Page 125 of The Throne Seeker

Rose had what she could only describe as an out-of-body experience—watching helplessly from the sidelines as the priest continued his speech. She didn’t listen to anything he said. She didn’t want to remember a single word. And was successful.

That was, until she heard the dreaded question.

The priest asked, “Do you, Princess Satin, take Prince Tristan to be your wedded husband and king, to cherish in love and friendship, in strength and in weakness, in success and in disappointment, to love him faithfully today, tomorrow, and for as long as the two of you shall live?”

Her response was immediate. “I do,” Satin answered with a radiant smile.

The priest in the pointed hat turned to Tristan. “Do you, Prince Tristan, take Princess Satin to be your wedded wife and queen, to cherish in love and friendship, in strength and in weakness, in success and in disappointment, to love her faithfully today, tomorrow, and for as long as the two of you shall live?”

A painful silence hung in the air.

Tristan’s hesitation made her heartbeat pound, her hand squeezing the life out of Roman’s.

Tristan peered over Satin’s shoulder to meet her gaze.

His blank expression cracked as his blue eyes became tortured. But as soon as she recognized the pain, it left, his eyes hardening as they shifted back to Satin.

“I do,” he answered.

Rose’s eyes fell—she was half relieved, half ready to die.

The priest came forward and placed the crowns upon their heads, proceeding to swear them into service for all citizens of Cathan and Vertmere. What other promises they made, she didn’t know—and more importantly, she didn’t give a damn.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the priest concluded with a deep bow, “may I present the future king and queen of Cathan!”

Rose glanced up just as Tristan raised Satin’s veil and leaned in to kiss her gently on the lips.

Roman didn’t even wince as her nails embedded themselves into his skin, nausea rolling back in full force. She closed her eyes, trying to focus on her breathing. The room suddenly felt as hot as a blazing fire.

When she reopened them, Tristan and Satin were already down the shallow steps, walking arm in arm down the aisle, on their way to the ballroom where the celebration would be held. Cheers and music filled her ears.

Her composure broke.

“Roman,” she whispered in warning.

He didn’t need another word. Without hesitation, he scooped her into his arms and exited out the adjacent left door. She clung to his neck, burying her face into his shoulder—hiding as she covered her mouth.

He’d barely made it to the bathroom before she violently emptied the contents of her stomach into the toilet bowl. Her body shook with every convulsion, unable to control her shaky hands. She expected Roman to step away and give her privacy, but instead, he knelt beside her, holding her hair back as she held onto the cold porcelain for dear life, throwing up again.

He softly placed a hand on her back, stroking it in soothing motions, comforting her as he waited for her to stop. A few heaves later, her body had nothing else to give, and she sat back up slowly.

Roman left her side only to fetch a towel, wetting it before he knelt back down, wiping off her face and chin with steady hands.

She couldn’t keep the tears in anymore. She buried her face in her hands and cried on the cold stone floor.

Roman reached for her, pulling her firmly into his chest. His large hands cradled her head as his face contorted—as if he was in pain, too. “I’m sorry,” he said, his broken voice barely above a whisper. “I’m so sorry, Roe.”

Her heart warmed at the old nickname. Not once since she’d returned had he referred to her in such an intimate way. It was enough to make her fingers grip his tunic in fistfuls while he stroked her hair, letting the fabric absorb her tears.

After a good moment, her body dried out, and she extracted herself from Roman’s wet shoulder. She wiped her cheeks as she sniffed. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Roman’s jaw clenched. “Don’teverthank me.”

She looked up in surprise, finally meeting his eyes. Tormented ones stared back at her like he was suffering from some invisible wound.

“Do you want me to take you back to your room?”

She loosed a shaky breath, peering down at the splotches staining her dress. She couldn’t go to the celebration looking like this.