Page 114 of The Thornwyck Rose

His eyes cut to Erik. They were cold and final. “I’ll remind you who commands this keep. Prove your loyalty, savage.”

He jabbed a finger at Seren.

“You will execute her for treason . . . now.”

Erik refused. His words came out in spurts, sealing his decision and trust in the woman he loved. “I care about the souls in this keep, Lord Henry. I’m proving it to you now that I will not execute your wife.” He gathered what remained of his strength to stand upright and speak discernibly. “Her death means months, years, under siege and plague. Madoc vowed every soul would burn. Her life is your life. They’ll be here at noon on the morrow. There’s nowhere to run.”

Feet shifted behind him. Hesitation thickened the air.

“Run, Payen?” Henry scoffed. His voice was brittle around its bravado. “Did the Welsh make you a coward? You fall from your horse once, and nowyou want to run?”

Erik held up his axe, pointing the blade at the man who’d taken everything from him. The weight of it made his arm shake. “I won every time because I knew I could win. For nearly two years, Lord Henry, you’ve fought Madoc when every captain advised you not to.Youthinned our numbers and bled our men dry. And for fifteen years, Madoc and the Welsh chiefs have built their armies.”

He jabbed the axe butt toward the kneeling Seren. “Believe me when I tell you—we will not survive without her.”

A murmur of anxious whispers rippled through the great hall. Chain mail shifted. Spears tapped nervously against stone.

For the first time, Henry’s men did not look certain.

Henry tugged at the tight collar of his cloak, twisting his head as his eyes swept his captains—searching for loyalty and likely finding only fear.

“You married me for peace,” Seren said. “So have your peace, my lord husband.”

Not in the soft voice she used with him. It lacked the courtly demure tone.

It washervoice, her true voice.

Erik glanced back. Seren shakily lifted her necklace, tucking the cross back against her chest as if reclaiming something sacred.

The hall reacted before Henry did—guards shifted as the captains exchanged uncertain looks. Her courage climbed the walls like heat rising.

Henry saw it, though he likely felt it first.

And he crushed it beneath the first command he could muster.

“Disarm the savage.”

Two guards lurched forward. Their hands shook as they seized Erik’s axes. He let them take the weapons. If Henry still wanted her dead, he still had the dagger in his boot.

Henry descended the dais, boots striking the single step like a drumbeat of judgment. “You want peace?” he shouted at those in the hall. “You all want peace?”

He spread his arms, looking to each face as though beseeching them for loyalty he had long since lost.

“Then you will have peace on the morn.” He flicked his wrist, and the two guards shuffled Erik backward so he could seize Seren by the nape, fisting his hand in her hair. She didn’t flinch.

“In the morning, you will walk out of Thornwyck Keep,” he hissed. “You will meet your father on the fields of Mortlande, and you will barter peace. If you care to see your son one last time, you will return here. And if you don’t—then stay in Madoc Keep and die alone.”

“I came for peace, Lord Henry,” Seren said, steady and unbroken, “and peace we shall have.”

He released her hair with a shove. She caught herself on the floor with grace.

Henry turned and struck Erik across the face. The rings split skin; blood beaded instantly.

“That is for disobeying me,” Henry snarled.

Erik’s breath punched out through clenched teeth. He wiped the sweat from his brow and the blood from his cheek, never taking his eyes off the lord he had once obeyed, though everything blurred and his legs begged for merciful rest.

“And you’ll keep your life this time, Montfort,” Henry said, lifting his chin with smug self-satisfaction.