Page 62

Crossroads of the Soul

It had been three years since Rollant left. élise no longer counted the days but the seasons. When the monarchy was suspended and the royal family imprisoned, she had thought—hoped—Rollant would finally come to her as a mortal. The crown was gone, and his immortality with it. But he never came.

For weeks, she debated, almost packing a bag to search for Rollant, but Hugo had begged her not to return to the city.

Reports of bloodlust and anarchy poured in like whispers of a nightmare.

Paris was devouring itself—a war within a war.

To appease him and his family, she remained content with the distant view of the city’s skyline, wondering if Rollant was dead or alive and, if he was alive, where he was.

Her fire dimmed the more she stayed in Charonne, as every question went unanswered, and every hope flitted away.

At twenty-three years old, élise knew Charonne had softened her edges but had not silenced her heart.

Giselle and Gabrielle taught her grace and patience—virtues her mother had never been able to impart.

Hugo, the ever-steady man, tried every day to win her heart and affection.

He was the only eligible bachelor in their close-knit community, and she, the only unmarried woman of age.

She appreciated him and loved him in a quiet way, but it wasn’t the same.

They all wanted her to marry him and have a family to work Charonne’s soil.

But élise’s heart remained frozen, trapped between a past she couldn’t release and the faint, flickering hope of the future she had once imagined.

She saw Rollant in her mind, aged but strong, sitting across the table from her, eating breakfast together in the golden light of morning.

Try as she might, she couldn’t picture Hugo the same way.

And yet, her life in Charonne had taken root. The seasons passed, her garden flourished, and the ache in her chest dulled but never disappeared.

A knock came at the door. élise glanced up from the bread dough she was kneading, brushing flour from her hands. Her thoughts would have to wait.

Hugo and his sisters stood in the doorway. Giselle and Gabrielle were dressed in their best, clean, pressed dresses and braided hair with ribbon. Hugo’s hair was slicked back and curled at the edges, framing a face freshly shaven. élise couldn’t help but chuckle at the parade before her.

“What is the occasion?” she asked, peering up at Hugo with a wide-brimmed smile.

élise wiped her hands on her apron and motioned for them to come inside. Giselle and Gabrielle slipped past her, giggling and whispering as they set a basket of herbs on the table. Hugo lingered at the door, his gaze soft but hesitant.

“Hugo?” élise tilted her head, smiling softly. “You’re looking very serious today. What is it?”

He stepped inside and glanced at his sisters. “Gabrielle, Giselle, could you please go into the bedroom for a moment? I would like a moment alone with élise.” He glanced at élise. “I hope that’s acceptable; it is quite cold outside.”

She nodded. “Of course.” Her hand rose to her hip at the close of her bedroom door, knowing his sisters could easily hear whatever they discussed.

“You’ve intrigued me. What is all this about?” she asked, waving toward the herbs and his pressed vest and coat.

His blue eyes sparkled, and he pulled out a small wooden ring. Though not ornate, it was smooth and carved with care. He held it between his forefinger and his thumb.

Her heart sank, though she kept a smile on her lips.

“I made this for you,” he whispered. He transferred it to his palm and held it out for her. “It’s not much, but I wanted it to be special.” He cleared his throat and adjusted his coat.

“Thank you, Hugo,” she said. “What is it?” She played dumb, hoping to draw the event out so she had time to think.

“Well,” he said, but faltered before taking a deep breath with a soft grin.

“You know how I feel about you, élise,” he began, sure in his words.

“I’ve loved you for years. I’ve worked hard to build a good home, a place for a wife and family to thrive.

I’ve done my best to build a good name. I want to share it all with you.

I want to be your husband. Will you marry me? ”

The world fell silent, except for the giggling coming from her bedroom. Her eyes rimmed with instant tears.

Hugo was safe, kind, and giving. He was everything she needed in a man, a husband, and a father to any children they may have.

He was a respected herbalist, a healer, educated, and well-read.

He’d generously given his time to further her quality of life.

His boyish charm would have wooed any other woman.

She was a fool if she said no.

“I don’t know what to say,” she whispered, her voice thick with unshed tears.

“Say yes, élise,” Hugo said, his azure eyes pleading.

Her gaze dropped to the ring, and her chest tightened around a slowing heartbeat. Her hands twitched at her sides, knowing the prudent girl would take it.

She met his gaze. Hugo’s eyes searched hers, hope mingled with fear.

“You don’t have to say yes right now,” he added quickly, his voice thick with nerves.

“I just . . . I needed you to know how I feel. We’re getting older.

Time is passing, and I—I want you to know I’m here, élise. I’ll always be here.”

A few tears escaped the well and ran freely down her cheeks. She looked down at the ring, then back up at Hugo’s face—earnest, kind, and filled with a love she wished she could return in full.

