Page 7 of The Throne Seeker (Vallorian #1)

“ D id you see Roman?” her mother asked, eyeing him across the ballroom while Rose rummaged through the dessert table. “An astounding transformation if I’ve ever seen one. I barely recognized him! Why don’t you say hello? I’m sure he’d be happy to see you.”

Rose feigned indifference, concentrating on the cake before her, watching the blue flames that danced on charred peaks of the meringue.

“I’m sure he’s been bombarded with people wanting to see him, Mum.

I’ll let him catch his breath.” Still, she peeked through the desserts when her mother wasn’t looking, finding him speaking with a handful of soldiers.

“Rose?” a delicate voice said from behind.

She spun around. A bright-eyed blonde girl stood smiling at her. She looked gorgeous, of course, just as she always did. The magenta dress she’d chosen suited her fair skin perfectly. Really, she could wear any color and it would suit her. But that’s just how she was—effortlessly herself.

“Beth?” Her voice rose in pleasant surprise as she smiled back. “I thought it was just your brother and father coming.”

Beth wrapped her in a tight hug. “My mother begged me not to, but I couldn’t miss out on all the fun.” She stepped back and nodded to Rose’s mother. “It’s good to see you, too, Lady Versalles.”

Her mother’s face brightened as she plucked a chocolate-covered wildberry off the table. “Oh please, Beth, you know how old that makes me feel,” she said with a wink. “It’s wonderful to see you, too, my dear.”

“Well, I won’t keep you. I just wanted to say hello. You must have a line of suitors waiting to meet you tonight.” Beth squeezed her hand. “I remember how nervous I was when I came out.”

“Any tips?” Rose asked, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Oh, it’s quite simple. Don’t talk too much about yourself, don’t step on their feet, and if they can’t find something more interesting to talk about than the weather—run,” Beth advised with a playful smile.

She laughed. “Simple. I like it.”

“Right, well, I’ll see you later then. Don’t forget to have fun!” Beth said, rejoining the sea of gowns and uniforms.

Her mother watched Beth until she was out of earshot. “She has grown to be much more amiable than I thought. You better watch out, Rose; she’s sure to catch some eyes.”

Rose looked to see if Tristan had noticed Beth, but to her pleasant surprise, his deep blue eyes were already on her as he stood next to his mother across the dance floor. Reassurance dissipated her fleeting worry.

Despite herself, she flashed a coy smile.

“I wasn’t worried about Tristan.” Her mother rolled her eyes. “It’s Roman she has her sights on. She’s barely left his side all night.”

She watched Beth’s distant figure to see what direction she’d go. Sure enough, she headed straight for Roman, who was still talking to the same group of soldiers.

Discomfort squirmed inside her as she pressed her lips together, judging the pair. “Isn’t she much older than him?”

Her mother took a sip of the frosted-rimmed red drink in her hand, infused with floating cranberries and a rosemary sprig, before answering.

“Heaven knows why her family has waited so long to put her out into society. But I suspect they thought their efforts would be better rewarded if they waited until the war was nearly over.”

“I think they’d be a good match,” Rose concluded after assessing them, her eyes going back and forth between the pair. But even as she said the words, her gut twisted with something ugly that she couldn’t quite explain.

Her mother dismissed it with a wave of her hand. “She can try. But I have a feeling Roman will be quite the popular item.”

Rose refocused on Tristan, who was engaged in conversation with his mother, wearing a determined expression.

She knew that look, having seen it many times during their childhood games.

It was the face that declared he would stop at nothing to win.

But Tristan had met his match against his mother, her face stern and sharp as she lectured him.

As they argued, she noticed how Queen Lenna’s ghostly complexion was paler than usual.

“I hope this war wasn’t too much for her,” she said, still studying the queen. “Do you think her illness has taken a turn for the worst?”

Her mother put a hand on her arm. “Keep your voice down,” she whispered, looking over her shoulder. “Her condition is still not widely known. But yes… I was hopeful that the tinctures were helping, but I’m afraid they haven’t been as successful as the healers had predicted.”

Rose played with her gold necklace, watching the pair argue. “I hope we weren’t too hasty to return. Having the ball tonight must have taken a lot out of her.”

