Page 121 of The Forgotten Queen
36
King Bryant
Bryant rolled the transporter window down as his guard approached. The soft morning sunlight spilled into the vehicle, as did Cristole’s humid temperatures.
“Your Majesty, Cristole Castle is in sight,” the guard said. “We’ll be there within a half-hour.”
Bryant nodded. “And what about the New Hope army?”
“I received word that our men are in position to surround the castle, ready for battle if necessary.”
“Excellent. Let’s not waste another moment.” Bryant rolled the window up, bobbing his knee nervously up and down as the transporter began to move forward again. He’d never stepped foot in the kingdom of Cristole before, and after this incident, he hoped he’d never be back. There had been a time, eleven years ago, when he’d entertained the idea of aligning with Cristole—of marrying Seran to one of McKane’s sons.
He balled his fists. The McKane family had found a way to make the marriage happen without his consent, and they were going to pay for it.
Bryant didn’t know what to expect when he arrived at the castle. He’d sent some guards ahead to gain some intel. Part of what Von had said was true. Marx McKane had just married a mysterious woman. But the most interesting piece of information that his men had found was that Meldrum McKane was dead. Marx had probably killed his father so that he wouldn’t find out about Seran. That was a stretch, but at this point, Bryant didn’t put anything past King Marx.
Would Seran be bound? Held as a hostage? Suffering? He closed his eyes as he thought of the possibilities and all the things his precious daughter had gone through.
He hated that he hadn’t been there to protect her, to save her.
But he was here now, and he wouldn’t let anything stand in the way of rescuing her.
He was prepared for war or whatever it took to bring her safely back home. King Marx would pay for his part in this. He was a ruler, a member of the Council of Essentials. Bryant held him to a higher standard; Marx’s punishment should be more severe.
Usually, Bryant was the epitome of wisdom and stability. But when Doctor Von had said that Seran was still alive, something inside of him had snapped. His years of wisdom and righteous discipline meant nothing in this situation. He didn’t care about being rational. He cared about getting justice for his daughter.
Bryant had always put his kingdom first, but now his daughter came first, and he didn’t care about the consequences. Diplomacy, mercy, kindness—it was all gone. The father inside of him wanted to pull his gun out upon arrival at the castle and shoot the young king right in the heart.
Do to him what had been done to Seran.
37
Sydria
Memories came back in spurts, erupting inside Sydria’s mind more and more each day. It had been over a week since she’d stopped taking Von’s medicine, and her heart seemed to be beating fine on its own, but the severe headaches hadn’t stopped. They’d only increased. Sometimes her vision blurred, sometimes the room would spin, sometimes the pain was so great she vomited. She thought about going back on the drug, just to make the headaches stop, but she didn’t want to lose the memories she’d gained—there had to be a correlation between the medicine and her flashbacks.
When Sydriahad lived with Von and Edmay, she’d forgotten to take the drug one day, and her mind had opened slightly. At the time, she hadn’t made the connection, but now, things were starting to piece together. She wondered if Von knew that the medicine for her heart suppressed her memories, an accidental side effect. At this point, she preferred the headaches over a completely empty mind.
Sydria had filled in a lot of gaps, mostly things from her childhood. She knew the curves of both of her parent’s faces. She saw herself on the beach chasing waves. She saw her old dollhouse and a crown she’d made out of flowers for a doll. There was a beautiful black stallion that she’d ridden. A large bedroom filled with nice furniture and fancy colorful clothes. There were teachers and private tutors. Piano lessons. Violin lessons. Dancing lessons. Her childhood had been made up of the most expensive things. But beyond the materialism, she’d felt loved.
She wondered if the people in her dreams were looking for her or at least missed her. The more her mind opened up, the more she knew with certainty that Von and Edmay hadn’t told her the truth. She wasn’t a working-class girl from Northland. And the memory she’d had the day King McKane died hinted that her mother had passed away years ago. She doubted Von and Edmay were even related to her—the feelings of love that she’d felt in her memories didn’t match the way Von and Edmay had treated her.Why would they lie to her, trick her? What was in it for them?
There was still a lot Sydria didn’t know, including her own name or the names of anyone else. Everything that she’d seen had been short clips, choppy memories, blurry moments, but she’d remembered them.
That was a good start.
She wanted to tell Marx about her flashbacks, but right after his father’s death hadn’t been the time. She’d sworn Idella to secrecy about how bad her headaches were. Marx had picked up on it a few times. He always could tell when she wasn’t feeling well, but she’d brushed it away. She didn’t want anyone to know how much pain she was in. Sydria had finally come to a place where everyone didn’t view her as broken. If people knew about her headaches, the looks of pity would return to their eyes, and the strides that she’d made at building a life would all be erased.
Sydria sat on the edge of her bed, waiting for Idella to bring her a cup of water. She’d had a terrible migraine all night long, but it had started to fade.
“Are you sure you want to go down to breakfast?” Idella asked, handing her the glass.
She nodded, drinking the cool liquid. “Yes, I’ll be fine. Besides, I’m worried about Queen Malory. Now that the funeral is over, she won’t have anything to think about or keep her mind busy. I don’t want her to be all alone.”
“Fine.” Idella sighed. “But I wish you’d let King Marx know how much you’re suffering.”
“I will,” Sydria said.