Her voice trembled as she spoke. She wanted to treat Hugo fairly, for he was her friend. “Hugo, you deserve someone who loves you as much as you love them. Someone who can give you their whole heart. I don’t know if I can be that person.”

He stepped closer, his hand still outstretched. “I don’t care,” he said softly. “You’re enough, élise. Whatever part of your heart you can give me, it’s enough.”

Giselle and Gabrielle gasped, their joy so immediate and overwhelming that élise felt trapped beneath its weight.

She wished social protocol allowed them to leave—anything to give her space to think.

Everyone wanted this union. If she said no, they might ostracize her, and she’d be alone in a world that did not forgive loneliness. How would she survive?

But if she said yes, she’d be lying to Hugo. And Rollant—Rollant had been gone for three years. Three years of silence. Was she a fool to cling to a memory? Was she still just a silly girl, infatuated with the impossible dream of a man who had likely already moved on?

She was a woman now, and women should want stability and security with a man who showed up every day, not pining for the ghost of a first love.

Rollant was the passion she yearned for, but she had to accept he wasn’t returning.

Perhaps Hugo’s steady love was enough, if not the love she had once known.

Her fire for life had already faded. Maybe it was time to put the girl’s heart aside and extinguish it altogether. As Rollant said, maybe it was easier to live life not feeling when you are torn from those you love.

She slid her hand into Hugo’s, still unsure of her answer.

Her heart screamed for her to wait—wait for the ghost of a man who might never return.

But silence had been Rollant’s only answer for three years.

Her gaze met Hugo’s patient eyes. Her breath hitched, her fingers trembling in his warm, steady grip.

If Rollant was gone—if he was truly gone—then wasn’t it time to move on? To stop clinging to the ashes of a love that had burned so brightly it had consumed her?

Hugo was here.

Hugo was real.

Yet, her hand trembled as she forced a smile and nodded.

Both eyebrows lifted high over his wide eyes. “Really?” he chuckled. “Really?”

The broad smile on his face was contagious. She laughed, too, and nodded more at his excitement.

He slid the ring onto her finger—a fit nearly too loose, but it stayed without further adjustment.

It was everything he was—solid, simple, and made with care.

He picked her up and swung her around, but as he pulled her close, his smile faltered for the briefest moment.

It was gone in an instant, replaced by laughter, but élise felt it—a hesitation, a question he didn’t dare ask.

“You are going to be my wife, and I couldn’t be happier,” he shouted. Giselle and Gabrielle slung the bedroom door open and rushed to them with peals of glee.

élise kept the smile plastered and laughed with Giselle and Gabrielle as they hugged her tightly.

Giselle squealed, clasping her hands over her chest. “We are going to have another sister!”

Her heart beat faster, and the room spun.

Gabrielle grabbed élise’s hands, squeezing them. “Oh, you could have a Christmas wedding!” she shrieked with eyes full of excitement.

The sisters’ joy was a stark reminder of what was expected—what she had chosen. She forced a smile, hoping they couldn’t see the cracks.

But Christmas was only two months away. Her ears rang, and the edges of her vision blurred.

Hugo pulled élise in for a chaste kiss. “With the snow and the fire?—”

“No,” élise said quickly, silencing and stilling the room. “I—I don’t like the cold,” she said, offering no other timeframe.

“Oh,” Hugo said and bit his lip. “Well, how about the summer?” he asked.

She wanted to say, “Or next,” but refrained and said instead, “That sounds wonderful. A summer wedding would be perfect.” She swallowed hard behind a wide smile.

Hugo, élise, and his sisters visited each house to announce their marriage promise. Each community member’s face lit with elation at the news.

Night fell, and élise barred the door of her Charonne home, shutting out the community’s happiness. Though the smell of bread graced the house, she had no appetite. The basket of herbs lay on the table; the task of putting them away would wait until the morning. Again, she felt alone.

Isolated.

She should have readied the home for the night with happiness in her heart, but the numbing cold prevented any happiness from growing there. The bedroom hearth crackled, and the door closed for the night to keep the bedroom warm.

She slipped the ring from her finger and placed it on the nightstand with deliberate care as though setting down the weight of the decision she couldn’t carry.

Her fingers quivered as they traced the carved surface, its simplicity reflecting the quiet life Hugo promised.

It was beautiful in its own way, but the smooth wood felt cool against her skin.

Her hand drifted to Rollant’s shirt, neatly folded on the bed.

She pulled it over her head, the worn fabric falling loose and familiar against her skin.

The faint scent of old wood and candle smoke still lingered, a memory of him that refused to fade and instead clung to her twisting heart.

She curled beneath the blankets, clutching the shirt as if it could bring him back.

Her tears slipped silently down her cheeks at first, but soon turned to heaving sobs that wracked her chest. Why had she called him a monster? Why had she told him to leave and never return?

Waves rippled down her back, shaking her body until exhaustion claimed her, and when sleep finally came, she dreamed of Rollant.