Her mother scoffed. “It was she who requested it be moved up, said it would make sense with the soldiers’ return. She was most insistent upon it.”

Rose blinked, perplexed. Why would the queen care to rush the ball? Unless… unless the queen intended to get Rose married off before she stood a chance with Tristan. “Do you think the queen is opposed to me marrying Tristan?”

Her mother hesitated with empathetic eyes. “Honestly, sweetheart, I don’t think she’s too keen on the idea right now.”

Rose’s heart plummeted as she dropped her necklace. “Why not? Does she not approve of me?”

“No, it’s not quite that. I think it’s… something else,” her mother said.

Rose’s brows drew together in confusion.

Her mother gave an exasperated huff, moving closer. “You must have noticed their family’s fragile state,” she whispered. “She’s afraid one small tear might leave them all in ribbons.”

Rose had never shared a close bond with the queen, like she did with King Henrik, but she had thought they got on well enough.

The queen had always enjoyed listening to her sing and frequently requested performances when Rose was a girl.

She had often assisted in planning Rose’s birthdays, arranging for special desserts, and allowing Rose to select flowers from the garden.

It puzzled her to imagine what had changed.

She fought hard to conceal her disappointment, recognizing that her potential mother-in-law might not want her as a daughter after all.

She glanced back at Tristan and his mother, only to catch both of them staring at her.

Embarrassed for prying, she quickly looked away. But, from the corner of her eye, she saw Tristan’s expression harden, snapping at his mother with a short remark before stomping away.

And to her surprise, he was headed straight for her.

She tracked him through the crowd until he was standing before her like a gallant knight. His self-assured presence calmed her worries as the rest of the room faded into the background. For that moment, she focused solely on him.

On the only thing that mattered.

He reached his hand out for hers. “May I have your first dance?”

She responded by gripping his hand. He held it firm as he guided her to the dance floor. The crowd parted for them as they glided to the heart of the room. She did her best to keep from falling over as they bowed to each other.

He closed the space between them, his free hand sliding around her upper back, supporting her arm on his. The mere contact made her very bones tremble. Her face burned as blood rushed to her cheeks, leaving her unexpectedly thankful for the thick layers of makeup. “Tristan, what?—”

“Do me a favor?” he interjected. “Don’t overthink this… Just dance with me. Dance with me and pretend the rest of the world isn’t watching.”

His tone was so sincere, she allowed her fortified walls to crumble.

A new song floated through the hall, reaching her ears in a soft, comforting quartet as the cello’s deep notes resonated through the floor. The rehearsed movements coursed through her trained body. Dancing with him felt as effortless as water flowing downstream—serene, yielding, and graceful.

Other couples gradually joined in, relieving her nerves as the focus shifted away from them.

“You look incredible tonight,” Tristan whispered at last.

She smiled, looking through her darkened lashes. “Thank you. It only took a few hours.”

Tristan’s face broke into a handsome smile. “Then I suppose at least one good thing came from all this… Though I still don’t know why you wanted this ball at all. Why did you request it be moved forward?” He twirled her, bringing her back into his arms with ease.

“What do you mean I requested?” she asked, confused.

His brow quirked. “You didn’t?”

“No. My mother said your mother requested it be moved to today. She said she practically insisted.”

Tristan clenched his jaw and squeezed the hand holding hers. “Of course you didn’t. I should’ve known.”

It only took one guess as to whom might have told him that lie—his mother. Yet another confirmation of her suspicion that the queen disapproved of their relationship.

“I know your mother cares for me… but I’m beginning to think she isn’t fond of us together,” she said.

He shook is head in denial. “That’s not true. She adores you.”

She pushed down the rising doubt. “Perhaps in a way.” She stepped away as their hands rose above their heads with the choreography. “But in another way, maybe it’s more complicated.”

He spun her around and pulled her closer to his chest. “Even if that were true—which it’s not—it doesn’t matter. I’ll marry you whether they like it or not.”

She nearly flinched at the words. “Don’t say that.”

“No one will tell me who to marry. What they think doesn’t matter.”

“Don’t be daft. It means everything.”