Page 162 of The Throne Seeker
He ushered her to an adjacent dining room. The wooden tables were placed on the outskirts, leaving a gap for the stage in the center. Two opposite staircases led to the upper balconies above them with doors lining both sides, leading into what she could only assume were bedrooms, some couples already going up to claim them.
Her eyes got hung up on the stage, fighting the impulse to flee as her hands began to tremble.
“There is a room upstairs you can wash up in,” Moretti said, gesturing upstairs and handing her a brass key.
Rose forced her gaze to the balcony above them as dread crept its way into her soul. She hid the fear, but he’d already caught the hesitancy.
“You’ll be safe,” he clarified with confidence. “No one would be so foolish as to try something with you.”
“Except maybe me,” Talon retorted, wiggling his eyebrows behind them. His friends laughed.
It was supposed to be a joke, but it only made her shift in stance.
Moretti gave Talon a dark look that made him recoil. “Say that again.”
“Oh, come on, it was a bloody joke.” Talon groaned.
Moretti shoved him away, returning his attention to Rose. “Go on, no one will try anything.”
She pulled it together. “Too bad. I like a good fight,” she teased, even mustering a playful wink.
Moretti’s mouth broke out into a broad grin. “You think that’s a joke, but I’ve seen men kill for women much less worthy than you. Now go on, I’ll wait for you.”
She took her time going up the stairs, careful not to put too much weight on her ankle. With shaky hands, she grasped the key and entered the spacious suite, locking the door tightly behind her. She scanned the room, checking under the bed and the closet for any unwanted visitors.
When it was clear that she was alone, she exhaled softly, allowing herself to gaze into the mirror. She was a mess. She took off her golden dress and found a new one in the closet before she began scrubbing her body in the wide porcelain basin. Carefully, she placed the small pouch of powder on the large wooden vanity, her focus shifting to it as she shook out her wet hair, wondering how in Vallor she’d manage to slip it into Moretti’s drink without him noticing—there were too many eyes.
An idea popped into her mind. She debated it, contemplating if the risk was worth the reward. She settled on leaving it as a backup plan.
She tucked the small pouch away again in her breast, adjusted her new lavender dress, and went downstairs to find Moretti.
He sat in the middle of the table, lazily sitting in a plush chair, with an empty seat next to him reserved for her. He must have sent his friends away because they were no where in sight.
Thanks to her ankle, she’d only taken a few pathetic steps toward him when a stranger appeared.
She had to fight the impulse to jump out of her skin.
“Hello, goddess,” the large man said, blocking her path. “I feel quite fortunate to meet the winner of the Snorri. That was quite the show you put on.”
Rose strained to give him a smile, not liking how his gaze lingered. “Thank you.” She tried to sidestep past him, but he blocked her again.
“My name is Lorance Ilian. Perhaps you’ve heard of me?” He wore an expensive tunic with a family crest, parading that he was some wealthy lord in this enormous city. His long hair trailed past his brown eyes to his chest. He couldn’t have been a year older than Zareb.
Rose remained indifferent. “Sorry, no.”
He took a step closer. Rose’s fingers curled into fists. “It’s no matter. Why don’t you come sit with me so we can get better acquainted?” he asked with a leery smile that made her skin crawl.
“No, thanks.”
His face flickered with annoyance. “Excuse me?” Apparently, being told no was a new concept to him.
She stole a glance at Moretti, wondering if he’d come to rescue her. He was already watching them, wholly aware of what was going on. He merely observed, waiting to see what she’d do.
Lorance gripped her arm, redirecting her attention to him.
Out of instinct, her hand moved to the blade strapped to her thigh, raising it up to his throat. “Don’t touch me,” she seethed venomously. “I’ve never killed a man, but I wouldn’t mind the practice.”
She could have sworn she saw Moretti smirking like a predator out of the corner of her eye.
