Page 2 of Eternal Thorns

The city sprawled below the manor grounds, its streets offering anonymity to anyone clever enough to disappear. By morning, the Crown investigators would have everything they needed to act. His family's carefully maintained facade of benevolent leadership would crumble.

He just hoped the people he'd tried to help would actually benefit from what came next.

Behind him, House Ashworth blazed with awakened light. His father's voice rose above the general alarm, giving orders that would come too late. Silas melted into the city's shadows, choosing his path knowing he could never return.

Some bridges had to burn, if they led somewhere worth reaching.

1

THE LAST ASHWORTH

Silas Ashworth's reflection stared back at him from the polished marble floor of the grand hall, distorted by centuries of footsteps that had worn shallow valleys into the stone. The whispers of his assembled family members skittered across the vaulted ceiling like startled mice. He kept his spine straight, the way he'd been taught since childhood, though his stomach churned with a nauseating mix of dread and defiance.

The ancient portraits of dead Ashworths glared down at him from their gilded frames. Countless generations of noble faces, all wearing the same expression of disapproval he now saw mirrored in the flesh-and-blood relatives gathered before him. His father, Lord Thomas, stood on the raised dais beside the massive hearth, firelight catching the silver at his temples. In his hands, a cream-colored document trembled almost imperceptibly.

Fuck, Silas thought, watching his father's fingers shake.He's actually scared.

That small detail hit harder than the endless lectures about duty and family honor ever had. Lord Thomas Ashworth, theman who'd faced down rebellions and negotiated peace treaties, was afraid. Because his son had chosen truth over tradition, justice over power.

“The charges,” Lord Thomas began, his voice steady despite his trembling hands, “are as follows.”

The fire popped and crackled, sending shadows dancing across the assembled faces of aunts, uncles, and cousins. Some wore masks of pity, others barely concealed their satisfaction. Cousin Regina actually smirked, the firelight catching on her pearl necklace.

Probably already plotting how to take my place in the succession, Silas thought bitterly.

His grandmother, Lady Evangeline, watched from her carved mahogany chair, her expression unreadable as ancient scripture. Her steel-gray hair caught the firelight, forming a halo that reminded Silas of the crown she'd worn in her youth as the family matriarch. Now she sat silent, her gnarled hands folded over her cane, as her only grandson faced judgment.

“Willful exposure of confidential agreements between House Ashworth and our allies,” Lord Thomas continued. “Deliberate sabotage of carefully negotiated arrangements. Transmission of sensitive documents to Crown investigators, resulting in—” his voice caught for just a moment “—resulting in severe damage to this family's standing and the trust of our peers.”

The weight of hundreds of years pressed down on Silas's shoulders. It emanated from every corner of the hall: from the ancient tapestries depicting the family's rise to power, from the display cases holding artifacts of their influence, from the very stones that had been laid by Ashworth hands. The air felt thick with generations of accumulated secrets and carefully maintained alliances, all now threatening to crumble because one young heir had decided that truth mattered more than tradition.

“What you fail to understand, Silas,” his father continued, “is that these arrangements ensure stability. Peace. Prosperity for all the noble houses. Your rash actions have endangered decades of careful diplomacy.”

Careful diplomacy. That's what they called it now. Not bribery or extortion or the systematic exploitation of those who couldn't fight back. Silas bit the inside of his cheek to keep from speaking. He'd said his piece during the initial investigation. Now was the time for consequences.

Lady Evangeline shifted in her chair, the movement drawing Silas's attention. Something flickered across her face—was it concern? Pride? Before he could decide, it vanished behind her usual mask of aristocratic indifference.

“However,” Lord Thomas’ voice took on a formal tone that made Silas's skin prickle with anticipation, “in recognition of your blood and your previous service to this family, the council has decided to offer you a chance at redemption.”

A chance at redemption. The words dripped with false mercy. Several of his cousins exchanged knowing looks. Whatever was coming, it wouldn't be pleasant.

“You will be granted stewardship of Thornhaven Estate.”

Thornhaven. The forgotten northern property that bordered the forbidden Eldergrove. No one had lived there for decades. The last steward had returned babbling about voices in the woods and shadows that moved against the wind.

Through the tall windows, snow began to fall, fat flakes swirling against the darkening sky. Perfect timing for his exile to the frozen north. Silas fought back a harsh laugh.

“You will be provided with a minimal staff,” his father continued. “Sufficient funds for basic maintenance and survival. You will remain there until such time as the council deems you have proven your commitment to this family's interests.”

Old Jameson, the family steward who'd bounced Silas on his knee as a child, winced at the word “minimal.” His weathered face showed more genuine sympathy than all of Silas's blood relatives combined.

“Furthermore,” Lord Thomas pressed on, “you are forbidden from engaging in any political activities or correspondence without explicit council approval. You will focus solely on restoring Thornhaven to a habitable condition.” His father's voice hardened. “And you will stay away from the Eldergrove. The ancient warnings about that place remain in effect.”

At the mention of the Eldergrove, Lady Evangeline's fingers tightened around her cane until her knuckles went white. The movement was subtle, but Silas caught it. He'd always been good at noticing details others missed. It's what had gotten him into this mess in the first place.

“Do you understand and accept these terms?” Lord Thomas asked, finally looking directly at his son.

Silas met his father's gaze. They had the same eyes, people always said, but where Lord Thomas' were cold as steel, Silas's held a storm. Right now, that storm was building to a crescendo.

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