Page 15 of The Throne Seeker
A younger man appeared, the spitting image of the duke, though slimmer in the middle and barely her height. He held his chin high as if he owned the air around him, swirling a glass of red wine with utter boredom.
“Dawnton, you remember Rose, don’t you?” the duke said, gesturing to Rose.
Dawnton greedily assessed her from head to toe. “Of course.” He took her hand and kissed it. She fought against the impulse to yank it back when he held it for too long. “It’s a pleasure to be here to celebrate with you.”
“Why don’t you two dance?” her mother urged. “You may not get another opportunity, Dawnton. She’s quite popular.”
“I’d be honored,” Dawnton answered at once, coming forward and extending his arm.
She took it, ensuring she sent her mother a “thankful” look.
And so, the night continued. Suitor after suitor appeared, each making their introductions. She lost track of time—were they minutes or hours? All she knew was she’d met more than a dozen men and danced with every single one of them.
Throughout the night, she made it a point to find Tristan. Like her, he danced with a different partner for every song that played. She found it odd he’d be adamant about dancing with so many partners, but everything became clear when she noticed the queen observing him like a hawk. No doubt to see if another girl could catch his eye.
Rose said good night to her dance partner and tiptoed to the edge of the ballroom to find her mother. Unsurprisingly, her mother had prepared a new victim as she stepped aside toreveal a tall, broad, beefy blond. “Rose, you remember Grant Montague,” her mother said, hanging on his arm.
Rose looked him over; she did indeed, though she’d only encountered him a handful of times. He used to be a heavier-set boy, brimming with snide remarks and mischief. His cousins, Tristan and his brothers, had always loathed him, grumbling complaints whenever Grant’s family visited. Grant all but reciprocated the ill feelings, making their lives miserable when he came. She had gotten in trouble countless times because of him—and his strict father, Neith.
There were even rumors that Neith himself had hired the raiders who attacked one of Cathan’s ships a few years ago, resulting in the death of his own brother—who just so happened to be the successor should King Henrik die. However, no concrete evidence had ever been found against Neith.
Rose doubted the rumors herself. There were plenty of powerful family Houses who would gladly see the succession reopen. Regardless, the “accident” had allowed Grant’s older brother to compete to be the heir to the throne, which Xavier had ultimately claimed instead. So, if Neith had gone to all that trouble, it was all in vain.
Grant flashed a giant smile the instant their eyes met.
She lowered her head, working hard to mask the repulsion she felt. “I’ve heard your name mentioned once or twice,” she teased with a tense smile. “You’re the one who let out all the horses the morning before the hunt… and destroyed the courtyard… and nearly got Xavier killed on the cliffs.”
Grant’s smile broadened. “I am ashamed to admit it’s all true. But luckily, you’ll find I’ve matured over the years, and so have you. Then again, you were always the pretty one.”
Her mother’s eyes sparkled at the compliment, while Rose fought not to roll her eyes. Her mother didn’t hide herenthusiasm as she said, “Grant has been most gracious in keeping me company while waiting to dance with you.”
Before Rose could refuse a dance, Grant intercepted. “I promise not to bite,” he said, holding out his arm.
She took a deep mental breath before forcing a polite smile. “Of course.”
Her mother put a hand on her lower back, gently pushing her towards him, whispering in her ear, “Stand up straight and try not to step on his feet. He’d be quite a catch.”
She pretended not to hear as Grant led her to the dance floor. He spun her around and drew her close—too close.
“You’ve been a popular topic among the men tonight.”
She smiled, but it was a feeble attempt. “All good things, I hope.”More like wishful thinking.
“Don’t bother yourself so much about what people say,” Grant said as if it were simple. “If everyone believed gossip, I wouldn’t be standing here today.”
He sparked her curiosity. “What do you mean?”
He looked around, lowering his voice. “It was once said I was to blame for the ‘toad in the punch scandal’ at Tristan’s tenth birthday party. I can most assuredly testify it wasnotme.”
She scolded herself for thinking he might actually be serious foronce.“And just how exactly is that life-altering gossip that could have resulted in your not being here today?” she asked with a raisedeyebrow.
“If my mother believed it, I would’ve been killed on the spot,” he said with a lazy smirk.
It was a stupid joke, but she was having a terribly serious night. A smile slipped through her defenses.
He looked all too proud of himself. “Ah, so she does have a genuine smile,” Grant remarked as he dipped her, effortlessly supporting her weight. Rose tilted her head back, her hairalmost grazing the floor. In one fluid motion, he lifted her back into his arms.
Grant’s gaze shifted, focusing on something across the ballroom; his smirk turned wicked. She followed it to see an angry face dancing with a different partner. Tristan.
