Page 13 of The Throne Seeker (Vallorian #1)

R ose had never set foot inside the high council chambers, nor had most in court.

It was a room used solely by King Henrik and his high council for private meetings and affairs.

It was made up of three rows of tiered benches along the walls.

At the front, a long rectangular wooden table stood on thick, stubby, hand-carved legs with sun markings, providing seats meant for the king and his twelve council members.

Three narrow windows behind them let in the morning sun’s rays, warming the stuffy room.

She was startled by the number of bodies that greeted her. She had expected only the king and the council members, but the rows lining the room were packed. Despite the crowd, an unsettling silence lingered. She and her mother settled into the front row nearest to the king’s high table.

She was painfully aware of the stares and whispers directed at the bandage that covered her neck. She wished she could have left her hair down, if only to shield it from their prying eyes. Nonetheless, she sat up straight, refusing to show any sign of weakness.

King Henrik sat slumped with an invisible weight on his shoulders.

She would wager her last gold coin that he’d not slept a wink last night, the bags under his eyes a solid testament.

Harriet, Roman, and Queen Lenna were seated directly across from them, with an empty seat beside Roman that she presumed was intended for Tristan, who had not yet arrived.

The queen’s face betrayed no emotion, but her fragile form appeared even more delicate than the night before.

Harriet was an open book, her eyes flickering about the room nervously as she bit her lower lip and twisted the ends of her dark hair.

Roman was among those who openly stared.

She braced herself to confront his gaze.

His amber eyes blasted straight through her defenses, holding her accountable. A pit settled in her stomach, tangling it into knots as his face morphed into a scowl. She reminded herself she wasn’t the one on trial. She didn’t want this any more than the rest of them did.

Only when Tristan took her hand did she notice that he had sat beside her. His grip was like a tether, grounding her.

“How are you?” he asked, his eyes flickering down to her bandage.

“Better.” Her throat was dry as she said it. “Shouldn’t you be sitting with your family?” She didn’t bother looking to see the sneers directed her way.

“I’m right where I’m supposed to be.”

She gave him a faint smile, squeezing his hand while she fought the impulse to rest her head on his shoulder.

The massive wooden doors swung open to reveal two guards escorting Xavier in, his wrists and feet chained together.

The metal clinked with each step, sending an echo throughout the quiet room.

His usual well-kempt dark hair was matted, and he was still in his clothes from the previous night.

A black eye and various scratches marred his handsome face, his knuckles bloodied and bruised like he’d been punching something or someone.

He kept a neutral expression, his eyes locked straight ahead.

Seeing him in such a pitiful state stabbed her all over again.

Xavier walked up to the high table and halted in front of his father and the high council, a mere few feet from where she sat. His foul odor was a mixture of alcohol and vomit.

The king frowned as he stood, the unspoken agitation simmering beneath his gaze more potent than the hot morning rays spreading across her lap.

“Xavier Montague, you are accused of assault by one of the members of this court. The offense occurred last night on Cathan’s shoreline near the hour of midnight, making the crime fall under the jurisdiction of this court.

” He paused as the spectacled scribe behind him hunched over a small desk, scribbling furiously with a quill. “How do you plead?”

Xavier didn’t miss a beat. “Guilty.”

A wave of whispers flooded the room.

King Henrik’s frown shadowed into something darker. “Do you have any defense for yourself?”

“None,” Xavier drawled.

She gaped at Xavier, confounded. He wasn’t even going to contest it.

She didn’t know what she’d expected, but she’d hoped he might explain why .

So that she could discover if he felt even a hint of regret or remorse.

But he just stood there with his hands at his sides, with that stupid blank stare that made her want to stride up and rattle him awake.

One of the men in the council rose to speak.

She recognized him as Lord Martin, a short man with beady eyes who valued his status more than anyone else in the room combined.

He had a short, thick beard, while his hair was thinning, forming a ring around his shiny scalp.

