Page 29 of The Forgotten Queen
“Well, thank you.”
“My machine is perfectly intact,” Kase said as he parked his PT next to where Louden had parked the other vehicles.
“That’s because you drive like a grandma.” Marx punched Kase in the shoulder as he walked by.
“No,” Kase said, jogging to catch up to him. “I, unlike you, don’t have a death wish every time I go for a ride.”
They walked stride for stride toward the side door at the same time two men exited the front of the castle twenty feet away. The first guy, a bald man with glasses, dropped into the back of the waiting transporter, but the second guy, another bald man but much shorter, paused by the door of the vehicle. He studied Marx. An eerie look full of prideful secrets swept across his face. His lips slowly etched into a smile.
“I know that guy,” Kase said.
Marx stared back at the stranger. “Who is he?”
Kase scratched the back of his neck. “I can’t remember where I’ve seen him.”
The man dipped his head to Marx in acknowledgment then climbed into the transporter.
Kase groaned. “That’s going to bug me until I remember who he is.”
Marx kept walking. “I’ve never seen him before.”
He pulled the door open, and there stood Elsbeth. Her arms were folded, and her foot tapped against the floor. Her lips pressed together so tight they weren’t lips anymore, but a white slash in the middle of her face. Marx had seen this expression many times before as a child, and he’d experienced the scolding that followed it.
“Miss me?” He tried to layer his question with his most charming smile, but her flashing eyes told him her anger wouldn’t be easily overturned.
“You were supposed to be back hours ago. King McKane has been looking for you. The wedding is to begin soon.”
“I’m here. Everyone can calm down,” Marx said as he walked through the door. “I’ll go shower.”
“Miss Hasler is waiting for you in the greeting room,” Elsbeth said.
He drew his brows together. “Who’s Miss Hasler?”
Elsbeth tilted her head toward him. “You’rebride.”
Kase chuckled next to him, slapping him on the back as he walked past. “See you at the altar, lover boy.”
Marx glared at his friend, swiping a hand through his tangled hair. He looked at Elsbeth. “Am I supposed to meet her or something…before the wedding?”
“Yes. Miss Hasler would prefer it.”
Miss Hasler would prefer it.
Marx rolled his eyes. Miss Hasler was probably like all the other women he’d encountered in his life. Women like that didn’t care about the man. They only cared about the title of the man, and unfortunately, Marx held the biggest title of them all—king.
He didn’t know what difference a thirty-second introduction would make. They would still be strangers when they said ‘I do.’ But he was a little curious. Okay, he wasa lotcurious.
“Fine,” he muttered, changing his direction. “I’ll go meet her.”
“Like that?” Elsbeth questioned.
Marx looked down at the dirty clothes that he’d worn to go racing in. He didn’t look like much of a king. Maybe this Miss Hasler would take one look at him and change her mind. In fact, that was a brilliant idea. He might not be able to persuade his father to give up on this idea of an arranged marriage, but there was nothing his father could do if Miss Hasler called it off herself.
“Maybe Miss Hasler likes the rich smell of body odor,” Marx said as he raised his eyebrows. “Besides, it’s not my clothes that charm the women. It’s this face.” He pointed to his fake smile.
Elsbeth shook her head and huffed away. She was too easy to upset.
Marx stepped into the greeting room, and his gaze was immediately drawn to the back of a woman in an elegant white dress. Her shiny black hair fell straight to her lower back. She stood in front of the window, her focus on something outside.
