Page 36 of The Throne Seeker
Rose gaped in disbelief. “Mum, don’t be ridiculous.”
“I bet he’s made it his mission. It’s certainly something he’d do.”
“What of Grant? He asked to court me.”
“Oh, that’s because Grant is the only one who isn’t afraid of Tristan. He still can’t officially court you until the king permits him to do so, and Henrik has already made it clear he won’t allow for it until the succession period is over.” Her mother paused, her eyes searching the air. “The next time you see Grant, I want you to welcome his advances.”
Rose recoiled at the thought. “Why should I when I have Tristan?”
“That’s just it. Youdon’thave Tristan. He’s no one’s to have. At least not yet.”
Rose pressed her lips together. Her mother was right, of course. Tristan was as much hers as he was the next girl’s. She had to keep the council thinking she and Tristan were innocent in all of this, and the best way to do that would be to court someone else.
Unless… unless she joined the succession. If she did, it wouldn’t matter if she had any suitors. She wouldn’t have to deceive anyone into marrying her. And if Tristan won, she’d still be queen. If they helped each other, they’d have a good chance at winning back the throne.
She smoothed out the white napkin over her lap. “There is another way,” she said quietly, looking up at her mother.
Her mother knew precisely what she hinted at. “No.”
Rose scooted her chair closer. “Think about it. If I join the succession, it could help our chances at securing a place here.”
“No. I won’t let you risk it.” She shook her head.
She grasped her mother’s soft hand, looking straight into her eyes. “Isn’t this what I’ve been training the last year for? Why I’ve had to hide under all this fabric?” She gripped at her dress.
“We trained toprotectourselves, not to throw ourselves into life-threatening situations, least of all the succession. I thought you didn’t care to be queen.”
“I don’t. But if Tristan wins the succession, I’ll be queen then, too. Either way, I’m destined for it.”
“And if either of you don’t win?”
She shrugged. “Then we’ll be no worse off than we were before.”
Her mother sighed, looking out to the horizon, giving her hope she was at least considering it. She stayed silent, letting her mother think.
Finally, her mother looked back at her, but didn’t say a word.
“I could do it,” Rose said, trying to convince herself as much as her mother. “You know I could.”
At last, her mother’s resolve broke. “Alright. I’ll make you a deal. I don’t want you to decide now, butifyou decide to join the succession, I’ll only support your decision if you promise to keepallavenues open until we are sure of our position, and that includes courting Grant and any other suitable matches. Agreed?”
“Agreed.” After all, Rose was sure it wouldn’t come to that.
Her mother gave a sharp nod. “And if you’re going to contemplate doing this, you’ll need a firm polish on your combat skills. We’ll need someone more skilled than your last trainer.Someone discreet, who will keep the knowledge hidden to give you the element of surprise…”
Rose glanced at her bedroom door, aware of who stood guard just beyond the wooden frame. “I think I know just the person.”
Rose flew through the dense woods on horseback, Zareb trailing behind. The clear sky easily allowed the sunlight to stream through the gaps of the leafy branches, casting dancing shadows across the forest floor, offering just the right conditions for the wild plants to thrive. The smell of damp soil filled her nostrils, still wet from the light rain last night. It was a welcome change of scenery from the castle’s hustle and bustle.
It had been months since she last rode bareback, which was a shame, because she couldn’t keep the smile off her lips as she urged her steed to its limits. Her brown hair flew wildly in the wind, relishing the simple joy of a silly race. Zareb was at her heels, quickly closing the distance.
He surged ahead right before arriving at their destination, claiming victory.
As they neared the small stream, they both slowed down to a stop, letting the horses drink.
“You ride well,” Zareb praised, catching her off guard by taking the initiative to speak first. “But I still won, so not that well, I’m afraid,” he poked with a dry tone, still straight-faced.
She raised an eyebrow. It was the first sentence he’d strung together that consisted of more than three words, and teasing no less. “Well, you’re the soldier. I would hope you’d be.”