Although she didn’t know him well, she found herself irritated by his tendency to insert unsolicited opinions whenever he felt like it.

In past social gatherings, she had deliberately kept her distance whenever possible.

“Your Majesty, may we ask a few questions to the accuser?”

The king’s eyes shifted from Lord Martin to her. “Rose?”

The pack of wolves honed their attention on her, but her gaze went to Xavier, who still kept his eyes locked forward.

She stood, keeping herself steady. For once, she was thankful for her loose-fitting dress, hiding her shaking frame.

Lord Martin began, “Miss Versalles, the council, and no doubt many of the court members, are trying to understand what would motivate the next heir to the throne to jeopardize his succession by harming someone… such as yourself.” He gave a tight, lifeless smile as his gaze ran over her with scrutiny.

“It makes one wonder what was said… or done.”

She met his dissecting gaze with forced confidence. “If you’re insinuating I instigated or wished for this, you are sorely misguided.”

Lord Martin inclined his chin. “Of course not, my lady, of course not. Forgive me; I hope I didn’t cause offense. Only… the council does not believe it is in Xavier’s nature to be violent.”

Tristan sprang up. He composed himself enough to keep his tone neutral. “Lord Martin, you are aware that Xavier’s violent actions caused a war.”

Lord Martin was unfazed by the sudden outburst. In fact, the gleam in his eyes could almost be described as conspiratorial. “Quite right, Prince Tristan, quite right. However, in that instance, there was a fairly defensible motive, don’t you agree?”

“If you think killing on impulse with no forethought of the consequences is a defensible motive to start a war.” Tristan gave a tight smile before dropping it entirely.

Lord Martin’s face broke out into a nasty grin as he faced Tristan head-on.

“It appears you and Miss Versalles have grown close in her short time back,” he observed all too casually.

“I’m told it was you who found her on the beach.

Quite lucky you were there. Do you often go strolling on the beach at midnight? ”

She stole a glance at Tristan. Lord Martin’s words dug into something she hadn’t considered until now.

If the council became aware of their attachment—which clearly they were—they’d see that Xavier was the only obstacle preventing Tristan from pursuing the throne.

It had happened many times in history. Previous heirs had often been targeted and murdered, leading to new succession periods and turmoil in the province.

She recalled one history lesson in particular when Queen Lucidia allegedly killed her brother in a tragic hunting incident.

Rose wouldn’t be the first to be accused of concocting a plan to seize an opportunity, and she wouldn’t be the last.

She clasped her hands, locking her knees to keep herself upright.

So this was what they all thought of her?

Of Tristan? They truly thought they’d consider ruining Xavier to make room for Tristan’s reign?

Which, in turn, would make Rose the next queen of Cathan?

Did they truly believe they’d just committed treason?

Her initial reaction was denial, refusing to accept that they believed her capable of such deceit. Yet another emotion overshadowed everything else.

Fear.

More specifically, fear that Lord Martin’s implications and falsehoods might not seem so far-fetched to others. She could understand how it might make sense to an outsider. But if they believed she would do something that evil… she was standing on quicksand .

“Enough!” King Henrik thundered, directing a berating glare at Lord Martin. “This tribunal is for Xavier. It appears I will have to ask the important questions.”

Lord Martin bowed, silenced to submission, perching back on his chair—more like a snake coiling back into its hiding spot.

The king faced her directly. “Was Xavier on the beach with you last night?”

She glanced at Xavier again, who, like a stubborn mule, refused to meet her gaze. She considered fibbing, but she knew how bad she was at that. It would only make things worse for Xavier if she couldn’t execute it perfectly, so she simply answered, “Yes.”

“Did you threaten him?”

“No.”

“Did you intend to do him harm?”

“No.”

“Did you have any weapons?”

“No.”

“Did he strike you?”

“Yes.”

That was enough for the king. “Sit,” he commanded.

