Page 144 of The Throne Seeker
One white shirt in particular stood out to her. She pulled it out and tried it on, curious to see how it’d fit. The oversized garment fell just above her knees, the fabric butter-soft against her skin. Out of instinct, she brought the collar to her nose, smelling it. His musky scent filled her lungs. She decided she’d wear it to bed, seeing as it was as good as any nightdress.
After she blew out the candles, she crawled across the soft, feathered duvet and sank into the sheets. The movement sent a waft of air up into her nose—even the bed smelled like him. She laid her head on the goose-feathered pillow, cradling it as she curled up into the sheets, closing her eyes.
As the minutes passed, she feared she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep. A sickening realization swept over her that this would be the first night she had slept alone since… since the wedding. She smothered any and all thoughts of Tristan until she was sure they wouldn’t be resurrected.
Instead, she thought about the day she’d just had. How, for the first time in months, she’d laughed freely. That, at last, she’d finally earned a smile from Roman—how she’d gotten into the water without returning with a traumatic experience.
She held on to those good thoughts, and for the first time in a long time, she looked forward to the days ahead.
CHAPTER 59
The next morning, Gretta came to wake Rose, setting a small tray of tea and biscuits beside her bed, readily opening the curtains. The sun wasn’t even in the sky, but the soft glow behind the mountains signaled it’d soon make its appearance.
After eating a few bites, Rose got dressed, putting on black leather pants and a tight tunic for sparring. She tied her hair up and out of her face, adding a cloak to her ensemble. Once ready, she headed downstairs to find Roman, who was already waiting at the bottom of the main staircase. He looked worn, his eyes more hollow than usual, and the whites of them were slightly pink.
“Ready?” he asked, sounding normal enough to make her worries dissipate.
“Where are we going?”
“Not far; there’s a spot on the west side of the lake I think will do just fine. Close enough we won’t need the horses.”
The woods were calm and quiet that morning, the forest creatures still sleeping before waking to survive another day. Highland Haven faded further into the distance as they trudged on. The lake gently brushed against the rocks in tiny waves, its deep-blue hue lightening as the sun pushed upward into the sky.
In front of her, Roman took lengthy, powerful strides, moving with ease as he weaved through the forest. No one would ever guess he’d grown up in a castle. She had to remind herself that he had just spent the last year with nothing but a patch of dirt to call home.
Roman stopped when they reached a clearing. It was a little smaller than the one she was used to training in with Zareb but similar. He set his canteen down along with his bag. “This is where we’ll train today. We won’t ever spar in the same place twice. You’ll need to get used to new surroundings.”
When Rose didn’t respond, Roman looked over his shoulder. “You look nervous.”
“I’ve never sparred with anyone but Warren and Zareb. I’m afraid they may have over-praised me,” she said, fearing she wouldn’t meet his expectations—that he’d discover he was wasting his time.
He closed the distance between them, looking straight into her eyes. “Don’t ever sell yourself short.”
She blinked a few times before giving him a small nod, her heart slightly warmed by his confidence.
He positioned himself in the center of the field. “I want you to do your best.” He unsheathed his sword. “You’ll advance first.”
She drew her sword, widening her stance. For the first time, she observed him as an opponent. Roman had few weaknesses—his right arm might pose a hindrance due to the poisoned arrow wound. His shoulder injury might limit his mobility. His muscles had been built up over years of dedication and strength training—but it would make him an easier target. Unfortunately, that was where her advantages ended. She’d have to be quick and precise in her movements, try to exhaust him by making him chase her. But even so, he’d be difficult to beat.
After all, he was the general of Cathan for a reason.
Roman patiently waited for her to make the first move, swirling the sword lazily in his hand.
She leapt into action, striking with speed. This time, unlike their first encounter, he was prepared, blocking her attempts. Their movements fell into a sort of rhythm—she would advance, he would defend, and then he would advance, and she would mostly avoid. The longer they sparred, the more free-flowing their swordplay became. It evolved into an actual fight, and Rose became more confident.
Roman’s strength was undeniable—he was so strong that her sword flew from her hands more than once, no matter how hard she gripped it.
She managed to keep him on his toes, though, wearing him down slowly, still holding her ground—that was, until Roman cornered her near the tree line.
Losing focus of her surroundings, her elbow hit the base of the trunk. Her arm ricocheted, making her feet stumble.
Roman seized the moment, striking to disarm her with a powerful blow. But in his lunge forward, he left his left side vulnerable.
She shifted her weight to avoid his blow, twisting herself at near-inhuman speed, stopping her blade just before it hit his neck.
He held up his hand in surrender.
A dangerous smile claimed her lips.
