Page 134 of The Thornwyck Rose

“I am Lord David de Thornwyck. Have you word from White Tower?” David said, removing his hunting gloves and folding them across his palm in a calm facade.

Seren stood as well and drew near to David’s side.

“From His Grace, King William Rufus.” The messenger broke the wax seal and handed the scroll to the Marcher Lord.

David glanced at Seren before unrolling it and reading in silence. His jaw set, and he passed the parchment to Seren.

She held it lightly, but the words blurred the longer she read. She couldn’t finish and lowered the parchment. Her stomach knotted tighter. Her throat closed around her voice.

“What is your answer, Marcher Lord of Mortlande?” the messenger barked.

David inhaled deeply, setting his jaw. “Forgive me, royal guest. The hunt has drained my senses. I need time to consider the king’s command and what it means for Mortlande.”

The messenger’s lips thinned. “Very well.”

“There is a guest chamber near my quarters, warm and spacious,” David said, motioning to the steward. “You and your men may stay there. I shall send you to the king with my answer in the morning.”

The messenger and his retinue followed the steward without so much as a word of gratitude. When he rounded the stairwell, Seren locked eyes with David and then with Erik.

David opened his mouth—but no words came. The weight of the king’s crown was suddenly too real.

Erik took a step, then two, toward her.

But the room had already closed in, and she feared it would crush her.

She turned and strode, nearly breaking into a run down the corridor, with her heart pumping fast in her chest. The parchment shook in her hands as she debated which door to enter. Not the keep’s chapel—God felt far away—but the council room was empty.

The fire was low as she stumbled to the desk. Her palms pressed against its wooden top to steady herself. The edges ofthe royal parchment curled beneath her fingers as she read it again, but the script blurred in her vision.

So much hope.

Such foolish hope.

She had let herself believe she might be Erik’s. Her shoulders trembled. How foolish she had been. She’d let herself dream. Now she was hurting more than she should. She knew this would happen. She knew it in her heart, and she was right.

Margot and Isolde hovered at the door, silent and still.

Then came the creak of hinges.

“Lady Dowager,” Erik’s voice behind her. “May I request a private audience?”

She didn’t turn. “You cannot be here. Especially not now.”

He stepped into the room.

“David is coming. He had to see to the hunting party.”

The maids slipped out with hesitant glances. The door shut.

She slowly turned to face him as he approached. Her body trembled.

Erik removed his gloves and laid them gently beside her. His hands, warm and scarred, closed over hers.

Seren’s breath stuttered as sorrow gathered in the corners of her eyes.

“The king is more than Marcher Lords, Erik,” she whispered with shaky words, pulling her hands free, though she wanted to feel his embrace forever. The gray light and watery window pulled her to it. Her body shivered as if the cold winds bit her naked flesh, keeping her knees from collapsing and her soul from breaking.

He followed her and gently turned her to face him. “I will not let you go so easily.”