Page 74

The Solace of Night

Winter’s icy fingers lingered into the early months of spring.

The village of Charonne had been blanketed in silence as though the cold had seeped into its very soul, leaving everything still and untouched.

The homes on Rollant’s land remained vacant, save for the occasional cry of a bird or the rustle of wind through bare trees.

The pale light of the early morning sun barely pierced the fog, casting a soft glow over the frost-dusted rooftops of the empty homes.

élise liked the silence—it was comforting in a way. It was the kind of quiet that came with knowing nothing would change—nothing but the chores that needed to be done and the thought of Rollant coming home to her at the end of the week.

It meant more work for her, but she didn’t mind it.

There was peace in tending a garden and the sheep, knowing Rollant was hers and she was his.

With him, she felt whole. At the thought, her lips turned into a smile.

If she had chosen Hugo, she would have spent her entire life in a hollow paradise, wondering what could have been.

There was no regret with Rollant, even if their life together had thus far been challenging, sometimes frustrating.

But the challenge of his curse had only deepened their bond.

She had never felt more alive. Even if their life together was unconventional, it reignited the spark and sense of purpose she had been missing with Hugo.

Her years of pining had not been in vain, and Rollant’s acceptance of her as his bride affirmed the desires of her heart.

She had chosen the right man, and she was proud to be élise de Montvieux.

She walked to the fence of Hugo’s family home and gazed at the city walls.

Rollant stayed six days at the Temple and one with her.

It was over an hour’s walk to the Temple, and he worked long days, earning only two livres a day, barely enough to live on, but she made it work, only venturing into Popincourt for items she could not make herself.

She missed him. It was as if he was still accustomed to being alone, but she wanted more of him, more of his mind that he would not share, more of his body he could not share, and more of his presence that he did not share.

She pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders and adjusted her coat. Rollant was coming home for the night, and she looked forward to it. Dinner was cooking on the hearth, and all the chores had been done.

She retreated to the house to read the book Rollant had given her as a wedding present. She had almost finished it, a book of fables. Her reading was not good, but the stories helped her skill.

The rich, hearty aroma of stew filled the air, mingling with the earthy scent of the crackling fire, wrapping the room in warmth and contentment.

She was deep with her nose in the book past nightfall when a knock came at the door.

“Rollant?”

“It is me, élise,” he said.

She jumped to her feet, her heart racing, and unbarred the door in a rush, barely keeping her balance as she flung herself into his chest. The cool spring air left her shoulders, replaced by the comforting heat of his body.

He smelled faintly of the earth and the road—sweat and leather mingled with the sharp scent of old wood and candle smoke.

His rough hands were warm against her arms, and she sank into him with a soft, relieved sigh. She rolled to her toes and kissed him, draping her arms around his neck. At least without neighbors, she could kiss him however she wanted outside their home.

He stroked her arms before grasping her belt and pulling her so their bellies touched. His chest was firm and solid against her, as if grounding her after the long days spent alone.

The roughness of his coat under her fingers, the heat of his breath against her skin, and the softness of his lips sent a rush through her, making the world outside vanish.

Even after the months they had lived as husband and wife in Charonne, the fire still sparked with every kiss and every touch. But one of them had to ensure the fire did not flame. They had already failed twice before, and each time, it ended with élise on the floor near death.

“May I come in, Dame Montvieux?” he asked with lips hovering over hers.

She gave him one more kiss before allowing him into their home.

“I just swept the floors,” she said, pointing to his boots, and retreated to the main room to plate the meal.

“Yes, Madame.” Rollant removed his muddy boots by the door and slowly removed his coat with a groan.

She paused at his groan, hoping he had not been hurt on the way home. She hadn’t smelled or felt blood on him.

“You did not have to wait to eat with me,” he said upon entering the main room.

“Oh,” she said as she sliced the bread and cheese.

“I didn’t want you to eat by yourself. You do that all week long, and besides, I made your favorite stew,” she said, glancing back at him.

Her tone betrayed her hidden concern. The hearth light showcased his weary face and the dark circles under his eyes as he washed his hands and face in the basin.

