Page 138 of The Thornwyck Rose

“I was never pretending, Seren. Not in the garden, not in the stairwell, the chamber, your room. Never.”

Silence swelled between them.

“I tried to help the others survive, yes,” Erik whispered, “but you were the one who stole my heart.” He kissed her hand once more. “My Valkyrie.”

Behind them, Margot’s soft snore buzzed, and Isolde stirred beneath the blanket.

“It is good to see your face again,” Erik said, his fingers slipping over her smooth cheek.

She studied him then—the crease at the edge of his eyes, the scar along his jaw, the new lines grief had etched beside the old ones carved by survival. The same smile lived on his lips and light in his eyes when he spoke of Astrid in the garden all those years ago, as when he spoke of Seren then.

But the burdens had lifted in his gaze. He believed someday Seren would be his wife, but Seren knew better. He’d lose two women he loved.

Reading the shift in her eyes, Erik spread his hand over her neck. “What is it?’

She caressed his hand. “King Rufus will not relent.” She lifted his hand from her neck, kissed his palm, and locked eyes with him again. “Maybe in another life, we could be together, ride our horses free from scrutiny in Fellmere.”

He closed the space between them. “No . . . inthislife, milady.”

She shifted away, knowing his kiss was coming. She wanted it, but she didn’t, not now, now having to marry another before Twelfthtide.

He stopped, examined her face—worry in her brow—before kissing her cheek. “Do you not want me, Seren?”

“Of course I do,” she crooned with broken breath. “But the pain of knowing your love and then having it taken away . . . I can’t endure it. Not again.”

His brow knitted as he hovered over her lips. “It is worth any pain to know your kiss. Please.”

She yielded to him, and he pressed against her mouth, light and testing. Their eyes were open, trusting each other as they always had.

It was chaste, but she found herself longing even more when he pulled away.

“Erik,” she whispered his name, and her fingers grazed his shoulder and down his muscled arm.

He kneeled beside her, pulling her chair close with one hand and, with the other, grasping her neck, placing a parted mouth over hers. He kissed her slowly,restrained in his hunger, as if he wanted her to see the world, but he could only show her the view from the window.

His hand ran down the length of her arms and then her legs—firm—grounding her to the moment. Each brush of his lips against hers pulled her deeper into the way he wanted her. His hand joined the other on her neck and cupped her face, his fingers slipping into her hair as hers threaded his. He tugged and swallowed her soft moan.

The ache in her chest climbed upward, blooming behind her lashes, wondering at the beauty of the world she could only ever know from the view at the window.

Her first true kiss had come, and it was one that sealed itself into memory.

Footsteps sounded down the hall, not Tomas.

His kiss descended into small ones, slow and pressed until his forehead rested on hers.

She whispered, "You have shown me love all these years, and I am grateful to now know what it feels like."

Tears escaped, and he wiped them away. She turned her face into his palm. He kissed her cheek, her lips, and whispered, "I will carry you and your star with me all my days, Seren."

The door creaked open. He leaned back, hands falling to cup her elbow, his thumb rubbing the fatty flesh above the crook of her arm, and his other hand slid into hers.

David entered.

He stopped at the sight of Erik by her side, hands on her body, her mourning veil cast off. His eyebrow raised as he shut the door firmly. “You’ll cause scandal and ruin to Mortlande if someone else were to come in.”

“Margot and Isolde are here,” Seren said, gesturing toward the sleeping women.

David sighed. “They are handmaids, sleeping at that. You need someone of standing and awake. A lady-in-waiting. Commander Bramber. Father Osbert. Even me, if you must. Though I can’t say I’d enjoy watching Lord Erik woo my mother.”