next time the king sent him to Paris.

Could he take her to his home in Charonne? Hide her away from all this madness?

He sighed.

No, she was too headstrong for that, and he risked her discovering his true nature and the lies he’d told.

He rubbed his neck after he finished her chores.

Making bread was a skill he had learned at one point several hundred years ago when he had nothing else to do, but he wasn’t sure how the bread he’d just made would turn out.

He licked his lip, hoping Gabin wouldn’t punish her for it.

He replaced Gabin’s apron and approached her.

For the briefest moment, he allowed himself to touch her—but only enough to keep her steady on the chair.

It was all he dared to do with the sorceress’ curse.

She hadn’t died in his arms when he picked her up, and it only meant he hadn’t fallen in love with her yet.

No, not yet—he wouldn’t fall in love at all.

She was just a woman who needed help—a temporary friend in his immortal life.

“I do not love her. I cannot love her,” he whispered. He draped his coat over her shoulders and brushed a stray hair from her face.

A customer came in and saw him. “Is she well?” the man asked.

Rollant shook his head. “No. How can I help you?” he asked and took élise’s place behind the counter.

“I don’t deal with strangers,” the man of about thirty years asked. His clothes were torn and his coat was thin. Two teeth were missing in the front of his mouth.

“I am Rollant Montvieux,” Rollant said. “I came here to barter for bread but found élise near exhaustion and the Gabin Roux nowhere to be found.”

The main pursed his lips and scanned Rollant’s clothes. “The name’s Malo.” He narrowed his eyes as he studied Rollant’s face. “I remember you.” He pointed a dirty finger in his face.

“I have been away at port. I’m a navy man,” Rollant offered by way of introduction. He grabbed a loaf of bread and wrapped it in a rag to scoot it across the counter. “What’ll it be?”

Malo turned a corner of his mouth up. “You are either stupid working for free or you have a good heart. As a kind word of advice, don’t tell anyone you are in the king’s navy. People around here don’t like people like you.” Malo raised an eyebrow and jerked his head toward the bakery entrance.

Rollant chuckled. “Good to know. I appreciate the frankness.”

Malo waved off the gratitude and laid three pieces of textiles on the counter. “This is my usual barter. You’ll just have to trust me.”

Rollant scanned Malo’s arms. He wasn’t carrying anything else, so he assumed there was no maliciousness.

A shadow loomed in the door as the trade happened.

“élise!” Gabin’s voice boomed, jolting her from her slumber.

She shrunk beneath Rollant’s coat. Gabin’s head spun to Rollant. “You?!” He marched inside with fists. “I told you to leave, sea rat!”

The counter blocked Gabin’s approach, but Rollant stood calm, a fury building behind his eyes. Diplomacy might win this, and if not, he’d knock the man out. No, he couldn’t do that. élise wouldn’t leave, and it would only worsen her plight if he did such a thing in front of a customer.

As much as it pained him, the only way was to appeal to Gabin’s vanity and pride.

He saw the fist coming, but he didn’t flinch and let it come.

The smack of Gabin’s fist against Rollant’s cheek echoed throughout the bakery.

Rollant overplayed its impact, staggering to the side and catching himself on the counter to avoid a fall.

Malo had stepped back with eyes darting between the three of them.

“Quite the fist there, Monsieur Roux,” Rollant said as he maneuvered his jaw to sort the pain. He rubbed the sore spot.

“Get out, thief!” Gabin’s eyes were bloodshot, and spittle formed in the corner of his mouth.

“Gabin, leave him alone,” élise whimpered from the corner. Sweat dripped from her brow, and her breaths were ragged.

“Shut your mouth, you lazy harlot!” Gabin spun around with a tightly wound fist pointed in her direction. “I’ll deal with you later,” he spat between clenched teeth.

“Monsieur Roux,” Rollant began. “élise is sick. I understand it could be maddening to walk in and see a stranger at your counter and your apprentice asleep in the corner, but I assure you, when I came to barter, she was not well and nearly fainted from sheer exhaustion.”

Rollant gestured to élise as he approached Gabin. “She has a fever.”

He laid a hand on Gabin’s shoulder as a subtle gesture of control, speaking in soft tones but loud enough for Malo to hear. “Now, do you as the bakery owner want to lose business because your apprentice is sick and your customers refuse to buy the bread she made.”

“She is not sick,” Gabin yelled at élise and shook his fist at her.

But Rollant continued in his calm, firm tone. “She has a fever. Look at the sweat beads on her forehead.”

“That is from hard work by the fire,” Gabin said, turning to Malo as if to reassure him élise was not sick.

“Even still, it might be best if I take her to the charity hospital to ensure it is not a fever. I saw one in Le Marais that is strictly for women and children. You could tend to your bakery in the meantime.”

“Get up, élise,” Gabin barked, and élise struggled to stand upon uneasy legs. “Go see if you have fever, and Rollant, get out. Don’t touch her. She is my woman, not yours.”

“Are you sure she can make it on her own?” Rollant ignored him and nodded toward élise, who fell to her knees and hands.

“I’ll take her,” Gabin said and shoved Rollant’s hand off his shoulder.

Rollant asked, “Then who will run your bakery, Monsieur Roux?”

“You will,” he barked, pulling élise by her arm. She moaned at the roughness.

“I will not. I have errands to run and barters to make before my next port call. This is your business. I don’t even know how to make bread. I just followed élise’s directions, but I am thick-headed. I don’t know how it will turn out, and I don’t remember what she told me to do.”

Rollant was going to make sure Gabin couldn’t argue.

He gestured to the customer at the counter.

“Malo, here, was kind enough to give me his usual barter, but do you have that much trust in the rest of your customers or the travelers who come here on the bakery’s wonderful reputation?

Your bakery could be near out of business by the time you return. ”

Gabin sneered. His eyes slipped to Malo as he thought.

élise coughed and groaned at the weight pulling on her arm.

Gabin finally made a decision. “Fine, take her to Le Marais. I want her back before sundown.”

“With a fever?” Rollant asked with a lifted eyebrow. “And chance spreading her illness to all your customers and friends?”

Malo shook his head and finally piped up after keeping his mouth shut the entire exchange. “I don’t need any fevers, Gabin.”

Gabin dropped élise to the floor. “Bring her back as soon as the fever breaks,” he barked in Rollant’s face and thudded behind the counter. He slammed his apron over his head and yelled at Malo. “Anything else?”

Malo shook his head. “Just leaving.”

Rollant grabbed his coat while repeating, I do not love her , in his mind. He hesitated before scooping élise into his arms using the coat as a sling. She weighed nothing, and it squeezed his heart.

Malo adjusted the coat to ensure élise was adequately covered.

It was a dangerous line he was crossing, holding her so close. At any moment, she could breathe her last, and it wouldn’t be due to the fever. His jaw grew taut as he adjusted his internal motto: I will not love her .

They left Gabin muttering indecipherable curses while folding dough.

The busy street didn’t notice Rollant carrying a woman. But Malo leaned in and whispered, “Got some real nerve on you, standing up to Gabin like that. He ain't the sort to forget it come next time.”

Rollant nodded off the compliment and was bitter toward the man for not helping élise for the last six months. Surely, he was a regular bakery customer, and he said nothing and did nothing until it was almost too late. “When your friends are hurting, it is worth the wrath of a bully.”

Malo patted Rollant’s shoulder. “It is easier when you don’t live here where the bully controls the bread.”

Rollant bit back his words. Like the king, he was far too detached to understand what these people lived through. “My apologies, Monsieur.”

Malo nodded, accepting it. “You have my respect. Safe travels to Le Marais,” he said, then continued on his way.