Page 81 of The Throne Seeker

She turned to find her mother and Zareb, but they were already behind her. Her mother’s face was drained of color, but there was nothing she could do to shield her this time.

Her mother had been right. Rose had put too much faith in herself for this succession. If she couldn’t keep their secrets hidden… she’d lose a great deal more than a crown.

Tristan leaned closer to his father. “What do they want?” he whispered.

King Henrik’s defeated eyes faltered. “I don’t know, but I’m afraid I cannot deny their request. But don’t worry, it will be alright.”

Rose and Tristan shared an anxious glance.

“Me and you?” Tristan said, holding up his pinky.

The cold winter snow encasing her melted as she wrapped her finger around his. “Me and you.”

There was no backing out now. She could do this.Theycould do this. Together.

With a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and entered the hut.

CHAPTER 36

Asurge of heat and humidity hit Rose like a brick wall—so intense she wanted to rip her shawl right off first thing. The hut was pitch black, save for the well-stoked fire at its heart—the source of the beating heat. She paused in her steps, allowing her eyes to adjust. The aroma of burning sage wafted through the air, providing a touch of relaxation to her nerves. Other than the crackling of the fire, silence filled the air.

The high council sat on benches bordering the rounded hut, all watching her and Tristan with blank expressions, except Lord Barron, who offered a fleeting smile in acknowledgment. The others, including Tristan’s family, her mother, and Zareb, filled the vacant chairs to their left. Rose locked eyes with Harriet, but the usual warmth in Harriet’s gaze was gone.

She almost overlooked the stranger sitting on a pillow beside the crackling fire. Rune markings covered her forehead and body. Rose’s eyes widened in recognition—a seer. The woman was old and frail, with soft, leathery pale skin, wispy white hair, and piercing iceberg-blue eyes that seemed to peer right into her soul.

The seer paid her no mind as she entered, remaining cross-legged and focused on the mixture of herbs and oil in the mortar and pestle she was holding—surely preparing the lotus.

Lord Palmish stood to address them. “Welcome to your second challenge. Today, we will evaluate your ability to rule Cathan. Seers can uncover what is hidden from others, understand troubled thoughts, and even foresee potential futures. We will base our judgment on her insights and your responses. Through this, we will determine your readiness to lead Cathan.”

A deep dread rooted itself inside Rose. This was the first time anyone had mentioned that a seer would perform the evaluation. How in Vallor was she supposed to deceivea seer? Zareb hadn’t prepared her for this.

She glanced at her mother, who looked worried enough for the both of them, fanning herself quickly as she whispered furiously to Zareb. When Zareb caught her gaze, he gave her an encouraging nod as if to say she would be fine.

“Before we begin, you’ll need to remove your clothes and sit by the fire across from the seer,” Lord Palmish said as he settled back with the council.

Of course. She curled her fingers into fists as she peered down at her pink dress. She wanted nothing more than to refuse, but sweat was already dripping from every pore. If she kept this dress on and sat next to the fire, she’d faint—so much for keeping her training a secret.

Tristan removed his clothes, exposing his bare skin to the firelight. His muscular body moved effortlessly through the shadows. She’d already been uncomfortable from the heat, but seeing Tristan so vulnerable made beads of sweat form at her temples.

Accepting her fate, she removed her dress, slipping out of it until she only wore her thin slip, and gave the pink dress toher mother to hold. She felt exposed, out of place, but above all humiliated. All she wanted to do was crawl into a hole and never come back out.

Rose didn’t have to look to see the council’s shock. She wrapped her arms around her waist, trying to cover herself, not daring to look at anyone but Tristan. His eyes explored her, glued like a moth to a flame, worshiping her from head to toe. Another bead of sweat dripped down her temple.

Tristan held his hand out to her. She took it, finding courage in their interlocked hands.

The seer grasped a bowl filled with a substance resembling brown paint. She approached Tristan first, examining him for a long moment before immersing her fingers in the blend and drawing a mark on his chest. “This rune,” the seer began, her voice as light and airy as the wind, sounding much younger than she looked, “is the emblem that emanates energy to combat unnecessary doubt and insecurity, freeing one from vanity and ambition. It facilitates easy connections with others and helps in achieving one’s goals. It represents a person who bestows blessings upon others through inner strength.”

Next, the seer stood in front of Rose, examining her. Her nervous heartbeats quickened.

After a brief search, the seer plunged her fingers into the herb blend, bringing it to her chest, the sticky, cool liquid contrasting against her warm collarbone. She caught a whiff of the mixture, a sweet aroma that smelled like Tulsi. “This is a bindrune,” the seer said. “Do you know what that is, child?”

Rose nodded, visualizing the thick books about runes she’d read in the library, though it felt like ages ago. A bindrune fused two or more runes, amplifying their meaning and power. Legends claimed they had held a powerful form of magic crafted long ago by ancient kings and queens. But much of the knowledge had been lost or was destroyed to prevent it fromfalling into the wrong hands. Although some still believed in their power, she had never witnessed anything magical come from them.

Rose held still as the seer continued to paint. “You carry many symbols within you, some of which you have yet to discover. One of them signifies dawn, an awakening, or a journey you must undertake.”

The seer paused, stepping aside so Rose and Tristan could peer into the water basin on the pedestal.

In contrast to the straightforward design of Tristan’s symbol, which at least looked familiar, her bindrune was completely foreign to her. She attempted to decipher the runes, but her memory grasped at smoke.