Page 64

The Blood of Kings

The Place de la Révolution was a sea of faces, each more ravenous than the last. They surged toward the scaffold at the center of the square, their voices a discordant symphony of jeers, cheers, and cries for vengeance.

élise stood among them, her brown scarf pulled tight against the January cold, her breath clouding in the air as she stared at the looming guillotine.

They had been standing in the cold for hours and barely made it in before the city gates were closed.

Hugo and the rest of the community had ventured into the city walls to witness the heresy.

Though Hugo had begged them not to go, something stronger than her fear had pulled her back to Paris.

The Revolution had taken so much—her friends, her city, her sense of safety—and now it would take the king.

She hated what Louis represented, but watching him die felt like watching the world end.

This wasn’t the future she had fought for.

She wanted the king’s abdication, but not for him to face execution built on bias and hate.

She feared the foundation the new Republic was laying with such a decision.

The guillotine’s blade gleamed in the pale winter morning sun, like a false beacon of hope cutting through the fog.

The carriage rolled to the scaffold, which guardsmen surrounded. Louis Capet walked up the steps with a composure befitting a king. They bound his hands and shaved his head as his priest whispered words of comfort to him.

Drums rolled and drowned out the former king’s last words; the poor man was not even allowed to be heard.

They forced him onto the plank and dropped the blade.

élise closed her eyes as it fell. The crowd roared, surging forward as Louis’ head thudded into the basket beneath.

élise’s stomach turned, bile rising in her throat as she stumbled back, away from the wave of bodies pressing toward the scaffold.

The crowd cheered, but she couldn’t summon a sound.

The executioner held up Louis Capet’s dripping head, and the crowd cheered louder, deafening the drums. She doubted his son would survive, and when he was of age, he’d meet the same fate. They would make sure of that.

She surveyed the crowds, at what she helped to create. A man stared at her as he cheered. The corners of her mouth rose, fearing what he might think otherwise.

They gathered up the body and threw it in the dirt with nothing more.

The crowds dispersed in a swell, forcing Hugo’s hand from hers.

They drifted apart, but his eyes darted toward Charonne, and she knew to return home as planned.

She nodded before losing him in the crowd.

They pushed against her and wouldn’t let her turn around.

“Please,” she whispered and nearly turned before she bumped into a man.

“Pardon me, Citizen,” she said, flustered.

She noticed his blue uniform—a National Guardsman.

She stilled and forced her breath to calm.

Her head down, she tried to step aside not to garner trouble, but his fingers graced her arm.

She stiffened. Time halted as his familiar voice cut through the cacophony of the crowd.

“It is my pardon, élise,” he said. The chaos fell away, and her forehead lowered to his chest. Her knees went weak as she leaned into him, fearing that her mind had conjured him, but the scent of old wood and candle smoke lingered in his shirt, like a memory made real.

Her arms wrapped around his waist, as if she were meant to be there. For a moment, the world could crumble, but she would be whole.

He grasped the seam of her coat and pulled her close.

Tension fled from her shoulders, and tears burned the back of her eyes.

Fate had answered. The years apart compressed into moments as if time had stood still, affirming their love was never meant to fade.

She had fought the town to marry in the summer rather than Christmas, and standing before Rollant, unmarried, fate validated her resistance.

Hating Louis to die, she thought maybe it meant Rollant could come home with her. She lifted her face to his.

She had begged the stars for Rollant’s return, and now that he was here, Hugo crept into her mind. Hugo, who had stood by her, steady as the earth beneath her feet, who had loved her when she could not love herself.

But she couldn’t let go of the ache in her chest for Rollant, the place where he had taken root years ago. That part of her had never healed; it had only grown, biding its time. Standing before him, her heart’s desire roared back to life.

“Oh, élise,” he whispered, stroking a loose piece of hair behind her ear.

“I am sorry, Rollant,” she spurted. “You are not a monster, and I have hated myself every day for telling you to leave.” Her lip quivered.

He sighed in relief. His back rounded, and his grip tightened on her coat as if he wanted to hold her.

“Come with me, Rollant,” she whispered, feeling the aching love in his gaze. “The king is dead. The crown is gone. Your curse is lifted. We can be together.”

