Page 17 of The Thornwyck Rose

Lord Henry had designed the tests and had made him execute them. He could only hope Seren remembered his warning. Not to trust him. He thought of Ragnar, his son, and knew he couldn’t bury him alongside his mother’s ashes. Her handmaids were a few steps behind them. Father Osbert, within earshot, gave him a pointed nod to begin. So, it would be the priest reporting to the lord.

Seren held a withered rose. The stem trembled in her hand, but her face did not falter.

Payen came and stood beside her, remaining mute.

When the rose touched soil, she whispered something he couldn’t hear.

Henry’s orders hollowed his chest. He hoped only she remained vigilant.

"You buried her with care," he said.

Seren remained silent.

Payen studied her for a long moment.

Her veil had slipped in the wind, revealing the edge of a bruise on the side of her neck, half-shadowed by a loose strand of hair. It looked fresh. His jaw tensed, and he fought the urge to look away. Instead, his eyes scanned her collarbone, the edge of her gown, where faint purple marks peeked like whispers from beneath linen.

Her hands were folded across her belly, still not showing with child. He’d wondered if she truly was with child, or if she’d just said it to show the girl mercy and to keep Lord Henry’s wrath at bay. Perhaps that was why the lord hadcoached him on what to say, how to trick the fifth Lady de Thornwyck into an untimely death. But he had to say what the lord wanted, or Ragnar would pay the price.

So he spoke.

“It seems you believe thieves should be exempt from the law? Or that Lord Henry’s law is too harsh, too strict?”

Seren pursed her lips before turning to lock eyes with him. “Well, I believe—” Her voice was strong and sultry again, not meek. He knew she was about to trust him.

He whispered, low and quick, so only they could hear, “Seren.”

No title. Just her name that he was not allowed to say. An implicit warning. It was all he could do with listening ears nearby.

She paused. Her gaze dropped to his lips before returning. She glanced in Father Osbert’s direction. Her meek voice returned slowly as if she had just gathered her thoughts. “I believe that Lord Henry is lord for a reason. His word is law.”

He nodded, realizing the sultry voice was hers, and the meek was the part she played.

“Yes, you are right,” he said. “Your Lord God would not establish such a man if his law was not good.”

She’d passed the first part.

Now came the second—the harder one. The one that only worked if she felt safe with him. Or trusted him. Or both.

Henry’s instructions scorched through his memory:“Flatter her. Provoke her. See if she is tempted without touching her. See if she wavers. If she does, I’ll know she’s like the rest and get rid of her.”

Payen hated it. Hated playing the part. Hated reciting what Henry ordered him to say.

But each of the wives had faced this same test—and with Seren, the lines blurred. The memorized words, spoken only to serve the lord’s cruelty, struck too close to the truth.

She’d been in his thoughts—more than she should have been.

He swallowed the lump in his throat.

“You, Lady de Thornwyck, are an honorable wife. Worthyof admiration and respect due to your title. Lord Henry is lucky you are his.”

He paused, then forced the rest. “For I am a little jealous.”

He wasn’t meant to tempt her—only to see if she would be tempted.

But he hated the bruise on her neck. Hated saying these words with it still dark on her skin.

She studied him. “That is a bold statement, Commander de Montfort.”