Page 40 of The Throne Seeker

“Yes. My mother was insistent last year that I learn more about the benefits of healing,” she lied.

In reality, it was her previous trainer, Warren, who had insisted that she learn. He’d said that if he was going to teach her how to kill and destroy, she would have to learn how to heal and save as well. He’d said life was a delicate balance, and she wouldn’t be able to understand one without the other. Without that understanding, one would be led into darkness. Though he had been too old physically to spar aggressively, he gave her a unique spiritual outlook that made a lasting impression on her. She mourned deeply after his passing just a month ago.

“I had a nurse last year,” Grant said. She’d nearly forgotten, from all his lightheartedness, that he, too, had just returned from war. “Though she wasn’t nearly as pretty as you. I’m quite jealous.”

Her brow quirked. “Of what?”

“Of the men you helped.” He took a subtle step towards her in the darkness, all trace of humor gone. “To have you touch my bare skin is something I’ve only dreamed of, and they got to experience it.”

Her cheeks burned. She opened her mouth to respond, but no sound came out.

Grant’s cocky grin returned. “Where’s that cheekiness now, Rosalie Versalles?”

She clapped her mouth shut. A cold smile grew on her face. “I’d have to find you bleeding out on the floor before I touched your bare skin.”

Grant simply laughed into the cool air.

They explored the garden until she’d led him down each path. Throughout their walk, Grant tested her knowledge on the various flowers and herbs, making small talk.

After finishing the tour, Grant escorted her to the castle and wished her good night.

And to her utter surprise, she no longer found Grant as repulsive as before.

CHAPTER 18

Rose tucked a stray hair behind her ear and peered down the dark, empty corridor. It was nearly midnight when she returned from her walk with Zareb, who followed her dutifully through the drafty halls. Judging from the lack of people, most of the court had already retired for the night.

She covered her mouth as she yawned, ready for sleep, and she planned on doing just that until the echoes of voices reached her ears.

She didn’t think much of them until she heard her name being spoken. She recognized those voices.

She halted. Raising a hand, she signaled for Zareb to do the same and pressed her finger to her lips.

Cautiously, she peeked around the corner, Zareb doing the same. Five high council members, including Lord Martin, stood together in a circle in the middle of the next corridor, their backs to her.

“It just doesn’t make sense.” Lord Orrin’s voice carried through the hall. “To throw the poor girl in the succession is borderline cruel. She has no chance of winning; to place her in danger and under this scrutiny just to prove a point is downright imprudent.”

A rumble of agreement echoed from them in disapproval.

“And why nominate someone who lacks the basic core skills to lead a province?” Lord Stoddard joined in—a large, fat man with a thick amount of blond hair. “We all know of the looming dangers that approach—raids happening every other day, cities being ravaged, and goods stolen. Why, just days ago, another city was reduced to ashes. If we are to retaliate, we’ll need a formidable leader. Not some middle-class girl from Canteran.”

She frowned, thinking back to her conversation with the king. Was this the same unforeseen threat he had spoken of? He hadn’t mentioned the continued raids. Weren’t they working for a peace treaty? Who would be doing this, if not Vertmere? She didn’t know, but the thought of another city burning made her insides threaten to exit.

Lord Rensin interrupted her thoughts. “I quite agree. We’d be a laughingstock to Vallor. And rumor has it that her father was aheftygambler—my friend’s son swore he saw him enter a slave auction one night.”

Her heart dropped, her limbs locking into place to keep her upright.

“And how are we to trust her after her involvement with Xavier’s denouncing?” Lord Martin chimed in, his gaze shifting cryptically. “How are we sure she didn’t plot this situation for her own benefit? Do we want a leader capable of such evil? We all know what happened to King Sorthen—why he was found cut to bits a few months into his reign, only to discover his son had done it to reopen the succession! How are we so sure she isn’t another throne seeker?”

The others mumbled their agreement.

Lord Beckett rubbed his forehead as he sighed. “Just let us pray she has enough common sense not to enter.”

Her hands clenched, their words only adding to her self-doubt. It pained her to admit that their concerns were valid. Shewas raised to be a lady, not a leader. She didn’t know the first thing about managing a court, let alone an entire province. Just look at this lot. If she did become queen, managing the high council would be the bane of her existence.

“It sounds like this topic should be brought to the king’s attention,” another voice added.

She recognized that voice all too well. Peeping around the corner once more for confirmation, she spotted Lord Barron—a tall, handsome man with dark hair with matching scruff, and striking dark-blue eyes that demanded attention. Known as a lone wolf, he had neither a wife nor family. Despite being in his late forties, she had often witnessed his brilliant combat skills during training sessions. She even recalled once that he’d gifted Rose her favorite flower from Ostlyn, having gone to the trouble of bringing it all the way home. That small act of kindness had remained close to her heart for years. If Rose had to choose a favorite high councilman, it would be him.