Page 8 of The Throne Seeker (Vallorian #1)

“I’m serious.” Tristan’s grip on her waist tightened, redirecting her gaze back to his so she could see the ache harbored there.

“For a year, I had nothing to hold on to. At times, you felt like a distant dream instead of a memory. Time paused and didn’t start again until the moment you walked back through those doors.

Life is too short, and I’ve already lost enough of it.

I’ll tell you exactly what I told my mother—I won’t agree to stay away from you.

Even if the world were on fire, I’d cling to you…

with every ounce of strength, I’d cling to you. ”

He’d always had the ability to express himself without fear of what was to come after. She couldn’t help but admire him for it. It was a wonder another girl hadn’t caught his eye.

“After all this time… there must have been someone else?” she asked hesitantly.

Tristan grimaced. “No. I’ll admit, I tried—more than once. But there is no one I’ve wanted more. I keep telling you, Rose, I want you . So much, I’m sure it can’t be healthy.”

Her heart skipped as her breaths grew shallow. “Can I ask what motivates you to be so loyal to me?”

The corner of Tristan’s mouth lifted into a smile, pulling her closer.

“Because you’re one of the few people who wants me, not what I can give you.

You want me , Tristan. Not the prince of Cathan.

What’s more, is you… You’re the only one I ache for, the only one who gets under my skin.

” His eyes lowered to her lips, then returned to hers.

“It scares the hell out of me how you can control me with a mere glance.” He dipped her backward, her blue dress skimming the floor.

When he lifted her, he asked, “Was there someone else for you?”

She almost laughed. “So many,” she teased. Her smile was meant to ease his worry, but something hidden in his eyes made her uncertain.

“I’d believe it.”

She shook her head. “There’s been no one. My mother’s tried to persuade me, but… no one is you.”

Tristan pulled her closer in response, so close she could feel his breath on her face.

All too soon, the song ended, and the couples dancing separated. The crowd clapped, their applause spreading through the dance floor.

She didn’t want him to let go. She didn’t need to dance with anyone else. She’d found him—the person she wanted to marry was right here in front of her. Entertaining anyone else would be a waste of time.

He must have been thinking along the same lines because he whispered, “Meet me tonight at our spot after the celebration.”

His words played with fire. It had been different when they were children. Back then, no one batted an eye at kids playing on the beach. But now that she was of age…

“We have the whole summer, Tristan,” she pointed out.

“And I plan to take full advantage of every night,” he declared with a cocky grin.

Still keenly aware of the spectators on the sidelines, she caved with a content smile. “Alright.” Without waiting for a reply, she turned away, biting her lip to disguise her joy as she left.

She had taken all but ten steps before her mother joined her.

“Rose! I want you to meet someone.” She tugged at her arm, her determined strides hinting at a secret agenda.

The next thing she knew, Rose stood in front of a short, heavyset man with a scruffy black beard.

“Rose, do you remember the Grand Duke of Sansburry?”

The duke peered through his bushy eyebrows as a smile creased his cheeks. His famous dimples were still noteworthy but accompanied by more wrinkles. If she recalled correctly, he was one of the major gold traders in Cathan—and the richest man aside from the royal family.

Rose lowered her head, throwing on her society smile. “How could I forget the man who owns my favorite vineyard in Cathan? I remember my visit quite well.”

He beamed as proud as a peacock, resting his hands on his protruding belly. “I’m impressed! You were no more than knee-high when you came to my humble home. Not too much younger than my son, if I remember correctly. You remember Dawnton. Dawnton!” he called over his shoulder.

A younger man appeared, the spitting image of the duke, though slimmer in the middle and barely her height. He held his chin high as if he owned the air around him, swirling a glass of red wine with utter boredom.

“Dawnton, you remember Rose, don’t you?” the duke said, gesturing to Rose.

Dawnton greedily assessed her from head to toe. “Of course.” He took her hand and kissed it. She fought against the impulse to yank it back when he held it for too long. “It’s a pleasure to be here to celebrate with you.”

