Page 125 of The Forgotten Queen
He walked toward her. She stepped to meet him, still studying his face.
“You’re my father?” she asked.
“Yes, I’m your father,” he said through his cries. He reached out, slowly bringing her into a hug. The tangy smells of frankincense and musty pine filled her senses, sparking a familiarity inside her heart. She wrapped her arms around him, breathing him in, feeling the sense of love that she’d been dreaming about the last few weeks.
“I can’t believe it’s really you.” He pulled back. “Do you remember me?”
Sydria looked into his brown eyes. Sparks of memories shot through her mind. Him teaching her how to ride a horse. The way his large hand felt holding hers. His adoring smile. Him bending over a map of all seven kingdoms. His glowing gaze, that always let her know he was proud of her.
“A little bit.”
He grinned, love radiating from his eyes. “That’s all I need.” His eyes glanced behind her, and the delight in them was replaced by coldness.
“She’s coming with me,” he said in a harsh tone he hadn’t used with her.
Sydria followed her father’s stare to Marx. His expression was somber.
“Do you want to go with him?” Marx asked.
“Of course Seran wants to go with me. I’m her father.”
“Seran,” she whispered. She’d heard that name before. Her eyes dropped as she tried to remember.
The artifact room.
Seran Alyssa Haslet.
The princess who had been killed at her own wedding.
Her chest hardened, and she stumbled back. Marx grabbed one elbow and her father the other.
“Sydria!” Marx said, slipping his hand around her waist for support.
“Don’t touch her!” Her father yelled.
Marx glanced at her, then her father, nodding as he backed off.
Her father was the king of New Hope.
King Bryant.
And she was the princess.
Sydria didn’t remember that, only knew it as common knowledge.
“I just…” Marx blew out a breath as his worried eyes looked over her. “I just want to make sure she’s okay. Sydria?” he asked again.
“Her name is Seran,” her father snapped, pulling her to him.
Seran Haslet.
It felt right but also very, very wrong.
“Seran?” Marx’s eyes were soft. “Are you okay?”
“I…” Anxiousness rolled in like a storm, squeezing the breath out of her lungs. She closed her eyes, trying to find some solid ground. She knew who she was, but she still didn’t recognize herself.
“No, she’s not okay,” her father said. “And you’re to blame.”
