Page 131 of The Forgotten Queen
She’d been shot, put in a medically induced coma for over a year, and had been traveling for the last week. If this was better than before, then she was angry at her old self for looking so bad all of the time.
“Come,” Mariele said. “I’ve got your room ready, and I’m sure you’re anxious to see your friends. I’ve invited them to dinner tonight.”
Seran dug her heels into the ground, shaking her head. “I don’t want to see anyone.”
Mariele’s face fell. That was clearly the wrong answer. The old Seran would have probably agreed to meet and entertain the moment she got home from an overwhelming and stressful ordeal because that was what was expected of her. The new Seran didn’t want to.
Mariele looked to Bryant for some help.
Seran gritted her teeth and pressed her lips into one of her hollow smiles. The one she used to give Von and Edmay. “That is, I don’t want to see anyone right now. Perhaps tomorrow.”
“Of course.” Mariele smiled, pleased with that answer. “We’ll see how you feel then.”
Her father and Mariele talked the entire way to her room, pointing at things in the Government Center, asking if she remembered this or that. She wanted to glue a piece of paper on her head that said, ‘I don’t remember anything, so stop asking,’ but she thought that might cause everyone around her some discomfort, and she couldn’t have that.
“And here’s your room,” Mariele said.
She stepped inside. The room was painted a light cream. Dark oak furniture was spread about, and the comforter and curtains were a light blue. It was nice enough, but it didn’t feel like home. It didn’t feel like the queen’s suite back at Cristole Castle.
“Would you like to go through your wardrobe?” Mariele asked. “We took most of the dresses to Albion for the we—”
“That’s enough, Mariele,” her father said, stopping her. In the stories her father had told her over the last week, he’d skimmed over the fact that Ezra was now married to Mariele’s daughter, Renna, but Seran had had enough flashbacks to fill in the blanks herself.
“You took most of my dresses to Albion for the wedding to King Ezra,” she said, finishing Mariele’s sentence.
“Yes,” the queen said, dropping her eyes to the floor.
Seran glanced around her bedroom, walking over to look at the perfumes lining her dresser. “Are Ezra and Renna happy?” she asked.
Her father stepped forward. “We don’t need to talk about that right now.”
Seran didn’t need to talk about it. She’d already fit the pieces together. Ezra had fallen in love with Renna when he was supposed to marry her. Renna was the color red, and Ezra was constantly chasing after her. She didn’t feel sad about it. She hadn’t wanted to marry the prince of Albion anyway. She hadn’t loved him then. She certainly didn’t love him now.
“Why don’t you change for dinner, and we’ll meet downstairs,” her father said, watching her closely.
Seran shook her head. “Thank you, but I think I’ll have dinner in my room tonight. I’m quite tired from the journey.”
“Whatever you need.” Her father escorted Mariele to the door, turning around once before closing it with a big smile. “It’s so good to have you home.”
Seran tried to match his smile, to be as happy as he was about the fact that she was back in New Hope. “It’s good to be home.”
The door clicked shut, and she let the mask fall. She exhaled, falling onto her bed. She missed the ceiling fan above her in Cristole and the king who stayed in the room next door. He was the only one in the last four months who hadn’t treated her like she was broken.
She’d heard the story from her father of where she’d been for the last year and a half. How King Adler had taken her, put her in a coma, and how she’d fallen into Stoddard’s hands when the commander had killed King Adler. Then Stoddard had sold her to Cristole—to Marx. Although he’d always said that it was his father who had forced him into the marriage.
Seran hoped that was true.
She hated thinking about the alternative—Marx having used her the entire time. He’d said it was all pretend, but maybe his reasons for the fake relationship were different than what he’d said. Maybe the pretend game they’d played had been so that he could increase his position and power in Cristole. The day her father had come for her, she hadn’t been able to face the possibility that their time together might have been an even bigger sham than she’d thought. She’d walked away—hadn’t even say goodbye to Malory, Dannyn, and Idella. Now she would never know the truth. Seran probably wouldn’t see Marx again. Maybe at the Council of Essentials in nine years, but why would she be there? Without him, she wasn’t a queen.
Regret mixed with sadness, creating a crushing blow that hit the center of her heart. She mourned the loss of her mother all over again and the ease with which her own father had moved on with Queen Mariele. She mourned the life taken from her when they’d thought she was dead and how easy it had been for Ezra to move on with Renna.
The world hadn’t stopped.
Everyone had done what they were supposed to do.
They had forgotten about her.
Would Marx simply move on too, forget about her, marry another?