“Why don’t you two dance?” her mother urged. “You may not get another opportunity, Dawnton. She’s quite popular.”

“I’d be honored,” Dawnton answered at once, coming forward and extending his arm.

She took it, ensuring she sent her mother a “thankful” look.

And so, the night continued. Suitor after suitor appeared, each making their introductions. She lost track of time—were they minutes or hours? All she knew was she’d met more than a dozen men and danced with every single one of them.

Throughout the night, she made it a point to find Tristan.

Like her, he danced with a different partner for every song that played.

She found it odd he’d be adamant about dancing with so many partners, but everything became clear when she noticed the queen observing him like a hawk.

No doubt to see if another girl could catch his eye.

Rose said good night to her dance partner and tiptoed to the edge of the ballroom to find her mother. Unsurprisingly, her mother had prepared a new victim as she stepped aside to reveal a tall, broad, beefy blond. “Rose, you remember Grant Montague,” her mother said, hanging on his arm.

Rose looked him over; she did indeed, though she’d only encountered him a handful of times.

He used to be a heavier-set boy, brimming with snide remarks and mischief.

His cousins, Tristan and his brothers, had always loathed him, grumbling complaints whenever Grant’s family visited.

Grant all but reciprocated the ill feelings, making their lives miserable when he came.

She had gotten in trouble countless times because of him—and his strict father, Neith.

There were even rumors that Neith himself had hired the raiders who attacked one of Cathan’s ships a few years ago, resulting in the death of his own brother—who just so happened to be the successor should King Henrik die. However, no concrete evidence had ever been found against Neith.

Rose doubted the rumors herself. There were plenty of powerful family Houses who would gladly see the succession reopen.

Regardless, the “accident” had allowed Grant’s older brother to compete to be the heir to the throne, which Xavier had ultimately claimed instead.

So, if Neith had gone to all that trouble, it was all in vain.

Grant flashed a giant smile the instant their eyes met.

She lowered her head, working hard to mask the repulsion she felt. “I’ve heard your name mentioned once or twice,” she teased with a tense smile. “You’re the one who let out all the horses the morning before the hunt… and destroyed the courtyard… and nearly got Xavier killed on the cliffs.”

Grant’s smile broadened. “I am ashamed to admit it’s all true. But luckily, you’ll find I’ve matured over the years, and so have you. Then again, you were always the pretty one.”

Her mother’s eyes sparkled at the compliment, while Rose fought not to roll her eyes. Her mother didn’t hide her enthusiasm as she said, “Grant has been most gracious in keeping me company while waiting to dance with you.”

Before Rose could refuse a dance, Grant intercepted. “I promise not to bite,” he said, holding out his arm.

She took a deep mental breath before forcing a polite smile. “Of course.”

Her mother put a hand on her lower back, gently pushing her towards him, whispering in her ear, “Stand up straight and try not to step on his feet. He’d be quite a catch.”

She pretended not to hear as Grant led her to the dance floor. He spun her around and drew her close—too close.

“You’ve been a popular topic among the men tonight.”

She smiled, but it was a feeble attempt. “All good things, I hope.” More like wishful thinking.

“Don’t bother yourself so much about what people say,” Grant said as if it were simple. “If everyone believed gossip, I wouldn’t be standing here today.”

He sparked her curiosity. “What do you mean?”

He looked around, lowering his voice. “It was once said I was to blame for the ‘toad in the punch scandal’ at Tristan’s tenth birthday party. I can most assuredly testify it was not me.”

She scolded herself for thinking he might actually be serious foronce.“And just how exactly is that life-altering gossip that could have resulted in your not being here today?” she asked with a raisedeyebrow.

“If my mother believed it, I would’ve been killed on the spot,” he said with a lazy smirk.

It was a stupid joke, but she was having a terribly serious night. A smile slipped through her defenses.

He looked all too proud of himself. “Ah, so she does have a genuine smile,” Grant remarked as he dipped her, effortlessly supporting her weight. Rose tilted her head back, her hair almost grazing the floor. In one fluid motion, he lifted her back into his arms.

