Page 22 of The Thornwyck Rose

“Commander,” she said, her voice softer than she meant it to be. She didn’t quite know why she wanted him near—only that he had seen her as more than a possession, more than a pawn. He was one of the few who didn’t laugh when Henry mocked her. And more importantly, he’d risked something for her. No one else had.

“I love these blooms,” she said in her natural voice. “They are called kingcups by my people.”

He approached, leaving Isolde behind, who hid another yawn.

“They are a beautiful yellow flower,” he said. “They are my wife’s favorite.”

Of course, he was married, though the thought had never occurred to her.

But then why had he tried to save her? Why offer his hand—so gently, so willingly? Was it only pity? Was it at Lord Henry’s command? Had she failed that test by taking his hand?

“Your wife?” she asked.

He didn’t look at her.

Maybe he regretted whatever unspoken thing passed between them when he’d squeezed her hand. Maybe that guilt lived behind his silences.

“I didn’t realize you were married, Commander,” Seren continued, filling in the silence. “I don’t know . . . why I assumed otherwise. I would like her company . . . The keep is lonely and quiet when you and Lord Henry are away?—”

“I misspoke, Lady Seren,” he said, gently interrupting her rambling.

His eyes grew wide. He’d said her name when he should have called her Lady de Thornwyck. Maybe he’d thought of her as Seren for so long that it slipped. She would not chide him, though.

“What did you misspeak?” she asked.

He looked away.

“My wife is in her grave.”

The quiet finality of his words struck deep—the way he said “her grave”, like she was still someone he belonged to. It made Seren’s throat ache. No one had ever spoken of her like that. No one ever would. Her heart twisted for him and for herself.

“I’m so sorry.”

He held the bloom between his fingers.

To see a man with such a brutal reputation, stop and stare at a flower in memory of his wife, made her wonder even more, why give her warnings? Why help her?

“Did she fall ill?” Seren asked.

He shook his head. Eyes still averted. “I tried to save Lord Henry’s first wife, so he took mine.”

Her jaw fell, and she took a half-step back. He’d once tried to save a woman like her from Henry—and lost his wife for it. And now he’d warned Seren. Helped her. Walked beside her. Protected her still. But how long before she, too, became a reason someone else suffered? But the question repeated, why would he help her? Especially after losing his wife for it?

He muttered, “Demanded obedience or my son would meet the same fate.”

Her brow furrowed. “Your son?”

“He sleeps in the attic. I can only see him with Lord Henry’s permission.”

The long-held gaze between the Commander and the two knights hit hard. “Am I . . . endangering your son by being here after you saw me leave the keep?”

He found her eyes. He said nothing, but she knew the answer.

“Please forgive me,” she whispered. “Let us return then. I want nothing to happen to him.”

He held his hand out to block her path. “You need fresh air.”

“But why? Why risk his life for me? I am no one to you.”