Page 26 of The Throne Seeker (Vallorian #1)

Z areb promptly met Rose outside her room early the next morning.

The sun was barely rising over the hills, splashing magenta across the light blue horizon, while the two moons remained visible in the distance.

She was instructed to wear her House colors, uncertain of what exactly the challenge would entail, but she knew it would probably involve teamwork, similar to Xavier’s experience in the bog.

Just the memory of him covered in foul slime made her skin crawl.

Despite the early hour, the castle’s corridors buzzed with excitement as everyone prepared for the first challenge.

“You ready?” Zareb asked, navigating through the bustling hall beside her.

“Yes,” she declared, burying her building nerves. She finally took note of what he was wearing. “Is that your uniform?” she asked. His red and gold tunic had been swapped for a blue one with a small golden dragon on the chest.

“It is,” Zareb said, squinting out through the bright window toward the grounds, pointing at the clusters of men already active in the courtyard.

“Each team is wearing their respective House colors and symbol: the griffin, the dragon, the wolf, and the serpent. Grant’s men are wearing brown, and Tristan’s are wearing red to avoid confusion.

The yellow flags attached to our belts will act as our lifeline.

If they get cut off, you’ll be considered eliminated from the challenge. ”

She tracked his gaze. Although it was strictly forbidden to kill the other candidates during the succession, it didn’t mean “mistakes” couldn’t happen.

It was an “accident” when Mateo drove three arrows into Xavier’s back while climbing the mountainside that nearly killed him.

At one point in history, it was even encouraged to eliminate the competition.

However, after decades of bloody successions, the council deemed it too barbaric, recognizing it didn’t necessarily call upon the most qualified candidate—just the most brutal.

Her gaze returned to Zareb as the corners of her mouth tugged upward. “You’re one of my men?” she asked, eyeing his blue uniform.

“Of course,” he said, as if it were obvious. “I can’t have you getting killed. I was just starting to like you.” He jerked his head, urging her to follow, ignoring her wide grin. “Come on, we’d better join them. It’ll be starting soon.”

Bright sunlight warmed the frost-covered ground, dampening the hem of the tents.

Soldiers scurried about, collecting weapons and armor, while some sparred to warm up.

The whole ordeal felt ominous somehow. Despite knowing it was a “staged” fight, it felt all too…

real , like they were gearing up for an actual battle.

“Where is this being held?” she asked Zareb, feeling foolish she hadn’t thought of the question beforehand.

“It starts at the river,” he replied, pointing toward the trees. “Then we row upstream to the firewall?—”

“The firewall?”

“A barricade of sorts—a high stone wall manned by soldiers with flaming arrows. We’ll need to make our way up and over it.

You could try to go around, but that would take too long.

Fighting your way over the wall is your best bet.

Once we’re past it, we’ll reach the old ruins, where our main objective is to locate the sun relic. ”

She peered into the distant woods. The river. Naturally, it would have to start with the river. The very same one she’d almost drowned in as a child—she still had the hidden scar on her scalp to prove it. She stowed away her fear—no time to be scared now.

Something was off as they drew nearer to the tent. There were only eight men in blue uniforms, including Zareb. Perhaps the others were still on their way? She scanned the area, but no one else wore her House colors.

Determined, she entered the tent, addressing her men. “Where are the others?”

The men exchanged hesitant glances. A large redheaded man to her left was the first to answer. “There’s been no one but us.”

Zareb nudged her shoulder. “How many men were you supposed to have?”

“Fourteen,” she answered.

“And how many did Dawnton have?”

“Twelve. Why?”

Zareb’s expression hardened as he motioned to the green tent a short distance away. “See for yourself.”

Her eyes clapped to the green tent, the forest green serpent flags fluttering in the breeze. Dawnton’s tent was more crowded than it should have been—no, that couldn’t be. One… two… She counted eighteen. Somehow overnight, Dawnton had accrued six more men—the exact amount she was short.

“He came to us and offered a bribe to switch over to his team,” the bearded redhead said, glaring at the serpent tent with them. “It was no small amount.”

She swore under her breath, reprimanding herself for not having thought of the possibility before. Of course Dawnton would aim to target her—the one he deemed his easiest prey. The serpent symbol suited him and his House perfectly.

Dawnton, as if aware of her stare, locked eyes with her and flashed a smug smirk.

She resisted the temptation to lift her middle finger—the slimy git. The limited number of men posed a significant drawback, especially if they had to row upstream.

She sized up the men in front of her, thanking her lucky stars they all appeared strong and capable.

“Your loyalty is greatly appreciated,” she said, wishing she could offer a reward for their fealty. “I promise I won’t forget.”

A burly man with dark-brown hair and tattoos stepped forward. “If you become queen, a large number would support you. Many of us here have witnessed your miracle work in the healing tents.” The others behind him nodded in agreement.

Familiarity tugged at her the longer she looked at him. “Have we met before?”

“You helped tend to me when my arm was nearly severed.” He rolled up his sleeve, revealing his scarred arm as proof.

She recognized the wound at once. “Khan?”