Grant’s gaze shifted, focusing on something across the ballroom; his smirk turned wicked. She followed it to see an angry face dancing with a different partner. Tristan.

Her mask slipped as she shot a glare at Grant, knowing exactly what he was up to. It was the same antics he’d resorted to when they were young—getting a rise out of Tristan for entertainment.

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from saying something she’d regret.

Grant turned his attention back to her. “Listen, Rose, I know you don’t know me well.” Grant’s green eyes held hers with confidence. “But you do know my family is well respected, wealthy, and holds a powerfully close line to the throne… If I asked to court you, would you agree?”

Her shoulders tensed, surprised that he’d be so bold. Not when she’d only been out in society all but a few hours. Grant knew Tristan had feelings for Rose. But, of course, the fact didn’t bother Grant. In fact, he reveled in it, which was precisely the problem.

Her mother watched them eagerly from the sidelines, giving her an encouraging nod.

Defiance reared, knowing her mother would scold her for what she was about to say next.

“I’m flattered. But I’m afraid I’d have to say no.”

Grant wasn’t fazed in the slightest, almost like he’d anticipated her resistance. “Perhaps you’d like to take some time to consider?”

She suddenly pretended to be interested in the white orchids on the far tables. “I don’t think I need to drag it out.”

“Can I ask why you’d offer me so little consideration?”

“Because I know what I am to you.”

“And what is that, pray tell?”

“A chess piece,” she clapped back. “You’re only interested in me because Tristan is. I’m not a pawn for your amusement.”

To her dismay, her rejection only added to his fire.

His lips grew into a dangerous smile, clearly not used to being told no.

“I danced with you to get underneath Tristan’s skin.

That is true.” He didn’t deny his shallowness.

“But now, well, I’m curious about you. Not only are you beautiful, but now I’ve discovered you might even have something of substance under that perfect skin.

Perhaps you and I are more alike than you realize. ”

Her eyes grazed her mother’s, who watched from the sidelines, distressed by being unable to control their conversation.

“I’m sorry.” She refused to be persuaded. “But my answer is still the same.”

Grant’s face, however, didn’t falter. “I expected as much. I admire your loyalty. But I don’t think it’ll take long for your mother to convince you otherwise. She and I have become quite close, you see.”

She cocked her head. “Is that so? How are you so sure?”

Another deadly smile. “Because I’ve already spoken to her and received permission to pursue you.”

Her eyes widened, racing to her mother for confirmation, but she was busy conversing with a small group of men—including Grant’s father.

Grant looked as smug as a feline. “See? They’re thrilled about the prospect already.”

“Well, unfortunately for you, I’m the one who decides who I’ll court.” She glared at him as she sidestepped with the music.

“We both know people like us don’t get to choose our marriages.” The statement was true enough. “But I’ll be here a while; it may just be enough time for you to change your mind.”

The song couldn’t have ended at a more perfect time. She released his hand and stepped back, offering him a rebellious smile. “I wish you all the luck in the world.”

His smirk spanned the entire width of Cathan, her resistance raising the stakes of his little game. He took her hand and kissed it. “Thank you for the dance, Rosalie Versalles.”

Without missing a beat, she marched over to her mother. Just as her mother was about to speak, she caught sight of Rose’s expression and nearly rolled her eyes, asking, “What is it now?”

“Did you give Grant permission to court me?”

Her mother laughed briskly. “He sure gets to the point, doesn’t he?”

Her eyes bulged. “You did!”

“Oh, you’re so dramatic.” Her mother took her elbow and drew her closer, lowering her voice.

“I’ve already told you we need to keep your options open, and if Tristan doesn’t work out, Grant may be the next best thing for you.

He’s young, handsome, and incredibly rich, with royal blood.

His family owns the largest trading company in Cathan. What’s not to like?”

There were so many things, she could scarcely name them all. She let out a puff of air, too tired to argue.

What in Vallor had she gotten herself into?