Page 43 of The Throne Seeker

She winced, stumbling from him. Although her pride was the only thing truly wounded, knowing it wasn’t even close to a hard blow for him.

“Avoid jabbing like that,” he instructed, mimicking her movement. “Jabbing too soon leaves your upper body and side exposed. Only use it when your opponent is extremely vulnerable. Just as raising your hands above your head would be.”

She nodded, still rubbing her side—a stupid mistake.

“Remember, your sword is simply an extension of yourself.” He held out his arm and blade. “Your body is the weapon. Now, I’ll attack first.”

He waited until she was ready. When she gave the go-ahead, he lunged.

She sidestepped, raising her sword quickly to meet his. Her instincts took over, and rather than blocking the strike altogether, she angled her sword downwards while advancing, redirecting his blade away, using her back leg to deliver a powerful kick to his chest.

The move caught Zareb so off guard that he lost his balance and fell. She quickly kicked his sword out of his reach and pointed hers straight at his chest.

She gazed at her own arm like a foreign object.

Zareb looked up in sheer astonishment, his eyes glinting in admiration. “Now,thatwas worthy of a soldier.”

Her mouth curved into a triumphant smile, reaching down to help him stand.

He dusted himself off. “Again.”

He never let her get the upper hand after that.

They spent the following hours sparring, the movements becoming more natural to her. She was grateful for his unwavering patience as he offered tips and suggestions. He praised her small victories and pushed her to her limits. For the first time, she could use her full strength.

When their time was almost up, Zareb had them do foot drills, performing each one alongside her. At last, when he was finally satisfied with the work she’d put in, Zareb relented.

“That’s enough for today,” he said, panting as beads of sweat ran down his temples. She was glad to see he was just as out of breath as she was. “You did well,” he praised, handing her a canteen.

“Thank you.” She gave him a breathless smile, taking it.

“No, really,” he continued. “I don’t know anyone who could fight like that with only a year of experience. You were trained well. You’re ready for the succession if you choose to join.”

Her heart warmed at the praise. She raised the canteen to her lips. “Do you think I could use these tactics to fight off some of my suitors?”

Zareb let out a harsh scoff. “I’m afraid you’d have to get past your most skillful foe first.” He paused, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Your mother.”

A light, airy laugh escaped her as she handed him back the canteen. “A worthy opponent indeed.”

“I’ll give you some minerals for your bathwater,” Zareb said. “You’ll want to stretch, too.”

“It’s not all that bad.” She craned her neck. It wasn’t like this was her first training session.

Zareb gave her a knowing look. “By morning, you’ll be saying different.”

CHAPTER 20

Zareb hadn’t been exaggerating.

In the days that followed, Rose could hardly move, despite consistently using the minerals Zareb had provided to ease the soreness.

Each morning, he woke her at dawn. Sometimes, they practiced sparring, focused on footwork, or simply ran for miles. She was run so ragged, she nearly regretted asking for his help at all. However, after their sessions, she felt free in a way. Stronger. In just a few days, she found herself looking forward to them.

After the initial wake up, that is.

Each day, she desperately wanted to go and find Tristan, but then she remembered the king’s request to keep her distance until the successionbegan.Sherefusedto give anyone a reason to dismiss their nominations.So even though it crippled her, she stayed away.

At last, the morning of the rally arrived—the day she would formally announce her decision to accept the succession nomination. Over the past week, she had attempted to compose her speech dozens of times, but all she’d done was gaze at an empty piece of parchment. Nothing profound came to mind, resulting in her throwing down her quill in frustration. Publicspeaking had never been her forte, and it never would be. A pit of unease formed in her stomach, realizing that if she did become queen, that would have to change.