Page 2 of The Throne Seeker
As if she’d do anything else.She was half tempted to scream as soon as they got out of the carriage, just to see her mother’s horrified face.
She nearly smiled at the thought.
The carriage reached its destination as the door swung open. “My lady,” a servant greeted, holding out a hand to her mother.
Her mother acknowledged him with a curt nod, graciously taking his hand as she stepped out of the carriage, warm rays gleaming on her dirty-blonde hair.
She followed her mother’s steps out of the carriage. The heat from the sun was a welcome blanket of warmth, but the cool coastal breeze swept in to claim it, leaving behind goose bumps on her arms. The weather was cooler here than in her home in Canteran, but soon, the full peak of summer would be upon them.
It wasn’t a moment too soon when the head butler, Hugh, approached. “Ah! If it isn’t two of the most beautiful women in Cathan.” He bowed before his superiors.
Her mother glowed, brushing her hair back as she lifted her chin higher. “Oh, come now, Hugh, you spoil us!”
“We welcome you back to the castle, my ladies.” Hugh caught sight of Rose. “My word, this cannot be our little Rose.” His awed gaze flitted to her mother, then back to Rose. “You’ve grown even more in beauty and poise.”
She gifted him a humble smile at the praise. “Thank you, Hugh. Your compliments are always appreciated.”
His crinkled smile widened. “Please.” He stepped aside, gesturing to the door. “You must be tired. Would you like to rest before you see His Highness?”
Her mother shook her head at once. “No. I dare say we’ve had enough of that in the carriage. We’d like to greet him first, if he’s available.”
Hugh bowed again. “Of course. I’ll send your things to your rooms—goodness, is this all you brought? You usually have another carriage just for your wardrobe.”
Rose glanced at the carriage. “Things” meant the mere two bags they’d brought—one for her mother, one for her. She cringed, shooting a nervous look at her mother.
Her mother didn’t miss a beat, letting out a light laugh. “Oh, I restricted ourselves this go around. I like to travel light these days. Less likely for us to be targeted on the road.” Her mother lied like a trained politician. Rose, on the other hand, had inherited no such trait. A shame. It could be most helpful in times like this. “Please have them unpacked for us by the time we come up; thank you, Hugh.”
Her mother led the way up the steps through the open iron doors into the front hall.
A wave of warmth greeted them from the fireplace crackling in the quiet foyer, relaxing her stiff frame; a year had changed nothing regarding the décor. The same tapestries and fine paintings lined the walls, though Cathan’s flag was the main focal point. It hung front and center from the tall ceiling, crimson red in color, aside from Cathan’s golden sun symbol inthe middle, which presently reflected the light streaming in from the window.
It seemed fitting somehow, like a good omen for the future.
They continued in silence down the main corridor. Although the trek seemed like an eternity, it took mere minutes. Her body temperature rose alongside her heartbeat as they neared what she knew to be the king’s hall.
Another smaller set of double doors appeared. They stopped, waiting for an invitation inside.
Her mother made the final adjustments to her appearance. “Blast that wind.” She smoothed down Rose’s thick brown hair that had barely moved, half braided on the crown of her head, while the other half lay curled past her shoulder blades. “Don’t be nervous. Just be your charming self—and smile.”
Rose nodded, not trusting herself to speak for fear she might be sick. In her short twenty-four years of living, she’d never been so shaky.
The doors opened and they stepped through to the massive room. Pacing her steps, she walked atop a long, rectangular red rug sewn with Cathan’s golden sun, matching the flag they’d just passed. Monstrous pillars lined the room leading to the throne, holding up the high ceiling.
She dared to lift her eyes from the ground, landing on the king first, sitting rightfully on his gold throne. A sun was forged into the headrest with rays spiking into the air as sharp as swords, hovering just above his head. Behind his throne stood three giant cathedral windows, spreading the hazy sun’s rays onto the golden chair, making it gleam. On his right sat his queen, and to his left, Xavier, Tristan, an empty chair where Roman usually sat, and their youngest, Harriet.
Out of respect, her attention went to the king first as she fought off the burning impulse to stare at Tristan beyond her cursory glance and see how he’d aged in the last year.
King Henrik was a broad man, particularly in the shoulders. He’d accrued more wrinkles, aging him some, and he’d let his beard grow out, now thick and full, matching his shoulder-length peppered hair. His blue eyes twinkled as they rested on her, exactly how she remembered. Her spirits lifted at the sight.
“Welcome, dear friends,” King Henrik exclaimed with open arms, a full-width smile on his face. “It’s so good to have you back.” He descended the five shallow steps, awarding Evelyn a giant hug and ignoring formalities.
Her mother welcomed the warm gesture, beaming at her lifelong friend. “It’s good to be back, Your Majesty.”
“And my Rose! How you’ve grown!” the king said, sizing her up from head to toe.
“Your Majesty,” she greeted with a warm voice. “It’s wonderful to see you in good health.”
She was caught in the king’s embrace without a moment’s hesitation. The warm scent of cinnamon filled her lungs as she returned the gesture, instilling a sense of ease within her.
