Page 3 of The Throne Seeker

The king’s wife, Lenna, was not as keen to see them, remaining seated. Nonetheless, she gave them a most welcoming smile. “Welcome back. Forgive me for sitting. I’m afraid I’m under the weather this morning.”

Her mother stiffened next to her. “Are you quite well, Your Highness?”

The queen waved her concern away. “Oh, quite well. Just a little cold, that’s all.”

A sharp pinch of pity nipped at her as she gazed at the queen. Gray hair, which had only been streaks last summer, had now taken over the majority of the brown. Her frame was frailer, too. It contradicted the ferocity of her facial structure, made of an angled jaw and piercing blue eyes—eyes keen to seek out any weakness and squash it.

It was an unspoken fact the queen suffered an inherited illness—an illness that, at times, was better than others. It would seem this visit wouldn’t be one of those.

The king interrupted her thoughts, gesturing to the oldest of his offspring. “Xavier.”

Rose’s back straightened as she sucked in a discreet breath and held it.

Xavier came forward, though he made it a point to drag his feet, taking his sweet time to approach. Even as he stood just a few feet in front of her, he wouldn’t meet her gaze. His once-short black hair was now overgrown, resting just above his shoulders. There was something… uncontrolled about him, something out of place. Rose couldn’t pinpoint what it was.

Xavier greeted her mother first. “Evelyn,” he acknowledged informally.

Her mother bowed. “I’m so glad you could be here to greet us. It’s been too long.”

Xavier gave her mother an expression she assumed was supposed to be a smile; it looked more like he’d strained a muscle. “Of course.”

Her mother put her hand on her back, urging her forward. “And Rose is glad, too, of course.”

Rose fought the urge to step hard on her mother’s foot. Instead, she bowed with a small incline of her head, her heartbeats increasing.

His indifference cut straight through her core when his light, icy-blue eyes finally met hers, sweeping her from top to bottom, dissecting her like an insect under a magnifying glass—harsh enough for the icy air surrounding him to sink into her bones.

“Rose,” Xavier acknowledged in a bored tone. He returned his attention to his father, releasing her from his scrutinizing gaze. “I’d love to stay, but I have obligations to attend to.”

“You’ll stay until you’re excused, Xavier,” the queen said, her voice as sharp as the edges of the swords spiking from the throne.

Xavier cast an apologetic glance at his mother, though his tone betrayed him. “I wish I could, but regrettably, I’m to oversee the hunt.”

Before the queen could scold him, the king intervened quietly. “Let him go, Lenna.”

With a brief bow to his parents, Xavier left, sidestepping Rose like a poisonous flower.

She couldn’t help but stare after him. What in Vallor? It was true that they’d grown apart before she’d left, but she had still been expecting a warmer greeting than that.

The king didn’t miss a beat, turning to his next oldest. However, Tristan made his introduction by addressing her mother first. “Hello, Evelyn; how wonderful it is to see you again. You look as radiant as ever.”

Her mother blushed. “Oh, you flatter me. But look at you—you’ve grown! Just as Rose has.”

Rose became carefully still as his blue eyes barreled straight through hers—hauntingly deep and as mesmerizing as the Meridian Sea. Sun exposure had highlighted his wavy blond hair, now shaggy and grown out, resting just above his brows. She liked it, she decided; it complemented his strong facial structure, resembling his mother’s.

“Hello, Rose,” he greeted, taking her hand in his and placing a feathered kiss on it.

A jolt of lightning traveled up her arm from the simple touch, warming her blood. She did her best to keep her feet steady, locking her knees before they failed—and was left wondering if he felt the same energy or if he’d hold their last encounter against her.

Her mouth split into a wide smile. “Hello, Tristan.”

Before Tristan could utter another sentence, the last and youngest of the Montague family bounced towards her, forcing her older brother out of the way, unable to keep still any longer.

“Oh, Rose, how I’ve missed you!” Harriet exclaimed as the sixteen-year-old flung her arms around her.

She couldn’t help but smile as her heart simultaneously twisted. Harriet had become a young woman in her absence, a tad shorter than Rose, though still growing. Her bright, icy-blue eyes and long black hair resembled those of her most favored brother.

The queen scolded Harriet from afar. “Harriet, have you learned nothing in our lessons?”