Page 76 of The Throne Seeker (Vallorian #1)

D espite Rose’s lack of experience, riding a sleipnir felt intuitive, similar to riding a horse in a sense—but far more frightening.

She had to make a constant conscious effort not to be swayed back and forth by the sleipnir’s movements.

Make no mistake, her core muscles would be aching in the morning, but she knew that falling off could lead to being trampled—not exactly the way she’d prefer to go.

Murmurs of surprise rumbled throughout the stadium as she arrived at the starting line. The bleachers were filled to the brim, leaving her in awe at the thousands upon thousands of faces staring down at them. She tried not to look, not wanting to add any more anxiety to her head space.

She kept her eyes on the wide dirt track, observing the terrain. It looked flat for the most part, but consequently, she couldn’t even see the majority of it from the ground. And though it was sunny, the weather was about to take a turn, stormy gray clouds encroaching the skyline.

It’s a bit more complex of a track this year, the sleipnir said. Mostly flat with a few hills, trees, a jump, and a mud pit. There’s also a wide river crossing, which will be our biggest battle.

A heavy weight of fear settled in her gut. How do you get through water?

It’s quite straightforward, really. You just need enough speed to propel you through the stream. Our legs do the rest. Most riders will get off and swim alongside us, but you’ll stay on my back, seeing as you’re not a swimmer.

How do you know that?

I can sense your fear of water, the sleipnir revealed. Strange for your kind.

She suppressed an eye roll. What else do I need to know?

The jumps. They come faster than you think. When they do, stay light. Open your chest and shoulders. Keep your weight in your heels and legs. Whatever you do, don’t fall off, or you’ll die.

Dually noted.

The sleipnir seemed amused. Don’t worry. You’re a natural, I can tell. Even now, I can feel you are at ease.

Much thanks to you, Rose said in truth.

“You lost, princess?” a rough voice called, interrupting her internal dialogue and drawing her attention to the rider at the adjacent gate.

He was a large, beefy man with sleeve tattoos covering both arms and exposed shoulders.

He had long, auburn hair and a bushy beard to match.

The sleipnir he rode was blood red with a white mane, sitting an inch taller than hers, and it had twice the number of scars on its abdomen.

His dark eyes fixated on her, scanning her body with a lustful grin. Her skin crawled.

She refused to look him in the eye.

He didn’t like being ignored.

“Are you here to wave the flag for us?” the man asked, taunting her as he put his elbow on his massive thigh, leaning over the gate. “Or perhaps to put that pretty mouth to good use,” he joked with a wink as the other riders laughed.

She clenched her teeth in disgust but stayed silent, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Despite her efforts, the man kept gawking.

“You mute, princess?” he asked loudly.

“Sometimes they’re the best kind,” another rider joked, earning yet another eruption of laughter.

“Why don’t you come over here and I’ll let you ride more than just this sleipnir?” the bearded man encouraged with a venomous smile, patting his lap.

She nearly threw up in her mouth. She was about to lose her patience?—

“Go suck your own cock, Halmar. We all know you’re the only one who has,” Moretti shouted as he came into view, strutting across the starting line.

The other riders “Ooohed,” laughing as Moretti came over directly to Rose and her sleipnir. He gazed up at her from the ground. “Don’t worry about him. He’s only worried he’ll lose all the money he just bet on himself,” he said, glancing over at Halmar with a mocking laugh.

Halmar wasn’t amused but said nothing, swiping his reins into his hands as he looked away.

Moretti lowered his voice, speaking directly to her, a humorous glint lingering in those bright blue eyes. “I’m giving you one last chance to forfeit and come home with me now. Any second thoughts?”

“Not one,” Rose assured him, flashing him a tight, flirtatious smile, pretending to be confident.

Halmar fumed at the smile she gave Moretti, cursing under his breath.

Moretti returned the gesture with a lopsided smirk that would make any maiden swoon. “May I give you something, then?” he asked, holding something small in his hands.

She hesitated before stretching her hand out.

Moretti took her hand and slid a ring onto her middle finger—a dainty gold band with a small black oval gem.

Her mouth hung open, hating how the gesture made her defenses crack—she supposed she was a little like her mother.

“For good luck,” he said, squeezing her palm gently before letting go.

