Page 62 of The Throne Seeker (Vallorian #1)

R ose followed the queen down the mountain of stairs, finding Harriet and her mother waiting for them at the entrance of the hall. Her mother and the queen entered the double doors first, talking to each other in whispers.

Just as Rose was about to follow them, Harriet caught her arm, stopping her mid-stride.

“I’m sorry,” Harriet blurted out unexpectedly.

Rose blinked, caught off guard by the guilt she lying in Harriet’s icy-blue eyes.

Harriet slowly lowered her hand from Rose’s arm.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so cold and distant with you lately.

It’s just…” She swallowed, nervously gathering her dress with her hands.

“Ever since you came back, everything’s gone so terribly wrong.

After Xavier’s tribunal, our family hasn’t been the same.

My mother’s health has been declining, and I’m convinced it’s because of everything that’s been happening.

And I’ve tried to fix it, but no one ever bothers to ask or even listen to poor little Harriet—” She cut herself off, taking a deep breath before starting again more slowly.

“All that is to say I was angry. I needed someone to blame, and I misdirected that anger at you, and I’m sorry,” she ended in a whisper, her glossy eyes brimming with sincerity.

Rose’s heart plummeted to her stomach; she was where it had all gone wrong. Half of her sympathized with Harriet’s qualms and even agreed with her. Rose’s return had altered everything for their family.

But to be fair, she’d had a good amount of help.

Rose took a small step forward. “I’m sorry, too, for everything.”

Harriet took her hand, squeezing it. “I really wanted you to be my sister-in-law.”

She forced herself to smile, biting her lip to keep it from quivering. “Me, too.” Then she lost all composure and hugged the young princess. “Me, too,” she whispered again.

They stayed like that for a moment before Rose pulled away, clearing her throat. “You should go in. Your mother will be wondering where you are.”

Harriet took a deep breath, nodding. “If you need anything , just let me know.” She offered her one more sympathetic smile before disappearing into the hall.

Rose hesitated, standing before the double doors, raising her chin with sheer determination. You can do this, she repeated to herself.

She squared her shoulders and entered the hall.

She had never seen such a magical room. Sunlight streamed through the grand, gold stained-glass cathedral windows, filling the room with a rainbow of soft colors.

Greenery and flowers flooded the walls, ceilings, and pillars, leaving no surface uncovered.

On either side of the altar, enormous bouquets overflowed from their milky-white vases.

Dozens of candles flickered proudly atop gold floor-length candelabras placed throughout the room.

An elegant ivory rug lined the middle aisle, leading up to the altar.

Even the brass chandelier sparkled with a fresh polish.

Satin and her mother must have heavily weighed in on the décor. In a more traditional Cathan wedding, the hall would have been full of red and gold instead of greenery. The room was packed, and most guests were already seated in the wooden pews. She glanced over them lazily.

Until she saw him.

Any hope of getting through this wedding came crashing down with one blow.

Tristan was dashingly handsome, of course.

His usually messy golden hair was neatly combed, not a strand out of place.

He wore Cathan’s traditional red and gold tunic, giving him a fairy-tale look.

His skin had a golden hue thanks to the stained-glass window behind him.

His face was grim, eyes staring down at the floor like he was in a trance—no doubt trying to be rid of the effects of all the alcohol he’d had last night.

As if he could sense her, he looked up.

His body froze.

His eyes drank in every detail of her, his lips parting in awe like he had just seen an angel walk into the room.

She forgot how to breathe. What in Vallor was she thinking? She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t sit here and watch him marry someone else. She was going to be sick. She just knew it.

Rose whirled around, the acid in her stomach threatening to make its way up her throat.

She covered her mouth, closing her eyes to keep herself from vomiting.

Her eyes pricked but she shoved back the tears, remembering her vow to herself not to.

Her hands trembled, the stress finally taking its toll on her body.

She tried to take a deep breath, but all it did was make her gasp.

She was about to make a run for it when an unexpected pair of hands grasped her shoulders.

Roman peered down, concern lacing his expression as his hand gently lifted her chin. “Hey, hey, look at me,” he whispered, trying not to make a scene. “Focus.”

She concentrated on his eyes, so close she could see the array of golden specks held within them. The warmth of his crisp breath washed over her face.

