Page 117 of The Thornwyck Rose

Henry growled and snatched Seren’s throat, squeezing hard.

“You unfaithful witch!” he yelled.

But Seren continued strong as Henry rushed her to the edge of the great hall.

“If I am not blameless, strike me down. If Lord David is not fit to lead, strike him down. If my father is wrong to march, strike him down.”

Henry’s arm hid her sliding of the top of her pendant, three drops, for three fingers: the thumb, the fore, the middle.

“Purge this land,” she yelled, hoarse from Henry’s grip.

He rammed her into the wall.

“You dare raise a prayer against me!” Henry yelled. Guards held back Erik and Father Osbert. Tomas looked at her with wide eyes. She had told them all to let Henry do as he pleases, so they stood as loyal knights would.

Seren rammed two fingers into his mouth, slipping between his teeth and lower lip. Her thumb followed, pressing hard against the soft flesh of his inner cheek—the poison already seeping in beneath the guise of self-defense.

A stroke for mercy.

A stroke for justice.

Astroke for judgment.

Years of rage built within her as she ripped his face away from her. His hold faltered, and she took in a large breath.

“Strike down the wicked,” she yelled. “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.”

Henry punched her across the cheek, sending her to the floor. “Amen,” she whispered with blood in her teeth. The sting raced across her face.

Henry pulled his dagger and yanked her up by her hair. She yelped as Erik rushed toward her.

“You want to be struck down, then I will strike you down.” He raised the blade, but Erik caught his wrist before the point could cut her flesh. He threw Henry backward, sending the smaller man shuffling to the floor in the middle of the room.

Erik bled, likely cut from the spears and guards holding him. He bled for her to save her life. It ran freely down his arms and from a gash on his side. He sank to his knees; he held himself up with one hand pressed tight against the floor. The sight was more than she could bear.

He’d spent everything he had to reach her—given her what strength he had left. She ached to brace him, to keep him from sliding to the floor, to shield him from all of this, but she couldn’t. Not here. Not with the hall staring. Not with David watching. Not with God weighing every step she took.

“She said her God to strike her down, not you,” Erik slurred through ragged breath. His chest rose and fell hard.

“You pagan!” Henry said. “Kill him,” he slurred as well. He shook his head. “Kill him,” he tried to say again. He faltered as he tried to stand on two legs.

No one moved.

Eyes stilled upon Henry, his son, and his wife.

“What have you done to me?” Henry slurred as he shot hate toward Seren.

She grazed Erik’s exposed shoulder with her fingertips. His skin burned cold; his shoulder trembled hard enough to make the tattooed Norse serpent of Fate slither. Her finger pad slid over the indentation of the star she had stitched into his skin. Erik had carried her with him all the years, but if theLord needed to strike her down as well, she would receive the punishment, and she hoped He would allow Erik to live and find love in another woman.

“I asked the Lord to remove the unworthy, the unrighteous, the unrepentant,” she answered Henry as she moved closer to her husband, the man struggling for his life on the floor.

His legs did not move. He slapped them hard.

“And the wicked,” she said.

“I am righteous!” he yelled in a slur. “You are the whore!” Henry snarled, just before his arm gave out and his head crashed to the floor.

“If I am a whore, then the Lord would have struck me down beside you as I would not have been blameless before Him,” Seren said.