She lifted her hand, inspecting it. “Thank you,” she said, taken aback by how much she liked it. “It’s beautiful.”

“Just like you,” Moretti praised, taking a few steps backward, then adding with another grin, “Try not to die out there.”

She didn’t know what to say, still unsure of the stranger. With one last glance, Moretti strode off back to the stands, all the riders straightening in their saddles as he passed.

She watched him depart with a new curiosity. Her eyes fell back down to the ring on her hand.

He likes you, the sleipnir said. A lot.

How do you know? she asked.

That ring symbolizes intention and protection, the sleipnir said, with a light scoff. As if he stands a chance.

She was shocked at the idea of Moretti already having such thoughts. He only met me minutes ago. He couldn’t care less if I live or die.

On the contrary. He cares very much, the sleipnir stated as if he knew it for a fact. That was a calculated display of support. He wants people to know he is rooting for you.

She contemplated the idea. Only because we’re making him a lot of money.

That, too, the sleipnir agreed, but it doesn’t make the former any less true.

Rose’s gaze went to the stand, searching for Roman, but he was nowhere to be found. Slowly, she touched her neck, her fingertips brushing the spot still burning from his kiss. Her heartbeat quickened as she replayed the scene in her mind.

How does Roman feel about me? she asked.

I won’t tell you, the sleipnir replied.

Why not? You didn’t seem to have a problem telling me about Moretti.

Because it’s a question you need to ask him yourself. Felix doesn’t matter to you. Roman does, the sleipnir stated as if all knowing. You like him. I could tell by the flutter of your heartbeats when he touched you.

No, she denied. I can’t like him.

Why not?

It’s complicated, was all she would disclose. Her heart wrenched as Tristan’s handsome face flashed across her mind.

Pushing it away, she took a large, cleansing breath and straightened her back. She had more worrisome things to consider.

Like the small fact that she might die.

The trumpets sounded, signaling the race was about to begin. “Welcome, citizens of Vallor… to the sixty-seventh Snorri race!” The announcer’s voice rang through an enchanted bullhorn.

Cheers of excitement erupted from the crowd as the racers waved and cheered with them, including Halmar, who roared beside her.

“Each contestant will compete for the title of Snorri Champion. There is only one lap this year, starting and finishing right here at the white line. The rules are simple… there are no rules,” the announcer said slyly.

Another wave of cheers erupted, more barbaric. Bloodthirsty.

She suppressed a shiver.

“The goal is to survive and cross the finish line first. Will it be the two-time champion, Tridar Higgins?”

The man on the brown sleipnir thrust his fist into the air.

“Or will it be our last-minute entry, Draya Santres?”

An even louder roar came from the audience. She lifted her hand to the crowd, forcing a smile.

“Moretti seems to know something we don’t, apparently,” he muttered, then raised his voice again. “Without further ado, let the race begin! Riders, approach your marks.”

The riders and their sleipnirs entered their pens, stopping at the closed, covered gate. Her nerves reached their capacity as her hands squeezed the sleipnir’s hair in a death grip.

Don’t be afraid, the sleipnir reassured her. Trust your instincts. We’ll get through this.

The world around her drowned out and her mind went quiet as she concentrated on remembering how to breathe. If her sleipnir could manage to race as fast as her heartbeat, they’d win in a sinch.

“Riders ready,” the announcer boomed. “On your mark… get set… go! ”

The gates flew open, and all hell broke loose.

Rose’s sleipnir went from a standstill one second into a full gallop the next, thrusting them forward from the pen.

He sprinted at such an intense speed, it was hard to keep her eyes open, the wind thrashing her dress.

Her fellow riders were blurs, all crowded together in a clump, making it impossible to step even a foot out of line—or more than one rider would pay the price.

She focused on keeping her body light and low, thankful for the friction between her skin and the sleipnir. The cheers from the crowd drowned out, leaving the starting line far behind them—just how far she didn’t know. She didn’t dare look.

Despite their weight advantage, they fell progressively behind, hanging back near the end of the pack. She wondered if perhaps the sleipnir had slowed down for her sake.

It is safer to stay back, the sleipnir explained, his nostrils taking in deep, controlled breaths. It gets dangerous if you stay close. The other riders will attempt to throw you off if you do. It’s better to stay behind, but not too far, or you’ll never recover the lost time.