“You remember?” Khan’s mouth split upward.

“Of course.” She scanned the healed handiwork with a critical eye.

He had been among the first patients she’d assisted during her initial week in the healing tents.

He’d arrived with a severely bleeding arm, nearly hacked clean off.

It had taken her and another nurse half the day, but they managed to save it.

Twice, she’d thought him gone. It was nothing short of a miracle they were able to save it—and him.

“I’m glad to see you’ve managed to keep it attached. ”

He gave a hearty laugh. “Just as I promised.” He gestured to the men behind him. “These are my friends. We are all with you.”

She gave them a grateful nod. “Thank you for your faith in me.”

Not a moment too soon, Tristan appeared by her side in his red uniform with the golden griffin on it. His grave face told her he had already been made aware of her predicament. “What happened?”

“The men say they were bribed,” she conveyed with a sour tone. “Is there anything to be done?”

He shot a scowl in Dawnton’s direction. “Maybe under different circumstances, but it seems the high council has made an exception this time since there is a fifth contestant. My father fought it, but he was outvoted.”

Wasn’t that just convenient?

After a still moment, she nodded in acceptance. “If a full purse could persuade them to abandon me, then they were never true supporters… I’ll just have to make the best of it.”

Tristan wasn’t so easily beaten. “Take some of my men.”

She shook her head. “I won’t let you do that.”

“Yes, you will.” His voice was as set as stone. “If they get to use loopholes to gain the upper hand, then so do we.” He held up his pinky. “Me and you, remember?”

She gazed into his eyes, to the tranquil blue sea that grounded her. Linking her pinky with his, she repeated, “Me and you.”

He raised her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles where they intertwined with his. “I’ll go send my men over now. We’ll meet you at the river.”

She attempted to keep her expression neutral as he mentioned the river, but Tristan noticed the shift in her. This time, he whispered. “You’re still afraid of the water?”

Her fallen gaze gave him all the answers he needed.

“Keep your eyes off the river and stay in the boat. You won’t have to swim; just keep as far away from the other boats as possible and watch for the rocks. It’ll be over before you know it.” With that, he kissed the back of her hand one last time, heading to his own crimson tent.

Soon after Tristan departed, she and her men collected their weapons and strategized. They were each allowed swords, one set of bows and arrows, and a handful of daggers. It wasn’t a lot, but the restrictions would apply to others, too.

She had barely strapped a dagger to her thigh when Khan called out with a grin, “Drengr!”

Her hands froze. For the love of the gods, please no.

She spun around. Roman and nine others in red uniforms entered her tent. As promised, Tristan had provided a handful of men. But she’d had no idea that would include his brother.

Roman greeted Khan like they were old acquaintances, clasping hands and embracing with a firm pat. A flash of annoyance seized her, irritated by how his rare smile was so freely given to others—another form of punishment.

The rest of the soldiers joined in for the reunion. She held back an eye roll, yanking her sword off the table and securing it to her back. Oh good, all of them are friends.

Roman’s golden eyes blazed in her direction, scrutinizing her from head to toe.

She folded her arms, popping out her hip. “What are you doing here?”

His mouth tightened, slinking closer. “A simple thank you for the help would suffice.”

Help indeed. She had enough on her plate without worrying about internal resistance.

“You didn’t have to come.”

“It wasn’t my choice,” he replied with a sharpness that matched hers. “Trust me, I like the arrangement as much as you do.” He paused as he looked over to the green tent. “But if Dawnton wants to embody his symbol, we’ll do the same.”

She eyed him; she could almost mistake his expression for protectiveness. She gathered her courage to ask a question that had been gnawing at her. “They call you Drengr?”

His jaw feathered, pausing before he answered. “Yes.”

“What does it mean?”

“If you want to be on time, I suggest we get going.” He turned on his heel, stalking off for the horses.

It took a moment for her to realize he wanted her to follow. So, with her arms still crossed, she followed him to his horse, annoyed that he hadn’t answered her question.

He motioned for her to mount.

She met his gaze with resistance. “I can ride my own horse.”

“We are short on horses. We’ll all have to pair up.”

She didn’t move.

He let out an irritated sigh. “Look, I made a promise to Tristan that I’d look after you, so that’s what I’m doing.”

She’d rather walk the miles barefoot just to avoid sharing a saddle with him. But Tristan had offered his aid, and she was in no position to deny that. Plus, she didn’t want to give Roman the satisfaction of thinking she was intimidated by him.

So her pride got her up onto the horse, ignoring his helping hand. She mounted it like second nature.

Roman climbed on behind her. His chest pressed against her back as his powerful forearms extended around her to grasp the reins, as though he was demonstrating how effortlessly he could overpower her.

His warm breath brushed against her cheek as she was engulfed by a blend of musk and cedar—a scent she’d never bothered to acknowledge before now.

“On your order,” he drawled next to her ear.

She shot him a vexing glance over her shoulder. Nonetheless, she looked past him at the men. “Mount your horses.”

And may the sea and sky gods help her get through this alive.