“Breathe,” his rich voice commanded, calming her nerves. “Focus on me. Take a deep breath in through your nose… yes, just like that… and exhale slowly through your mouth.”

She kept repeating the simple task, digging her nails into his forearms. Over and over, she breathed, one breath at a time, slowing her heartbeats. The deep breaths let Roman’s musky cedar scent fill her lungs, helping to alleviate her nausea.

She tried to focus on something else—anything else—her gaze fell to his tunic. It matched her dress perfectly. The color went well with his tanned skin glowing like the summer rays streaming in from the window.

“You’re alright,” he whispered. “You’re okay.”

She nodded, still too afraid to open her mouth for fear vomit would come up with it.

Roman waited patiently for her panic attack to subside as her death grip on his arms relaxed.

“That’s it,” he said, encouraging her with a firm nod. “Keep breathing just like that.”

Her heartbeats calmed—that was, until he began to lower his hands.

In an instinctual reaction, she latched on to his forearms like a leech, her body taking over. “Don’t let go,” she whispered, hating how pathetic she sounded. How utterly worthless she was in this state. But she couldn’t help it. For some reason, his touch was the only thing that helped.

“I’m not.” His calloused hand slipped into hers. “I won’t.”

He led her to the front of the aisle to take their places. She kept her eyes down, frightened they might run into Tristan’s again, or anyone else’s for that matter.

They made it to the front and up the shallow steps, taking her place beside Harriet, who offered her a weak smile.

She braced for Roman’s hand to let go, expecting him to join the men on the other side, but true to his promise, he remained beside her, keeping his hand firmly in hers.

She thanked the lost city above that Roman’s broad shoulders blocked her from Tristan, even if she could still see him in her periphery, staring at her.

Unconsciously, her hand squeezed Roman’s tighter.

“Eyes on me,” Roman whispered.

As instructed, she looked into his patient eyes—golden flames of warmth waiting for her. A strange energy swelled in her chest, the very same one she’d felt on the balcony the first time earlier that summer. One she was growing more accustomed to when he was around.

The distraction did its job until the music played.

The audience rose to their feet as the grand wooden doors softly opened, revealing Princess Satin in an exquisite floor-length wedding gown.

She had opted for the classic Cathan dress, with fabric cascading in every direction, creating a long train behind her.

Crafted from soft silk, the skirt gathered around the waist while the strapless design exposed her delicate shoulders.

Her hair was elegantly pinned up, holding the laced veil that draped over her face.

Through it, Satin was smiling brightly at Tristan.

Rose peeked to see Tristan’s reaction. He watched Satin with a blank stare, making her believe he wasn’t ecstatic to see her, but to her utter agony, he wasn’t looking at her like she was the worst thing in the world either.

The gaze made her feel sick again. She took in another deep breath.

Roman gave her hand a firm squeeze in reassurance as Satin made her way to the front, standing side by side with Tristan.

With that, the ceremony began.

Rose had what she could only describe as an out-of-body experience—watching helplessly from the sidelines as the priest continued his speech. She didn’t listen to anything he said. She didn’t want to remember a single word. And was successful.

That was, until she heard the dreaded question.

The priest asked, “Do you, Princess Satin, take Prince Tristan to be your wedded husband and king, to cherish in love and friendship, in strength and in weakness, in success and in disappointment, to love him faithfully today, tomorrow, and for as long as the two of you shall live?”

Her response was immediate. “I do,” Satin answered with a radiant smile.

The priest in the pointed hat turned to Tristan.

“Do you, Prince Tristan, take Princess Satin to be your wedded wife and queen, to cherish in love and friendship, in strength and in weakness, in success and in disappointment, to love her faithfully today, tomorrow, and for as long as the two of you shall live?”

A painful silence hung in the air.

Tristan’s hesitation made her heartbeat pound, her hand squeezing the life out of Roman’s.

Tristan peered over Satin’s shoulder to meet her gaze.

His blank expression cracked as his blue eyes became tortured. But as soon as she recognized the pain, it left, his eyes hardening as they shifted back to Satin.

“I do,” he answered.

Rose’s eyes fell—she was half relieved, half ready to die.