Page 29 of The Throne Seeker
Tristan let out a harsh sound, something between a laugh and a scoff. “Rose. Things. Have. Changed.Peoplechange. He hurt you, and you’re asking what’s wrong withhim?In whatworld do you think he deserves even anothersecondof your attention?”
She folded her arms. He was right. She kept expecting things to be the same, but they weren’t. It was a fool’s wish. Xavier had gone through so much in the past year—things she couldn’t imagine.
“What if I told you you were right? I shouldn’t have gone to see him.”
“So why did you?”
“I thought I saw something,” she snapped. She took a deep breath as she started again, this time calmer. “When I was away last year, I helped in the medic tents when troops came through Canteran. I saw what war did to the men who survived. I can’t describe it, but it was like they were bleeding internally. I did everything I could to help them physically, but they still couldn’t recover. To everyone else, they seemed fine, but when I looked into their eyes… they were drowning.” She looked off at the distant shore. “Last night on the beach, I thought I saw the same thing in Xavier. I thought he just needed someone to see if he was bleeding. But I was wrong… It was naïve of me.”
His expression eased with understanding. “I know you feel like this is your fault, but this hasnothingto do with you. He wanted to hurt you because he was angry at me.If this is anyone’s fault, it’s mine. I provoked him at dinner.”
“Then why do I feel horrible?” she said quietly.
Tristan’s anger disintegrated into nothing, his voice softening. “Because you’re an amazing person who only wants to see the good in people, no matter how undeserving they may be.” His hand slipped into her fragile one. “He’s only been banished, Rose, not hung.”
A pause fell over them as she peered at their intertwined hands. “So what happens now? When will they have the open ceremony?”
“Tonight.”
Her eyes bolted upward. “So soon?”
“They are eager to have a successor. ‘There must always be an heir,’remember?”
She looked out again, biting her lip. That meant tonight, the council and the king’s kin would all rally together to nominate and announce their four chosen candidates for the throne. After that, the candidates would have to participate in three challenges, just like Xavier had eight years ago.
“You know what this means, don’t you?” Tristan said.
Her eyes grew with understanding. Tristan could become the next king of Cathan. With nominations and backing from both the council and his father, Tristan would have a high probability of winning. Of course, there would be others to challenge him, but he’d have a strong advantage.
“After this is over, I’ll finally be able to marry you,” he said, leaning his forehead to hers.
A tingling sensation coursed through her limbs as the blood surged from her heart. Countless times, she had wished for the moment when they could finally be together, but she hadn’t allowed herself to believe it was possible. But here it was, close enough to touch.
A smile crept onto her lips. “I thought you were talking about being king.”
Tristan returned the smile and shook his head. His hand gently grazed her cheek while the other slipped around her waist, pressing her into his chest. “No… No, I don’t give a damn about that.”
Her eyes closed, savoring the words as his breath brushed her face.
When she opened her eyes, his gaze had dropped to her bandage. His smile faded the longer he looked at it. “Does it still hurt?”
“I’m fine, really.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Yes. Yes, it did hurt. As a matter of fact, it throbbed with every heartbeat.
“A little.”
He cringed, then his eyes hardened. “I need you to promise you won’t see him again.”
An image of Xavier’s pitiful figure in the dungeons flashed in her mind. There would be no reason to, so she saw no harm in saying, “I promise.”
Tristan gave a relieved nod. “Come on.” He slid his hand into hers. “Your mother will be wondering where you are.”
CHAPTER 13
That night, Rose found it hard to believe whether she had entered the grand hall or a foreign province. Unfamiliar faces loomed in every direction—voices and the clanking of forks and knives filling the air. The temperature was at least twenty degrees warmer than the halls, even without the normally lit fireplace, leaving only the torches lit out of necessity.
