Page 19 of The Forgotten Queen
“That’s right.”
Their conversation had gotten stranger by the second. “You want me to marry a girl who doesn’t have any memory or know who she is?”
“Is there a problem with that?” his father questioned.
Marx threw his hands in the air. “I can think of a few problems.”
“Look at it this way; if she has no memory, she doesn’t know what a disappointment you are.”
His father had him there. But that wasn’t enough to agree to this insane marriage. “I’m not going to marry some girl when I don’t even know who she is or how it benefits us.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
“Of course I have a choice.I’mthe king.”
“You’re not the king. You’re a puppet—my puppet—and you’ll do as I say,” his father snapped.
He dropped his arms to his side, closing his fingers into a fist. “I’m not your puppet.”
“You’ve allowed this to happen.”
Marx didn’t want this, hadn’t asked forthis.
“You don’t take your role as king seriously, leaving me to pick up the pieces along your trail of mistakes. Meanwhile, you gallivant around the kingdom like some teenager who hasn’t learned to become a man.”
Marx gritted his teeth. “If you think I’m such a terrible king, then why did you force me to run in the election?”
“I had no other choice,” his father said, looking away. “You made sure of that.”
“Right.” Marx nodded. “We all know you wanted Palmer to be king.”
“I did, but I at least thought you’d be better than this.”
“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you.” That seemed to be the theme of Marx’s life, disappointing his mighty father.
“You’ve disappointed this entire kingdom.” He straightened in his chair. “But now is your chance to make it right.”
“I don’t see how marrying a random girl is going to magically make me a great king. It won’t fix anything.”
“It fixes everything.” His eyes dropped to his desk as his fingers skimmed across the glossy oak top. “You owe me this.” His fingers continued to brush along the ornate edges of the desk in front of him. “All I’m asking you to do is put your name on paper with hers.”
“So I never have to talk to the woman?”
“I didn’t say that. For my plan to work, she must fall in love with you. Ideally, she’d give you a child. The more ways we can bind her to you and our kingdom, the better.”
“Why would she ever love me?”
His father raised an eyebrow. “There has to be something redeemable about you that she can fall in love with.”
“I don’twantto make her fall in love with me. I don’t even want to marry her.” Marx hated being left in the dark, and this was too big of an event not to understand the details. “I’m not going to do it unless you tell me who she is.”
His father glanced up. “It’syourfault we’re in this situation. It’syourfault that you are the king and not Palmer.”
Marx shifted his weight, knowing what his father was implying—that Palmer’s death was onhishands.
His father was right.
He was responsible for Palmer’s death.
