The open shutters let in a chill and I felt a cold beyond any autumn frost. My skin rose in tiny bumps. She couldn’t throw William away. Only William wasn’t there any more . . . I took a step back toward the open window. “Sweet Jesus . . .” I blinked away tears. Mother’s eyes followed me. “Jesus wasn’t there, Jorg,” she said. “Nobody came to save us. You watched us, Jorg. You watched, but you didn’t come to help.” “No.” I felt the windowsill cold against the back of my knees. “The thorns . . . the thorns held me.” She looked at me, eyes silver with the moon. She smiled and I thought for a moment she would forgive me. Then she screamed. She didn’t scream the screams she’d made when the Count’s men raped her. I could have stood that. Maybe. She screamed the screams she made when they killed William. Ugly, hoarse, animal screams, torn from her perfect painted face. I howled back. The words burst from me. “The thorns! I tried, Mother. I tried.”
Lawrence, Mark. Prince of Thorns (The Broken Empire Book 1) (p. 137). Penguin Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.