His eyes darkened, and he looked down at his hand, where a bloody handkerchief sat against unbroken skin. “I thought perhaps,” he said. “But there is still a king. And as long as there is a crown, I remain bound.”

Her words were a raw mixture of anger and disbelief. “I thought—I thought the curse?—”

“I know,” he said gently, cutting her off. “I thought so, too.” He lifted her chin, his thumb brushing her cheek. “But the crown still stands, and so do I. Why are you here? Did you come alone?”

“I was with Hugo,” she said. “But we got separated in the crowd.”

Rollant’s jaw grew taut. “It’s not safe. I’ll take you home.” He tucked her arm under his and pushed through the crowds.

They passed through the city gate with a few crude jokes about where Rollant was taking such a girl by the guardsmen on duty. But once the rolling hillside greeted them, they slowed their gait, talking and walking hand in hand, hidden in the folds of their coats as they once did.

“I dreamed of you, and I still wear your shirt,” élise said with a chuckle.

Rollant leaned down to whisper in her ear. “You have healed my heart with such secrets.”

They came upon a large step in the walkway, and élise jumped atop it to face him, eye-to-eye. “I have decided I want a life with you,” she whispered. “I wish to grow old with you, though you may never change.”

She slipped her hands to his shoulders.

“élise, I—” He covered her hand, but the jewelry she wore took his words and attention. He pulled her left hand to view her carved wooden ring. “You are married already?”

“No,” she whispered with a violent shake of her head. Her eyes tingled with guilt and shame. “Only promised to be.”

“To Hugo?” he asked.

“I wish it were to you,” she said.

But sorrow swept over his face as if he hadn’t heard her. “Our former king sent me to plan the escape route where he was caught in Varennes. I took the long route to see you, and I saw you and Hugo in a passionate kiss. I have had that image burned in my mind ever since,” Rollant whispered.

A man shouting élise’s name echoed from down the road. Hugo’s—he was pounding at her door.

“You came back two years ago?” she asked, wishing she had seen him. “That kiss wasn’t real?—”

“Is he good to you?” Rollant changed the subject.

She smiled beneath a knitted brow, allowing his question. “I wish he weren’t. I wish he gave me a reason to hate him, refuse him.”

Rollant swallowed hard. “Do you love him?”

She peered over her shoulder with tear-blurred vision at his frantic search for her in the stable. “Not as much as I love you.”

Rollant nodded, pulling her closer by grasping the side seam of her coat. “Then your love for me will fade if I stay away.”

“No,” she cried, grabbing his arms as Hugo’s shouts echoed from the stable. “I don’t want you to stay away, not now that I know you have loved me all these years. I have never stopped loving you. Even now, I know I am meant to be with you.”

“What can I offer you, élise?” Rollant said with a glistening in his eyes and a slight shake of his head. “A cold bed alone at night? I am tied to the king. I will stay at the Temple in the barracks. I cannot risk coming here any more than I have done, not for my sake, but for yours.”

“What if France wins the war and the crown ends?” she asked. “Will you come back to me?”

Rollant pressed his forehead to hers. “I will, but what would I find? It could last a hundred years.”

Tears ran down her cheeks. “Well, I refuse to let you go,” she said, hovering her lips over his. “Not after I have you again.”

He pressed against her. The familiar spark ignited in his kiss, but before it flamed, he pulled away and whispered with breath hot on her lips, “You’ll always have me.”

Hugo’s shouts grew closer, cutting short their time together. Rollant’s fingers slowly released her coat, letting them slide down the length until his hands swayed at his sides. If there was any doubt of his devotion, they were all but gone.

She cradled his face in her hands, her fingers slipping into his curly locks. “I fear if I am married, you will become mortal. I can’t?—”

Rollant smoothed his hand over hers and removed her touch as Hugo’s shouts tipped time out of their favor. “I will likely never become mortal, élise,” he whispered. “Marry Hugo. He loves you. He is good to you, and in time, you will love him more than me.”

But élise knew her heart, and the intimacy of her pain over the last three years sealed her decision. “No, Rollant, if I marry Hugo, I will spend the rest of my life in love with another man.”

“Not if you let me go,” he whispered.

“élise—” Hugo’s shout stopped short of its full bellow. “Rollant?” he whispered, stepping forward as a new sense of urgency replaced the former.