Page 21 of The Forgotten Queen
McKane’s smile widened. “Then why do you still look so sad?”
Moisture glistened in her eyes, and one tear dropped. “I just…I can’t afford to lose another son. With Palmer gone, I can’t lose Marx too.”
McKane reached for his wife, cradling her in his arms. “I know,” he said, patting her back as he hugged her close. “Don’t worry. We won’t lose Marx over this marriage. Everything will work out for the best. You’ll see.”
A shred of doubt hovered over his words. McKane didn’t know exactly how every part of his plan would work out. When the time came, what would he tell New Hope? He didn’t want the Council to question whether Cristole had been involved in Seran’s supposed assassination and kidnapping. Everyone thought she was dead, so when she showed up alive and well, it would be obvious that someone had lied. McKane had to make sure Cristole came out looking innocent. He drew in a deep breath. There was still plenty of time to work out the details. The first step was getting Marx to marry the princess. Then he would figure out everything else.
Marx
Several hard knocks banged on Marx’s door, serving as his warning. Three seconds later, the door to his room opened, making him close his eyes even tighter. He hugged his pillow to his head as footsteps swept across the marble floor. His secretary, Elsbeth, was headed to the window. The curtains swooshed open, and a blast of light filled the king’s suite. Marx tugged at his gold comforter, throwing it over his head to block out the bright rays.
“Your Majesty,” Elsbeth said. “It’s time to wake up.”
Marx ignored her as if his sleep was so deep that his secretary’s voice and the sudden intrusion of light couldn’t jerk him from it.
“Your Majesty,” she repeated. “It’s well past ten in the morning and time for you to wake up.”
Marx sucked in a deep breath and pushed the covers off of him. He looked at his secretary. She was an unconventional choice for the job—old with no training—someone his father would disapprove of, which was exactly why Marx had chosen her, that and the fact that she’d been his maid when he was a child, and she knew how to handle him.
“I would prefer it if you didn’t wake me up until well past noon,” he said.
She shook her head, swaying the gray bun on top of her head. “You have things you need to do today.”
As far as Marx knew, his day was clear…besides getting married, but he wasn’t going to count that. That was on his father’s to-do list, not his.
“Were you able to talk to the castle seamstress about putting a team together for the clothing drive?” Marx asked, sitting up higher in his bed. It was a new project he’d been working on. At the recent Council of Essentials, Marx was the one who had proposed that clothing dyes be essential for everyone. His proposition wasn’t about colored clothes. It was about the choice. Since he’d become king, Marx felt like he’d lost all of his freedoms. He couldn’t live the way he wanted, do the things he wanted, and it bugged him.
The working-class people had lived that way for years, even down to the simple fact that they couldn’t wear the color of clothing they wanted. Being able to wear colored clothes wasn’t going to change lives, but it was a start. It was a freedom given back to someone who had lost the ability to choose. But just because the choice was available now didn’t mean everyone could afford it. That’s where Marx’s clothing drive came in. He wanted to provide new colored clothes to impoverished working-class families. From now on, they only had to wear muted colors if theywantedto, not because somebody had told them they had to or because they couldn’t afford anything else.
“I did talk to the castle seamstress, but,” Elsebeth’s voice dropped, “your father would not allocate the funds necessary to make the project happen.”
Marx looked up at the ceiling and the large wood fan that slowly spun around above his bed. It didn’t make sense. His father wanted him to be a king, to do things for the people of Cristole, but whenever he tried, the man was always behind the scenes stopping his plans. Even Marx’s good intentions weren’t good enough for his father.
He glanced back at his secretary. “Fine. Take money out of my personal account to fund the project.” He didn’t need the money anyway.
“Very well.” Elsbeth fought back a smile, a small sign that she approved. “Would you like me to let the newswriters know about your project and how it’s being funded? Gain a little positive press?”
“No.” That wasn’t why Marx was doing it. Other people in the ruling class liked to brag about their generosity in order to gain public favor, but that wasn’t his goal. The aim was to help people any small way he could. Besides, a little positive press couldn’t change years of disappointing everyone. The only reason he’d been elected as king was because Palmer had just died and the entire kingdom felt sorry for the McKane family. Marx was known as the reckless son that didn’t take anything seriously. He’d had the label so long he didn’t know if he’d created it himself or if his father had. But now, it was his identity, and who was he to set everybody straight? Even if Marx tried to reverse the rumors, to shout from the rooftops that that wasn’t who he was, would anyone believe him?
Marx was the guy who didn’t let people in, keeping everyone an arm’s length away. Only Palmer and Dannyn knew therealhim. They knew that he had ideas and dreams about Cristole, things he wanted to do to make a difference, but somewhere along the line, he’d lost the confidence that he could make it happen, that there was more to him than being a disappointment. His father was a big part of that. If only the man saw him the way he’d seen Palmer.
Now he had to marry some woman—another thing for him to fail at. No doubt she was somebody important. His father would never marry him off to someone insignificant. She was a pawn in his father’s game, just like he was.
He didn’t even want to interact with the woman. He wanted to avoid her at all costs. She’d be better off without Marx ruining her life too. But that’s not what his father wanted. He wanted Marx to make her fall in love with him. His father’s words from the night before skidded through his mind.
Will you do this and finally make your father proud?
He was set up for failure.
Elsbeth tossed some clothes out on the bed. “There’s a High Rulers’ meeting at eleven o’clock that you need to attend—”
“Shouldattend,” he corrected her. Marx had stopped going to those meetings months ago when he realized the High Rulers were still directing their concerns and questions to his father, not him. It was another reason for his father to be upset with him.
She lifted her brow. “Then your mother is hosting a luncheon at noon, with the head of Cristole’s extended education, that she would like you to pop in on.”
“Tell my mother I’ll stop by, but I’m not staying,” he said, fluffing the hair at his neck with the palm of his hand. He actually liked the meetings on extended education, especially since that subject was near and dear to his mother’s heart, but today he didn’t feel like sitting through an entire meeting. Call it depression over his forced nuptials, but Marx needed to release the frustration coiling in his stomach.
“And then King McKane has requested that I block out your entire afternoon and evening for a separate event,” Elsbeth said.
