Page 65 of The Thornwyck Rose

Erik nodded.

“And you call me Valkyrie?” Seren placed her hand over his on his ribs. She shouldn’t have done that; even so, she leaned and whispered in his ear. “I would choose you, Erik.”

His brow furrowed as his thumb stroked the side of her hand. He was going to say something, but stopped short before saying, “Now it is you who honors me, Lady Seren.”

He remembered what she had said to himall those years ago. It must have meant something more to him than just respect for her.

But his focus was intent on the hearth.

She pulled her hand away before Margot turned to look at them. No matter how much she trusted Margot, there was a limit.

Seren dropped her gaze to be intent on the gash. She was almost to the top of the wound.

“My father gave me my name,” she said. “It means star in my native tongue.”

“Star,” Erik repeated in a whisper as he gripped the seat.

“When I tended to my brothers’ wounds, I’d put a star at the top of my stitch as a way to tell them I’d always be with them. We all knew I’d likely be married off far away, and they hated never seeing me again.”

She hesitated. She shouldn’t ask him, but he’d saved her life so many times and called her Valkyrie. She needed something to show him how much she respected him, too. That when he had leaned in to kiss her, it wasn’t that she hadn’t wanted him, but that she was married.

“I’d thought I might put my star on your stitch, but it will distort the tip of Gungir. You may miss your target.” She tapped the place at the top of his shoulder.

“I’d be honored to wear your star on my skin, Lady Seren,” Erik said with a soft focus on the hearth. He hesitated but added, barely audible, “And I will carry you with me wherever I go.”

His whisper melted any lasting reservations Seren held about his feelings toward her, revealed the lies she’d told herself, and let the truth flood in.

That was dangerous ground. Because if she were honest, she wanted a life with him, but she couldn’t afford to be honest. Her vision blurred with tears, but she blinked them away and acted like she hadn’t heard the latter. “Very well, then.”

Her voice was clogged, and she tried to clear it. “I apologize to Odin for distorting his spear tip.”

“No apology is needed, Lady Seren,” he said.

The last stitch was done. She made her five-point star, tucked the thread, cut it, and pressed a clean vinegar-soaked cloth over the wound.

Behind her, Margot tapped on the door to give her a warning.

Tomas had passed once already, walking the corridor. He’d seen Seren in the council chamber, her hands red, Erik shirtless. But he’d said nothing; she hoped he would keep his mouth shut as he had for the others.

She dipped the cloth in vinegar again, wiped the blood from Erik’s skin, and reached for his uniform. He bent over to beat her to it. But he grunted and recoiled his arm.

“Remember, you have a nasty wound on your arm,” she said.

His cheeks turned red. He opened his mouth to say something, but bit back whatever it was and simply said, “Yes, milady.”

Seren picked the surcoat and chainmail off the floor and placed them on the table with a grunt. It was so heavy that she wondered at his strength in wearing it all day.

She checked the stitches.

They held.

She wrapped his shoulder and then moved to stand in front of him. Resisting the urge to glance at his broad, finely haired chest, she draped his cloak over his shoulders. He wouldn’t even be able to don his uniform with that injury. A tunic would be hard to put on without help. A knight always had a squire, but Henry refused to let him have one. Erik would be on his own.

She clipped the cloak’s brooch at his neck. Her fingers rested on the brooch’s polished metal, not wanting to let go.

He ran a fold of her dress in between his forefinger and thumb out of Margot’s sight.

“Thank you for carrying my star with you,” she said in a whisper and gazed into his eyes. She wanted him to know how she felt toward him, but the hearth light glinted off her silver ring.