The soft splash of water from the basin was the only sound, punctuated by the low groan Rollant gave as he wiped his face, the weariness of his week evident in each movement.

“Thank you,” he whispered with a soft smile beneath dull eyes. He pulled her chair out for her, and they sat down to eat.

“This is delicious. You have quite outdone yourself,” Rollant said.

élise beamed.

“After having gruel all week, this stew is everything my belly could hope for.” Even his words dripped with exhaustion, though his eyes sparkled when he looked upon her. He reached across the table, and élise slipped her hand into his.

“I’m worried about you,” she said. “You look as if you carry the weight of the world.”

Rollant chuckled with a shake of his head. “It’s only been a long week.”

But élise knew the lie. Rollant carried what he would not tell her for much longer than the past week.

His silence always spoke louder than his words.

Her direct nature drove her to ask the question.

She was tired of guessing. She was tired of him pulling away from her to protect her, shelter her, or for whatever reason.

“No, it’s more than that,” she said in a whisper.

Rollant scrubbed a hand over his face, his jaw tightening.

“Why do you look so worn, Rollant? Why do you never tell me what happens during your days at the Temple?”

His face paled. His thumb ran over her fingers as his gaze turned inward.

She was losing him to his past horrors. With a gentle but firm tone, she said, “You’ve carried this burden alone long enough. Let me carry it with you.”

Rollant’s fingers tightened around his spoon with knuckles white.

His gaze dropped to his bowl, his usual confident demeanor giving way to something raw.

The strain in his shoulders and the way his lips pressed together meant he was holding back words he didn’t want to say. He sighed and ate his stew.

It was his way of telling her he would answer in a moment, so she finished her meal in silence to allow him time to gather his thoughts. He was always so careful, so reserved, and she threw all of that to the wind.

The scrape of his spoon against the bowl was the only sound for a long moment, the rhythm of its quiet punctuation to the silence between them.

When they were finished, Rollant took the dishes and washed them. With his back turned to her, he spoke with a shake of his head.

“If I tell you, élise, it cannot be undone. You will carry it with you, as I do. Are you sure you want that?”

élise rose and wrapped her arms around his waist, leaning her cheek between his shoulder blades. “I want all of you, Rollant,” she said, her voice catching. The plea was evident in her tone. "Not just the parts you think are safe to share.”

“Six hundred years is a long time to be alone,” he whispered as he washed out a bowl. “Habits are hard to let go; I’m sorry if you feel I have kept my darkest moments from you. I only wish for your happiness.”

“Are you happy with me, Rollant?” she asked.

He lowered the dish into the basin and dried his hands before turning in her arms. He cradled her face and placed a sweet, gentle kiss on her lips. “Beyond happy,” he whispered. “You are my greatest strength.”

She closed her eyes as he kissed her cheeks and forehead. “Then I want to help you carry your dark moments so they are not so dark. You are not alone anymore. I am your wife, let me help you. Let me be close to you in all ways we can be.”

“Then I will tell you,” he whispered and led her to the sofa. Rollant stared at their entwined hands for a long time before he began.

Her chest tightened as she listened, the words falling from his mouth like stones in the room’s stillness, impossible to take back.

Her throat tightened, her hand trembling slightly as she reached for his, the warmth of his skin grounding her amid his despair: Louis Charles—the screams, the bruises—even still, after Antoine Smith’s execution.

“There is nothing but desperation in his eyes,” Rollant said. “And I feel I have failed him just as I failed his father. I am immortal. I cannot die, and yet I cannot save anyone.” His gaze dropped, and his shoulders released centuries of regret.

élise’s heart broke at his words, the weight of his pain pressing down on her chest. Her thumb brushed across the calloused skin on his hand, trying to offer a small comfort for the anguish he couldn’t escape and had carried alone for so long.

“I am trapped in an endless cycle of seeing everyone suffer and try as I might, fate does not change anything. Everyone dies. There is no peace. I long for an end to the torment, élise,” he said, tears breaking free.