Page 120 of The Throne Seeker
Rose’s bottom lip quivered as she lifted her eyes to his. “I’m sorry. I want to give in to you—you have no idea how much—but I can’t.”
A single tear slipped out of his eye.
A chunk of her heart shredded apart at the sight.
Roman arrived just in time, bursting in without knocking. His eyes widened as he took in the scene, staring for too long at how Rose was caught between Tristan’s body and the wall.
Roman’s demeanor raged with a silent fury. “Get off her,” he growled.
Tristan didn’t respond, not moving an inch, his eyes still latched to hers, staring at her with desperation.
“Damn it, Tristan, I said get off her!” Roman repeated, coming forward to wrench him back.
To her surprise, Tristan didn’t resist, stumbling backward in his drunken state, his eyes still not fully focused.
“Get out of here now!” Roman yelled, furious. “Don’t you realize you are risking everything we have worked for! Leave before someone finds you here!”
Tristan glared at Roman with a rage she had never seen, his hands balling into fits. For a moment, she was frightened thatTristan would strike him, but instead, he turned his angry eyes back to her.
She’d never forget the look he gave her.
His red eyes were glossed over with a perfect mixture of agonized pain and sorrow. He glared at her, not hatefully, but with a tortured expression that resonated to the depths of her mauled soul.
The next moment, his eyes ripped from hers, forcing himself to leave.
She took a step towards his retreating figure. “I love you, Tristan.”
Tristan stopped at the door, pausing for a long moment before turning around to give her one final look. “You have no idea how much I wish that was enough,” he replied, the beautiful sea he held in his eyes spilling another tear.
He gave her one last look, then he was gone.
Rose opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She took one more involuntary step to the door, only to stop herself. It was a fool’s errand, and she was fully aware Roman was still present.
She clamped her mouth shut, composing herself before she said, “I’m sorry you keep having to mediate… I didn’t know who else to ask.”
Roman didn’t move, nor did he reply. Instead, he just watched her, staring at the tears streaming down her cheek.
“You must be tired,” she continued. She used her sleeve to dry her tears as she sniffed. “It’s late. You should get some sleep.”
Still, he didn’t move, staring at her with those foreign eyes again.
Her brows pinched slightly, wondering what was going through his mind.
“Will you be alright?” he asked at last. She wasn’t sure if his rich voice made her feel at ease or more anxious.
“I’ll be fine,” she lied through her teeth.
His wide jaw tightened as he took a few small steps to her. “You don’t need to do that. You don’t need to pretend with me.”
His words reminded her eerily of Zareb—another twist of the knife.
“You don’t need to stay and pretend you care about how I feel,” she said, her voice as cold as she could make it.
His mouth hardened into a thin line. “You can’t keep letting him in. You keep making him feel like he has a chance.”
She arched an eyebrow, scoffing. “You think I invited him here?”
“You can’t tell me you didn’t hope for it. Why else would he be comfortable coming to you? To touch you like that?” His face was nearly disgusted.
