Page 44 of The Thornwyck Rose

Seren hadn’t seen him since the hallway, since the press of his hand against her, his warm embrace, and the unbearable softness of his voice. An ache bloomed in her despite every reason it shouldn’t.

Henry’s voice sliced through the clatter of goblets and spoons. He stood with the air of disinterest that men like him wore as a cloak.

“The borderlands,” he announced, lifting his goblet with little effort, “suffer yet another shortage—despite the generous allocations I’ve approved.”

A rustle swept through the chamber. Sips paused mid-air.

Henry let the silence breathe before turning toward the shadows near the banners.

“Commander de Montfort,” he said smoothly, the words almost pleasant. “Come forward and speak of your great mismanagement.”

Erik’s boots were slow but deliberate. When he bowed, it was exact, with no embellishment.

“My lord,” Erik said, “the merchants rerouted through Stafford after the last raid. That has delayed the grain and timber meant for the garrison. I’ve posted men to secure the southern crossings. Thesituation is contained.”

Seren thought the matter over and showed Erik’s strategy, not mismanagement, but Henry rolled the goblet between his fingers, watching Erik the way a falcon watches a trapped hare.

Then, with an affected turn of the head, he looked at her.

“What say you, milady?” he asked, loud enough for all to hear.

Henry was baiting her. He was already suspicious of their time in the garden and her time with Ragnar. Women were not to speak in assemblies. She had learned that the hard way, and yet he wanted her to speak.

“Surely a mother of my blood has something wise to offer the court in this predicament?” he goaded.

The room quieted. Dozens of eyes turned, all waiting.

Seren’s spine pulled straighter. Her bruises protested. She breathed through it and swallowed the tremble in her voice.

“Commander de Montfort speaks prudently to my ears,” she said, her voice smooth as poured oil. “The border will hold if supplied. Perhaps better coordination with Stafford’s houses would hasten the lanes; however, it seems Commander de Montfort has already taken the matter into his hands, rerouted the convoys, and secured them. In my limited view of the world, I do not see any further issues. But, my lord is better capable of managing situations such as these.”

She met Henry’s gaze and hoped he believed her praise. She doubted it. The words were right, but he knew she truly despised him. She could fight back if she wanted, and maybe that’s why he beat her so much. He wanted her to fight back so he could kill her. But she let him do whatever he wanted to her. David, Aveline, and Ragnar needed her to live. Maybe Erik, too.

“The lady speaks more than she smiles,” Lord Henry said with a smugness that teased the edges of her Welsh-born independence.

A few nobles tittered behind silver goblets, uneasy about the vague remark.

Seren smiled at her lord husband. A practiced, pleasantcurve of the mouth. It meant nothing. Or everything. Let them decide.

She had long since learned the art of surviving in velvet—the game of letting them believe she’d already folded while quietly collecting favors of trust behind her back.

Henry raised his goblet again, though he still did not drink. His fingers tapped once against the rim. His gaze flicked between Erik and her as if watching for Erik to fumble or Seren to slip.

“Despite the lady’s simple mind, she has spoken my thoughts. Very well, Commander. Return to your post.”

Erik gave only a nod and turned to return to his place.

He glanced at her only once.

A flicker of eye contact, not long enough to draw scorn, but long enough for both of them to share a thought.

It was a thank-you. A private one. A thread pulled between them so finely that no one else might see.

Henry’s hand tightened on her knee beneath the table as a warning, but she didn’t flinch.

She had children to protect, a home to build from Henry’s tyranny, and Mortlande to save from his wrath.

She would smile, speak when spoken to, receive the bruises, and bow her head until the time came to raise it.