He was addressing her but gave Tristan a look that clearly instructed him to do the same.

He focused again on Xavier as his silent rage erupted.

“Whether or not you were antagonized, it does not matter. A successor does not yield to whim !” He roared the word as he pointed a finger at Xavier.

“You let emotion rule you like an animal. I expected you to learn from your catastrophic lessons, but you have proved me a fool one too many times. Do you have anything to add to your defense before your sentence is passed?”

Xavier’s blank expression did not falter. “No.”

A savage scowl unfurled on the king’s face.

He leaned forward, placing his hands on the table.

“This is merely the tip of the iceberg on the long list of your offenses. The assassination attempt on the king of Vertmere, the battle at Fort Merth, the unauthorized invasion into Khali, and the numerous fleets sunk in the Meridian Sea—all of these, along with the countless dead bodies, now rest on your weak, pathetic shoulders. Your pride, arrogance, and stupidity are just a few reasons the council and I can no longer support you. Not anymore. We have reached a decision.” The king’s eyes flickered to the queen for a minuscule moment, a flash of sorrow for her sake, and then it was gone.

“Xavier Montague is hereby stripped of his succession and banished from these lands.”

The room erupted with astonished gasps, followed by murmurs and cries of rebellion. The queen’s eyes glistened as she hung her head.

The ringing in Rose’s ears dulled the voices into muffles.

This couldn’t be real. Not because of last night. Not by what she had ignited. What had she been thinking, poking him like that when it was evident he was struggling? How had she believed things could return to how they once were? To simply have a heart to heart, then expect him to listen to her?

Roman had been right. She’d been a fool.

Xavier accepted his fate without resistance as the guards grabbed his arms and began hauling him off to the dungeons.

Before she knew what she was doing, she stood. “Wait!” she shouted above the rest.

The room fell silent, all eyes turning to her. Even Xavier, who had avoided eye contact, looked at her, surprise evident beneath his indifferent facade.

“Rose? What is it?” the king asked.

She took a step toward him, knowing full well it wasn’t permitted for someone of her rank to address him in such a way. “Don’t banish him.”

The court’s confounded gazes moved to the king, waiting for his reaction.

“Rose, don’t,” Tristan whispered from behind her.

Her eyes remained fixed on King Henrik, bracing herself for the sting of his sharp tongue for daring to interrupt. But it appeared that his fondness for her allowed for it. He waited for her to continue.

“You and the council have denounced him from the throne. I know that cannot change. But don’t banish him. I…” She looked back at Xavier, whose unreadable gaze rested on her. “He and I… we used to be close. I don’t want to be the reason he is banished from his homeland… Please.”

The king’s stare pressed into hers like a lion eyeing its prey, but she refused to cower. She wouldn’t allow herself to.

The room was so quiet, only the sound of distant waves from the open window filled it. His silence lasted so long that she was sure she’d face harsh punishment. She braced for his wrath.

“You wish for me to retract my sentence?” the king clarified at last in a low voice.

“Yes.” She couldn’t take back her words now.

He scanned her as if seeking something hidden. “Do you sincerely wish it?”

“I do.”

At last, his face softened. “You never cease to amaze me with your generosity,” he said with glowing admiration. “But I’m afraid that I cannot change my sentence. There is an important lesson to be learned. Xavier’s banishment remains. As of today, the succession is reopened.”

Her heart plummeted, but she bowed, accepting his answer this time.

She turned to Xavier, and for the first time since she returned, she recognized him. There was her best friend—the boy she would have once given a left lung for. But before anything else could be done, the two guards pulled him away. She watched him until he was out of sight.

Soft hands gripped her shoulders. “Come on, honey,” her mother said, looking over her shoulder at the vultures circling. “We should go.”

Tristan took her hand in his, forcing her to look at him. “Go back to your room. Don’t do anything until I come for you.”

She nodded numbly, following her mother out in a daze.

Good gods, what had she done?