Page 91 of The Thornwyck Rose

It was an inappropriate question, but her son was smart enough not to ask his father such things. She rubbed the underside of her chin over his brow.

“No,” she said, with a tremble in her voice.

Henry had never truly kissed her. He’d grabbed her mouth from time to time, but there was never any love or tenderness in it.

“But when you take a wife, David, I want you to love her, and the kiss Captain de Léry spoke of will come in time.”

“Yes, Mother,” he whispered.

They stayed there as Margot and Isolde tended the room.

With care, she spoke again.

“I wanted to keep this from you since you are still a youth, but after this morning, I cannot.”

David tensed against her.

“There may be a day . . .” She shook her head. “There will be a day when your father speaks lies again, as he did this morning, and he will have me executed in front of you, just as his father did to his mother.”

His breathing hitched.

“That event shaped your father. Do not let what happens to me shape you for the worse.”

The air left her son’s lungs in one silent breath.

“If he kills you, I will kill him,” David said, picking at the dried blood on her collar.

“No.” Seren caught his hands, stilled them. “Keep your heart rooted in love. No matter what happens, a life built on love and compassion is easier to endure than one rooted in hate.”

David didn’t answer—only held her tighter.

She whispered, “You must know it will not be your fault, and you must forgive whoever wields the executioner’s blade.”

“Mother—” His whisper was desperate.

“Listen to me.”

She cupped the back of his head.

“Your father will lie. He may try to say again that I betrayed him. That I dishonored my vows. That I no longer bring peace from the Marches. That I endangered your place. That I am a traitor. Anything.”

“Why does he want to kill you?” David whimpered.

“That is a good question to ask. You are so intelligent, David. Always question.” She corrected. “Know when to question.”

“Why does Father hate you?”

“Because I have not given him more sons. Because his lords respect me more than they fear him. Because I make him feel weak. And weak men destroy what they cannot control.”

David’s breath shook.

“You mustn’t be like him,” she said. “You see what that hatred has done to him. You see what it is doing to your own heart.”

“I will save you,” David whispered. “I will order your release. I won’t let him hurt you again.”

“David . . .” Her voice broke. “If whoever he commands refuses to execute me, they and their families will die beside me. And if you try to save me, you will also die beside me. He can take another wife. He can have another son. But I—I cannot bear to lose you or have others die on my behalf—not when it’s futile.”

He whimpered softly.