Page 101 of The Forgotten Queen
Sydria
Sydria sat out on the terrace with Dannyn and her friends, making notecards for sick children. Queen Malory was hosting a ball that night in honor of the ill children around Cristole. It was a nice gesture, but Sydria wondered if the money spent on the ball could have been given directly to the sick children and their families.
“Kase is leaving me,” Dannyn said, slamming her pen down dramatically.
Sydria looked up from the card she’d been writing, and Dannyn’s friends gasped.
“What?” Cheney said. “How could he end things with you?”
Dannyn leaned forward. “Notleavingme, leaving me. He has to go to Tolsten for a little bit.”
“What for?” her other friend, Truby, asked. She was thin, with the perfect amount of freckles showering her face.
“I don’t know.” Dannyn rolled her eyes. “Something important Marx wants him to do.”
“When does he leave?” Cheney asked.
“Tonight. After the ball. How am I going to go for that many days without him here?” She flopped her hands down, jostling the table. “I’m going to be so bored.”
“You’ll miss his company?” Sydria said as she drew a smiley face at the bottom of the note she worked on.
“No! I’ll miss his lips.”
The other girls laughed, and Sydria had to fight to keep her growing blush from getting too out of control, but of course, Cheney noticed it. Since the sun blocking incident, Cheney had mostly kept to herself. Until now.
“Come on, Sydria,” she said, tucking a strand of her short brown hair behind her ear. “Don’t be so appalled. It’s just a kiss. Or does Marx not want to kiss you?”
She straightened. “I’m not appalled. I believe a lady doesn’t kiss and tell.”
Her mind opened up.
Triggered.
Where there had been darkness a second ago, now there was a sliver of light.
A girl with blonde hair.Maybe they’ve already kissed.
Then her own shy smirk.A lady never tells.
Sydria couldn’t explain it, and she never knew how to recreate it.
Her hand shook slightly as the memory faded out of her mind. The other women continued talking around her, not noticing her falter.
Sydria had kissed somebody before. If she thought she was married, then yes, she’d kissed a man. But she had no recollection of it. No memory of how to do it or what it felt like.
She thought about Marx.
What would it feel like to have his lips on hers?
It never would happen…not unless Sydriaaskedhim to kiss her.
Marx
Marx tugged on his black suit jacket, looking at his reflection in the mirror. Normally, he dreaded attending one of his mother’s balls—a room full of pretentious people who cared more about whom they could impress than the children they were supposed to be honoring. But tonight, his stomach hummed with anticipation.
Marx hadn’t seen Sydria all day. He missed her.
The way she smiled.
