Page 127 of The Forgotten Queen
“Do you really expect me to believe you?” Bryant flared.
“Yes. Ask Seran. She’ll tell you.”
That didn’t feel like her name.
Her head hurt, and she didn’t know what was real anymore. Everything she knew the last four months had been a lie.
She shook her head, trying to pull her mind out of processing mode, but it wouldn’t budge.
“The fact that she’s not responding or defending you is my answer,” her father said as he ushered her toward the vehicle.
“She’s not responding because she’s in shock,” he called after them. “You’re pushing her too hard, too fast.”
Marx always did know her better than anyone else—better than she knew herself.
She turned over her shoulder, looking back at him one last time.
“Seran, I need to know if you’re okay,” he said, placing his hands on his hips. His hazel eyes watched her in agony, waiting to see what she’d do.
“She’ll be fine. I’ll take care of her now.” Her father opened the transporter door, and she climbed inside.
She didn’t know what else to do or how to behave.
She’d never felt more lost than she did at that moment.
She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the bench seat, letting numbness take over.
Marx
Marx watched Sydria go. It hurt like the day Palmer had died—sharp, overwhelming, crushing. But the worst part was seeing her go back into her shell again. She’d retreated to the woman he’d met the first day on the beach one month ago.
Scared.
Guarded.
Insecure.
Unsure.
He didn’t blame her, but he hated it all the same. And he hated his part in it.
The first transporter—with her inside—drove down the lane of the castle. Palm trees swayed as the breeze from the vehicle blew past.
The other transporter, PTs, and the soldiers stayed with the barrel of their guns pointed at Marx.
His men held their ground, responding with their own weapons drawn. The head guard, the one who had been next to King Bryant, stepped forward, and his men readied their weapons.
“Back away from the king,” Commander Tindale yelled.
In turn, the New Hope soldiers prepared for battle.
If Marx didn’t stop this, every young man in that courtyard would lose his life. It wasn’t worth it. Someone had to answer for Princess Seran’s presence in Cristole. His father wasn’t there to take the blame, but that didn’t matter to King Bryant or the Council.
Marx was the fall guy.
It was his own fault.
He should’ve stood up to his father, contacted King Bryant as soon as he found out, or told Sydria the truth. But Marx hadn’t done any of those things, and now he would pay the price for it.
