Page 119 of The Forgotten Queen
“If she’s not a prisoner, then why doesn’t she come home?”
“I invented a drug that blocks her memory. Isolated Amnesia,” he said proudly. “She doesn’t knowwhoshe is.”
Bryant bolted across the room, grabbing Doctor Von by the collar and pulling him to a stand. “What have you done to my daughter?” he yelled.
The door to his office flew open, and his guard pointed his gun at Von, but Bryant didn’t even acknowledge the man.
Von’s hands went up in the air. “It wasn’t me. Theyforcedme.” He blinked rapidly with fear. “I barely escaped. You were the first person I came to.”
Bryant’s eyes went to stone, and he shook him hard. “I should kill you!”
“You have to believe me. I swear.” Von tried to convince the king. He hoped coming there hadn’t been a mistake. Maybe he should have stayed in Cristole and trusted Stoddard. He needed to persuade Bryant that they were on the same team. “We can save your daughter, and I can bring back her memory. I promise!”
Bryant released his grip, and Von sank back into his chair, scrunching down with fear. The king looked at his guard. “Throw him in jail.”
“Jail?” Von said in a panic. “I came to you. Told you where your daughter is. I’m your partner now.”
Bryant shook his head. “You’ll stay in the New Hope jail until you can be tried for your crimes.”
Guards rushed toward him. Von looked around the room. There was no way out. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. King Bryant was supposed to be kind, understanding, thankful, not full of rage. They grabbed his arms, pulling them forcefully behind his back.
“Please!” He looked at King Bryant. “Don’t do this. I can help you save her.”
“Don’t worry,” the king said as he watched the guards drag him out of the room. “I’m going to Cristole to save my daughter myself. King Marx will regret the day he ever took advantage of her.”
Von opened his mouth to speak, to tell King Bryant that it wasn’t King Marx who had struck the deal but King McKane, then he remembered Stoddard’s plan to pin everything on King Marx and he clamped his mouth shut.
He should have listened to Stoddard. He’d miscalculated. He’d risked everything by going to Bryant, and it had backfired. Stoddard had threatened to ruin him, but he had nothing left to lose now but his life. Von would have to revert to Stoddard’s plan and hope it was enough to save him from being executed.
35
Marx
Marx was dressed in black. That’s what people wore to funerals—the absence of color as a reminder that the person they loved was forever absent from their lives.
A group of fifty of his father’s closest family and friends huddled around his casket on the west side of the castle grounds. His father would be buried next to Palmer. That’s where he would’ve wanted to be.
The sweltering sun beat down on them, stealing their breaths. Some of the guests fanned themselves with their hands, trying to find a respite from the heat, while others dabbed at the beads of sweat pooling at their hairlines.
High Ruler Grier spoke to the group, reminding everyone what an accomplished man King Meldrum McKane had been. Dannyn stood on his left, eyes fixed on the green grass below them, and next to her was his mother. The queen mother had been stoic the last week since his father had died—different from how she’d handled Palmer’s death. Everyone held their breaths around her, waiting for the moment her tough exterior would crack. It was only a matter of time.
Sydria squeezed his right hand once, then dropped it. It was enough to let him know she was there if he needed her. She’d been amazing over the last several days. She’d planned and coordinated every last detail of his father’s viewing and funeral. And she’d kept the queen mother distracted by working on the butterfly terrarium with her. She hadn’t even been asked to help. She’d seen a need and had fulfilled it. Marx wondered if she would’ve done all of that if she knew the truth about his father, about how he’d conspired with Commander Stoddard to keep her away from her life and family back in New Hope. At least, Marx assumed his father had conspired with Stoddard. He’d never know for sure. The answers to every question Marx had had died with his father, and he hated him for it.
Not truehate.
Marx loved his father. He only wished that his father could’ve loved him the way he’d loved Palmer.
“And now,” High Ruler Grier said, looking over the crowd. “As we lay to rest our dear husband, father, friend, and king in this cold, cold grave…”
Dannyn glanced at Marx at the mention of the word cold. There was nothingcoldabout the day or the grave. A trickle of sweat rolling down Marx’s back confirmed that.
“…we take comfort knowing that King McKane is laid to rest next to his beloved son, Palmer. The coldness of the grave…”
Dannyn hiccuped a laugh, quickly covering her mouth. Anyone else might have passed it off as a sob, but she had definitely laughed.
“…and the cold chill of death—”
Dannyn laughed again, and this time Marx did too. He cleared his throat, trying to cover his tracks. How many times was Grier going to say the wordcoldwhen it was one hundred and ten degrees outside?
