Page 113 of The Forgotten Queen
Sydria was presumed dead.
32
Marx
Marx walked to dinner. After the initial shock, he’d spent the rest of the afternoon researching everything he could find on New Hope, King Bryant, and his daughter. He’d gone back through the reports of the wedding and the circumstances surrounding Seran’s death. It was widely speculated that King Adler was behind her assassination. Albion even said they had a co-conspirator who had admitted Adler’s guilt and involvement. On top of everything, Ezra Trevenna had married Seran’s step-sister, Renna. It was an awkward situation when the princess was dead. How much worse was it going to be when everyone found out she was alive?
Marx tightened his jaw as he thought about King Ezra. Seran had been betrothed to him half of her life. Did she love him? When she found out her true identity, would she wish that she was married to Ezra Trevenna instead of him?
The more Marx thought about it, the more his head and his heart hurt.
King Adler had done this.
How else could Sydria have ended up with Commander Stoddard? He was the leader of the Tolsten army—King Adler’s right-hand man. The entire situation seemed impossible. And if Sydria was Princess Seran, how had she lost her memory? And why had Seran’s father, and her fiancé, and a room full of wedding guests, including Palmer, all thought she was dead…when she really wasn’t? They’d even held a funeral for her.
Marx had so many questions for his father. He was the only person who could tell him for sure if his suspicions about Sydria were correct. Was his father somehow part of Sydria’s attempted murder and kidnapping? Did he know who she really was? He thought back to the night before the wedding and the conversation they’d had in his father’s office.
“She’s someone who is extremely valuable to our future and the future of Cristole…All you need to know is that this girl will make sure that Cristole has a power position when it comes to the Council of Essentials and our alignment with the other kingdoms…You need to trust me.”
It seemed like his father had known who she was, and it was going to take every ounce of Marx’s strength not to lunge across the table and grab him by the collar, demanding answers. He’d have to wait until after dinner for that conversation.
Marx entered the dining room. The women were already seated, waiting to start. He kissed Sydria on the cheek, not missing his mother and Dannyn’s surprised expressions. Sydria eyed him too, obviously unsure how to respond. Maybe he shouldn’t have kissed her, but his mind was lost on other things.
“Where’s Dad?” he asked, looking over at his father’s empty chair.
His mother waved her hand out in front of her. “I went to get him for dinner, but he was sound asleep on the couch in his office, reading the newswriter. I swear, as much as he does that, we should put a mattress in there. I’m sure he’ll come stumbling to bed later tonight.”
Marx’s jaw hardened. He wouldn’t be able to talk to him. If he woke him up now, his father would be grumpy and groggy and not willing to give him the answers he needed.
“He’s getting old,” Dannyn said. “He falls asleep even when he’s not reading the newswriter.” She took a sip of her drink. “And he snores.”
His mother looked at the head waiter. “Shall we start?”
Marx made it through dinner and games in the sitting room, only half-listening to the conversation around him about how difficult it was proving to be for his mother to get butterflies for her terrarium. Every once in a while, Sydria would look his way, questioning him with her eyes. Each time, he gave her a reassuring nod.
He was fine.
As fine as a person could be after finding out that the woman he loved was considered dead.
When the evening was over, they walked to their rooms hand and hand. He stopped outside their doors, turning to face her.
“My surfer girl,” he said, brushing her hair back behind her ear. But that was the thing. Sydria wasn’thisgirl. She had an entirely different life from the one she lived there—an important life—one where she was needed and wanted.
“You were quiet tonight,” she said, resting her hands on his chest. “Is everything okay?”
He forced a smile. “Yeah, I’ll be okay.”
But the truth was, Marx’s heart was broken.
Not for himself but for Sydria. For everything she’d been through, for the years that she’d lost, for the life that had been stolen from her.
It wasn’t fair.
He pulled her into his arms, hugging her tight. He never wanted to let her go. He wanted to keep her in Cristole and protect her from the world and the evilness it had shown her.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “I noticed you rub your head a few times during dinner and when we were playing games.”
“I’m fine. It’s a small headache.” She wrapped her arms around him. “I’m glad you’re okay too. I was getting worried that you regretted kissing me last night.”
