Page 12 of The Throne Seeker (Vallorian #1)

R ose woke to find another steaming cup of tea and honey beside her bed.

Her maid, Thea, was already present and ready to tend to her.

Together, they changed her bandage, and the wound already looked far better than it had the night before.

Thea tried to adhere to the healer’s orders by urging her to return to bed, but Rose insisted Thea help her into the sage-green dress she’d chosen.

As Thea helped her dress, Rose finally noticed the three large bouquets waiting for her on the table. “When did these come?”

The timid blonde gave a sly smile. “Last night before the ball. I’m surprised you didn’t see them… I heard Prince Tristan came back three times to check on you.”

A smile broke through as Rose bit her lower lip. Redirecting her focus to the flowers, she approached the beautiful arrangements to read the notes attached. Thea followed behind, still tying up the back of her dress.

Rose went to the blue hydrangeas first. Her favorite.

Good luck tonight. I can’t wait to dance with you.

- Tristan

She lowered the note, replaying the scene of them dancing the night before, thrown back into his sea-blue eyes, knowing she’d gladly drown in them.

She cast her feelings aside like she did every minute of every day and moved to the next flower arrangement—a lavish, colorful arrangement of lilies.

No flower can compare to your beauty, but these will have to do.

- Grant

She almost snorted. She was somewhat surprised, but she supposed she shouldn’t have been. Grant was used to getting his way. He wouldn’t give up, especially with her mother’s encouragement. She didn’t stand a chance of refusing if they were on the same side.

She put the card on the table before moving on to the last bouquet.

Her heart stopped midbeat.

An arrangement of beautiful black roses rested elegantly in a gold vase that looked like it had been melted into its beautiful shape. She peered into the bouquet, but she didn’t see a note. She lifted the vase—nothing. When Rose asked Thea about it, she said it hadn’t come with one.

She stared at the roses in wonder. They weren’t pure black, but rather a deep, rich shade of red—surprisingly beautiful for such a somber color. Who would select such a bloom?

The question brought a memory to the forefront of her mind.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” a compassionate stranger said to her, repeating the same phrase for what felt like the hundredth time.

She plastered a smile on her face. “Thank you,” she said, accepting the flower arrangement.

The elderly woman patted her hand before joining the others gathered around the grave.

She was left alone while the others readied for the burial. Numb to the cold, biting wind swirling around her, she stared at the pile of freshly dug dirt, shadowed by the gray sky above.

“Rose,” her mother called, awakening her from her daze. “Will you please put these with the others?” she asked, handing her another flower arrangement. “I don’t know who they’re from. The tag must’ve gotten lost with the rest of them.”

She took the vase. “You know you don’t need to make such a fuss over this,” she whispered. “He wasn’t worth ? —”

Her mother cut her off with a cross look. “We will not talk like this—not now, not here. Not today. Do you understand me?”

She bit her tongue. “Yes, Mum.”

Her mother nodded sharply. “Now please do as I’ve asked, then come help with the food.”

Rose took a deep breath, looking down at the flowers—an arrangement of black roses in a beautiful gold vase. What a terrible color to choose, so depressing and melancholic. Who would select such a bloom?

But the longer she looked at them, the more she knew they were exactly what she needed. They symbolized that a part of her was dying, saying farewell to a chapter she was eager to forget.

They were a pool of beautiful darkness.

Just like her.

Thea was still tying her laces when Rose’s mother appeared, pulling Rose out of the memory.

“Oh good, you’re up,” her mother said, relieved, hastily shutting the door.

Rose glanced at her, then did a double take. Her mother looked… disheveled. Her mother was never disheveled.

“What is it?” she asked, worried someone had died.

“The king and the high council have called for a tribunal for Xavier.” Her mother came straight over to assist Thea with her dress laces, her fingers working overtime. “They’ve requested that you attend.”

Her eyes widened in disbelief. A tribunal?

For last night? She’d assumed Xavier would face consequences for assaulting a court member, but a tribunal?

Such gatherings were mainly for individuals guilty of serious offenses against Cathan, typically foreigners.

Holding one for the successor was unheard of.

It could only mean one thing—they were considering throwing the succession.

“Why do they want me there?” Rose asked.

“I don’t know. I can only assume they will ask you to testify.

” Her mother cinched the last lace and gripped her shoulders, forcing her to look at her head-on.

“Listen to me, Rose. The high council insists on your attendance, but I told them that you are still recovering. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. ”

She weighed her options. If she didn’t attend the tribunal, the king and the high council would be left to their own assumptions to decipher Xavier’s fate.

And if Xavier was indeed denounced, how could she bear to live with herself, knowing she could have altered the result?

What Xavier did was terrible, but he didn’t deserve to be stripped of his succession because of it.

“I want to go.”

“You understand you owe that boy nothing ,” her mother emphasized. “Are you sure?”

Rose thought for another moment and nodded. “Yes… Yes, I’m sure.”

Her mother accepted her wishes without a fight. “Okay.” She pivoted Rose’s shoulders to face the floor-length mirror. “Then let’s finish getting you ready. You’re going to need all the confidence we can get.”