Page 140 of The Thornwyck Rose

XLVII

THE CRUSHED HOPE

THORNWYCK KEEP, MAY 1100

The steward burstinto the great hall, breathless. “The royal messenger returns.”

Erik and David locked eyes, both with a smile teasing their lips. Erik left the dais and went to the corner, leaving David alone at the high table.

Erik pressed his lips thin. He was almost giddy. He and David had planned for this moment and how to maneuver the political landscape with the Marcher Lords when the time came. Seren was going to be his wife before David’s eighteenth birthday. He calmed the excitement in his heart with a slow exhale as the messenger and the royal-clad knights entered with the king’s banners.

He bowed before Lord David.

“Lord David, we have returned with a message from our king.”

David gave a curt nod and gestured for him to speak.

The messenger broke the seal and unrolled the scroll. He coughed twice and licked his bottom lip, before his eyes drifted to the script.

“Your concerns, Lord de Thornwyck, do not fall upon unheeding ears. Yet, the needs of the kingdom do not allow for such dispensations."

David stood up abruptly, his eyes narrowed.

Erik uncrossed his arms as he listened from the corner. Geoffrey shifted in the commander’s station.

The messenger raised his hand to silence any further protestations. "You have made bold requests to counter the king’s command. You are mistaken to think that the past loyalties of your father grant you immunity from the orders of the crown.”

Erik had fully expected the king’s agreement. Seren had prayed, had she not? God listened to her. God answered her.

He scanned the royal knights flanking the king’s messenger. They had been dutiful and respectful in their response, appealing to the king’s reason.

The messenger cleared his throat and adjusted the parchment to continue reading.

“Your tribute has counted toward your apology and error as a young lord. Do not err again. You will fulfill the first command: Deliver Lady Dowager de Thornwyck, Seren ferch Madoc, to the White Tower by the Kalends of December so that she may finish her year of mourning and be wed to the king seven days before Twelfthtide.”

The messenger rolled the scroll with practiced ease and repeated the rest from memory, staring full into Lord David’s face.

“Neglect this, and you risk not only your title and lands but the wrath of the crown itself.”

The chamber went dead still. Servants glanced at each other, and then all eyes fell on David.

The flitter of restraint crossed his jaw. He chewed his next words carefully before spitting them out. “As the king commands. You’ll return in the morning with my apologies.” He gestured to his steward. “Show our guests to the chambers above.”

After the royal entourage ascended, only quiet remained. David studied the wood planks. Erik did too, trying to anchor himself and wondering where they went wrong.

The faint sound of children’s play from the orchard filtered through the windows of the great hall.

Seren was with them.

After he kissed her and told her she would be his wife, the king’s rejection turned his stomach.

Erik finally looked to David. Their eyes met. They both knew—this was the end of hope. And worse, it came after they had dared to believe.

They foundSeren sitting beneath an apple tree in the shade, watching her girls play and braiding a sprig of lavender into Cari’s hair. Aveline sat on the chapel steps across the way, knitting.

Seren saw them approach and sent Cari on her way. She stood with a smile, but it faded the closer they came.

“He rejected your request?” Seren asked, more as a statement than a question.