Page 24 of The Throne Seeker (Vallorian #1)

T hat night, Rose found herself immersed in a sea of red and gold. The grand hall’s tables were stuffed to capacity—the sheer numbers forcing everyone into a tight proximity. Five rows of soldiers stood in the back of the room, waiting for the rally to begin.

Zareb was rigid, keeping closer to her than usual, scanning the room while leaving a hand on his sword’s hilt. It would seem he didn’t care for large crowds. They had that in common. Across from them sat her mother, tapping her nails nervously on the table.

Rose had worn a blue dress with bell sleeves, representing the House of Versalles colors, signifying that her loyalties would remain to herself. She was glad, for once, for extra fabric to hide her trembling hands.

Biting her lip, she bounced her foot as she waved a napkin to fan herself, wishing she could have sat by one of the open windows. The lack of circulation only added to her nausea. Her eyes fell to the scroll she held. There was no worse form of torture than public speaking.

Zareb glanced at the scroll. “Do you know what you’ll say?”

She strained to give him a tiny smile. “I have things written down, but I don’t know if any of it is noteworthy.”

Zareb leaned forward. “We have a phrase in Semaria— hearts before arms . Do you understand what that means?”

She thought back to her studies of the southern province.

“It means you must capture men’s hearts before you gain their loyalty,” she interpreted.

“If you do that, you’ll not only gain bodies for an army, but obtain spirits, which fight stronger, far more powerful than any sword.

” Before Zareb could reply, she continued, “And for that matter… it means men do not fight because they believe in you or I, but because we are the representation of what they believe. What better for a leader than to embody those beliefs and encourage them to do the same?”

Zareb’s face morphed into a rare soft expression. “You’d do well in Semaria, Rose.”

Before she could reply, the king and his advisors arrived to relieve her suffering.

The crowd rose together as they took their seats at the front table. Following them were the foreign queen and princess, accompanied by guards in green uniforms.

King Henrik stood tall and spoke with clarity.

“It is an honor to have you all present tonight. I thank everyone who has traveled far and wide to support this new succession.” He gestured to the Vertmerian women at the head table.

“As you may have noticed, we have Queen Isleen and Princess Satin from the Vertmere province here to witness the challenges and finalize post-war affairs.” Next, the king turned to the soldiers in red and gold uniforms. “To the soldiers who have just returned home from the war, we thank you for your willingness to come and support our succession.”

The room erupted in applause.

“Tonight, we will hear from the nominees to aid the soldiers in deciding who to fight for. If the candidates accept their nomination, they will enter the first challenge and be included in the vote.” The king scanned the crowd, his gaze briefly meeting Rose’s. “Let us begin.”

Tristan, Grant, Dawnton, and Emmett rose from their scattered seats in the crowd and approached the front.

Just as she prepared to join them, her mother grasped her hand.

“Remember, I’ll support you no matter what you decide. Just… make sure it’s for yourself, not me or anyone else.” She squeezed her hand tightly before letting go.

Rose returned the squeeze before joining the others at the front. She kept her head up and eyes determined, disciplining her feet to maintain a steady pace.

The five candidates had formed a line at the front, each of them also in their respective House colors. Tristan moved to stand beside her, offering a small smile. His knuckles discreetly brushed against hers—a simple touch, but it gave her the reassurance she needed.

The king announced the order. “First, we will hear from Dawnton Sansburry, next Emmett Alterridge, then Grant Montague, followed by Tristan Montague, and lastly, Rosalie Versalles.”

Applause filled the room as Dawnton stepped onto the small pulpit centered in front of the head table. He raised his dimpled chin and broadened his shoulders, having cut his black hair since their dance at the ball. His cheeks were flushed, likely from the heat in the room, or perhaps nerves.

Dawnton recounted his role in helping his father build their fortune and boasted about his contributions to improving the city of Caldiz. He proved to be an engaging speaker, and although he had a somewhat off-putting presence, she could see why others might be drawn to his directness.

He was much too slimy for her taste.

Next came Emmett. He delivered a remarkable speech on the origins of Cathan and its traditions.

While he was quieter and more reserved than the others, he recounted a heroic story of how he’d assisted in preventing a large group of Semarian slaves from being transported to Khali, earning him enthusiastic applause and tearful reactions.

She couldn’t help but admire him for it.

Grant established a strong rapport with the soldiers by sharing war stories, particularly one where he saved his men from being burned on a ship at sea after having fought alongside them.

Unsurprisingly, the crowd took him as charismatic and charming.

Although he was somewhat pompous, at least he wasn’t a brute like his elder brother, Mateo, who had competed in the previous succession.

Beneath his exterior, she discovered a layer of self-awareness and the capacity to see beyond himself when necessary.

If she or Tristan didn’t win, she’d much rather he take the crown than Dawnton.

To no surprise, all three of them had accepted their nominations.

Her nerves escalated as she squeezed the scroll in her hands, keenly aware that none of them had needed to prepare written speeches. The sound of her racing heart drowned out everything else, quickening with each passing minute as it came closer to her turn.

She hardly noticed that Tristan was next.

From the moment he opened his mouth, he captivated everyone.

He shared a great deal about his heritage and how influential his father had been in his upbringing.

What truly touched her was his recount of when he’d discovered the city of Corrin had been burned, and how it had given him the motivation to help the people of Cathan.

He received the most thunderous applause of the evening as he accepted his nomination.

Before she knew it, it was her turn.

All eyes fell on her as she stepped up to the pulpit. Fighting to steady her shaky hands, she opened the scroll. Her body tensed as she glanced at the hasty scribbles. She bit the inside of her cheek until it bled, leaking the metallic taste of rust and salt into her mouth.

She glanced at the crowd, determined to keep her eyes above their heads, but they inadvertently landed on the high councilmen—specifically Lord Martin, whose twisted, beady eyes gleamed pleased by her fear.

A roar of rebellion took over her body.

She closed the scroll and kept her tone even as she began.

“It’s no secret that, in many ways, I am ill-fit for the crown.

I am a woman with no land or power. I am neither a politician, nor high in rank.

I was not there on the battlefields—” her gaze fell on the soldiers, “—but I did help those injured in the medical tents. I was forced to witness many good men die with their blood-soaked on my hands.” A lump formed in her throat as she recalled a handful of soldiers she couldn’t save.

“I saw the cost of war, and I will never forget that blood payment— your payment. I stand here before you not as someone above you, but because of you. You’ve carried the weight of the sword, and if I lead, I will help carry it again if it comes down to it.

Because although this war has been won, the storm coming for Cathan is far from over.

If we are to stand a chance against it, we’re going to need to stand together. ”

Her gaze pierced down at the five council members who had criticized her.

“You may think I have no chance of winning the succession. You may think that me standing here before you is a joke, and you may even be right,” she admitted.

“But I do not wish for your approval, nor do I need it... However, I do hope that rather than fighting, we can set aside our differences so Cathan can become as strong as it can be. Let us face the storm as we always have… Together .”

Taking a deep breath, she concluded her speech with one final statement. “I accept the nomination.”

The room went deathly silent.

That was until a single set of claps sounded.

She turned to find Tristan, his handsome face lit up with a gloriously proud smile. Soon, the king, her mother, Lord Barron, and Zareb added to his applause.

Slowly, more people joined in, and before long, the entire room was clapping together.

She glanced at the lone councilman who was not applauding. Lord Martin’s expression grew into a scowl.

She met his gaze with challenging eyes.

After all, if she was going to be called a throne seeker, she might as well live up to the name.