Page 105 of The Thornwyck Rose

“Did you make my daughter an adulteress? Is that why Henry attacks us?”

Erik shook his head. “No,” he croaked.

Madoc squeezed harder, then released him. Erik gasped for air. His lungs burned.

“So why did she give you what was meant for kin?” a man asked—likely one of Seren’s brothers.

“I don’t—,” Erik slurred. “She is blameless. She is strong. Clever. We became friends. I protected her from Henry as best I could. She loves my son. And I fell in love with her.” The confession felt good. He paused and let the words settle. “She’s my Valkyrie.”

Seren’s mother’s voice slipped between the men’s anger. “You say you love her. But does she love you?” she asked, though her gaze remained on his shoulder.

Erik’s breath shook. “Before I left, she touched her lips to my cheek—just enough to graze mine.” He touched the corner of his lips, remembering the warmth of her breath. His hand fell into his lap. “It was her boundary. Because she would not break her vow, not even in private, not even to die loved.”

He whispered again to settle the doubts, “She is no adulteress. But sheisthe most loyal soul I have ever known.”

“Yet you fight against her homeland?” Madoc raised a fist, but Seren’s mother lifted her hand.

“Let him explain,” she asked, voice soft but firm.

Erik scanned their faces. All echoes of Seren. They were her kin.

“I fight for Henry,” he said, voice rough, “because he holds my son’s life in his hands.”

The truth settled hard in his chest. There was nothing noble in it, only survival.

“Before we departed, I asked her if she would still choose me, knowing who I fought.”

He hesitated and swallowed hard.

“She said yes.”

The word alone stole his breath.

“For one moment, I let myself believe I could save her. That somehow, if I obeyed, if I endured, we would both live.” He shook his head as another bitter truth soured his tongue. “But I know better. So does she.”

He lifted his eyes to Madoc’s.

“I’ve never lost a campaign. I’ve never been thrown from a horse. Until now.” He drew in a raw, shaky breath. “It wasn’t just the fall. It was a warning—an omen. She told me that Henry would kill her, no matter the outcome of this. If he gains victory over you, she’s no longer useful. If you defeat him, he’ll lay the blame at her feet.”

Madoc studied Erik. “Are you going to let her die?”

“She told me to let her—so her son wouldn’t begin his rule in blood.” His vision cleared. His voice cracked. “If I kill Henry, all she’s suffered—all she’s survived—is for nothing. She’ll be bartered to another lord for peace. She’s already bled more than any man I’ve led into war.”

At her mother’s hitched breath, a memory cut through him—Seren beneath the orchard boughs, her daughters laughing as she pressed crushed blackberries on their cheeks. Vala had called it war paint. Their laughter burned through his heart. Seren had turned to glance at him; her eyes were bright with joy, even though bruises littered her cheek and neck.

He broke. Tears slipped free. Maybeit was the head wound. Maybe it was the crack in the soul speaking words he had never been free to say.

“I am a broken man. She healed me. But to watch her die . . .” He shook his head. The words came from a clogged throat. “I don’t know how to do it. I don’t know how to let her die.”

He was unraveling—a warrior no longer.

“I love her,” he said again, voice hoarse and blood-rough. “Don’t let him kill her.”

Madoc’s stare lingered on Erik—long enough to see if the Norseman would flinch.

Then he stepped back, jaw tight.

“You say you love her,” he said quietly. “Then bleed for her.”