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A Legacy to Leave

Rollant blinked awake. His vision blurred with the golden light of dawn spilling into the room, casting a warm glow over the familiar space.

The air smelled of lavender and the lingering embers from last night’s fire, and for a moment, he only breathed, relishing the sensation of waking up with the weight of another beside him.

élise lay nestled against his chest, her breath a soft, steady rhythm against his ribs.

Her hand clutched his as if she were anchoring him to this world.

For centuries, he had awoken alone; he had felt nothing but the cold emptiness of immortality stretching endlessly before him.

Now, her warmth and touch grounded him. He allowed himself to indulge her embrace as he had every morning since his second brush with mortal death.

He shifted slowly, sliding his arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer, pressing his lips to her hair, breathing in the faint scent of lavender and linen.

He had imagined this moment for lifetimes—but nothing compared to the reality of holding her.

Of feeling the weight of her in his arms, unburdened by fear.

His hands, so used to wielding swords and shields, now held something infinitely more precious.

He felt the gentle rise and fall of her breath against him, the soft flutter of her lashes as she stirred, and the silken weight of her hair against his skin.

For so long, love had been a painful memory buried beneath the endless march of time.

But now he knew love was meant to be a presence, tangible and alive.

He tightened his arms around her, marveling at the simple miracle of touch.

It was no longer fatal; it was theirs. It soothed him and gave him a reason to keep fighting—not for kings or crowns, but for love. For her.

“élise,” he whispered, testing the shape of her name on his lips as if it were a prayer.

She curled closer to him, fitting against him like she belonged there.

Her head tilted up, still with closed eyes, as she murmured an incoherent mumble.

He cupped her face, his thumb smoothing over her cheek.

“I had forgotten what this felt like,” he murmured, his voice raw with wonder. “To hold someone. To hold you.”

Her lips curved into a soft smile, and she leaned into his touch. “You held me yesterday and the day before that, and for the past few years, decade, really,” she whispered and stretched.

A loud crash in the kitchen jolted her up with eyes open wide. “What are you doing?” she called through the closed door. Her voice was still thick with sleep.

Muffled giggles followed. “Playing, Mama.” Their daughter’s voice rang out—far too innocent to be believed.

Rollant let out a low groan and pressed his face into élise’s shoulder. “Those pesky children,” he muttered with a smirk. He pulled her back into his arms, holding her as if the world itself might try to steal her away.

“You adore them,” she teased, running her fingers through his hair.

He gazed at the sparkle in her eyes and kissed her long and slow.

“I never thought I’d have this again,” he whispered, his lips hovering over hers as if afraid she might disappear.

“Not after so long. But I swear to you, élise, as I do every morning—I will cherish every moment. Every day, every breath, every smile. I will waste none of them.”

And as the morning’s light bathed them both, Rollant held her, the ache in his chest a distant hum compared to the overwhelming joy of embracing love again.

“As will I,” she whispered back, her breath hot on his lips, as he placed a parted mouth over hers.

The door swung open, and their four-year-old boy stood in the doorway. “I’m hungry, starving,” he whined with both hands dropped near the ground, showcasing bent knees as if the poor child hadn’t eaten in weeks.

Rollant sighed and kissed élise again before dragging himself out of bed to tend to his son.

He winced as his side protested. The scar on his side and chest still ached with every breath, and his muscles grew stiff after the days of recovery, but he was painfully, beautifully alive.

It was humbling to be fragile, but with that fragility came purpose.

He no longer had centuries stretching endlessly before him, only the finite years he and élise could carve out together.

The ache of time, which had once loomed over him like an endless shadow, now felt like a gift.

Precious. Fleeting. The exhilarating wonder of what the day could hold.

* * *

The sun was setting, and the Montvieux family took their daily familial walk. The sun painted the sky in soft hues of gold and rose and cast the rolling fields of Charonne in all of its glory.

Rollant walked beside élise, his hand wrapped firmly around hers, their steps slow but steady. Each step was a reminder of the life they had chosen to build together, the life he had once believed would never be his.

He could feel the stiffness in his side, the ache of a body that no longer healed with supernatural prowess.

But with each passing day, he had come to love that ache.

It reminded him that he had once belonged to kings, crowns, and wars that truly never ended, but in his mortality, he belonged to élise, and his time was his own.

His fingers tightened around élise’s. The weight of the past seemed to melt away in her embrace. It paled in comparison to the fleeting moments of peace.

The rich scent of lavender and thyme wafted through the air, mingling with the earthy warmth of the evening, as they passed the garden.

Their children’s laughter rang out, clear and bright, as they darted through the tall grass.

It was a sound that carried joy and an earned peace.

Rollant’s fortune had been used sparingly to ensure it lasted generations.

In Charonne, there was no need to worry about what went on behind the city walls.

No cares could come to them. The once vacant homes now brimmed with new families seeking sanctuary and peace.

Neighbors waved from across the path, their smiles warm and genuine, and élise returned the gesture, her head leaning lightly against Rollant’s shoulder.

Rollant’s gaze swept over the fields and the cobblestone path leading to the rolling hills in the east.

For centuries, Rollant had been bound to a legacy that was not his own, a servant to the dreams of kings long gone.

Yet in the simple beauty of Charonne, he had found a kingdom of his own—a kingdom not built on magic, war, or conquest, but of love, laughter, and life.

Every stone, every blade of grass, every echo of their children’s laughter carried the weight of what they had endured and the promise of what they would leave behind.

This was not the legacy of a crown. It was the legacy of love.

It was what he’d fought for, what he’d prayed for without daring to hope.

He pulled élise into a strong embrace, and when her head leaned against his chest, he felt it—the profound peace of a man who had all he ever wanted. This was their land, their legacy, their life.