Page 69 of The Thornwyck Rose

Erik watched it from the shadows of the attic. He had made one just like it years ago in the north, back when he still carved things with care. It had rounded edges with its snout raised to the moon. A northern wolf, meant for howling and protection. Seren’s wolf was like her, intelligent and cunning, sleek and beautiful.

He was teaching his son how to kill, but Seren was teaching him how to endure. She was teaching his son strength. And mercy. And patience. Everything he should have been but never had enough time to do.

Ragnar swung his wooden sword.

“Good,” Erik said with a smirk. “Foot back. Remember, as I come to you, use my force against me. Don’t try to compete with strength against strength. If you do, you will not endure even if you win.”

Erik approached and corrected Ragnar’s form before beginning again.

Ragnar blocked his strike and placed a fist on Erik’s back as if he held a dagger.

Erik grabbed Ragnar’s head and pulled it into his chest. “That’s my little wolf.”

Ragnar laughed, and his eyes shone. It was moments like that Erik lived for. He shifted his grip on the training blade, favoring the injured side.

“Remember, if you are holding a blade and want to kill, aim beyond your target so you have the force to do what you need to do.”

Ragnar pushed him away.

“Again,” Ragnar said low, not to draw attention, though his footsteps were hard.

“Be light on your feet—not just now but in every battle. Strength will win you ground, but fade fast. It’s the man who can last the longest who walks away. Save your breath, keep your stance, and strike when it counts.”

Ragnar looked at his feet.

“Step back. One foot over the other,” Erik guided. “Soft.”

Ragnar stepped lightly.

Erik smiled. His son was smart like his mother and his adoptive mother. “You’re a quick study both in the art of fighting and your lessons. You should be so proud of yourself, little wolf.”

Father Osbert had told Erik he’d never had a chapel boy so studious in his lessons. He’d learned to read and write quicker than any of the noble boys he’d taught, and had nearly memorized entire holy books.

The priest would be saddened to know Erik and Baldwin had taught him to fight. But Ragnar’s future was uncertain. The boy was never supposed to be anything more than leverage.He needed to prepare him for whatever he faced, with or without his father.

Erik adjusted Ragnar’s grip on the practice sword. "Tighter. You lose the hilt, you die."

Footsteps approached, and Erik took the training blades and hid them under Ragnar’s bed. Ragnar pointed to the scribbles he’d made on the wall and started talking about the Book of Matthew just as the door opened.

“The Lord wishes for both the Commander and his son in the great hall,” the steward said.

“Do I need my uniform?” Erik asked.

The steward sized him up. “You’ll be fine. He was adamant that you come at once.”

Erik took Ragnar under his arm. It was never good when Henry called Ragnar to the hall. The steward left, and Baldwin gave Erik a cautious glare as he followed them.

Ragnar walked along with a smile on his face, so Erik whispered, “Trust me, my son. Do not let Lord Henry provoke you, no matter what he does.”

Henry never let a child grow without reminding him who ruled over him.

“Know I love you,” Erik said, “and whatever I do, it is to keep you safe.”

Ragnar’s smile fell as if the gravity of the situation hit him hard in the face. “I understand, Father.”

They entered the great hall off the stairs.

David, a month shy of his fifth birthday, stood beside his father, little and wide-eyed.