Page 32 of The Forgotten Queen
Sydria’s pulse knocked around inside her chest, and she wiped her clammy hands together. A flash of a memory bolted through her mind. Not a memory, but a sensation like she’d done this before, like she’d walked down an aisle feeling helpless. Her mind wandered to her dream from the other night. Had that been some kind of premonition? She wanted to explore the thought, but there was no time. She’d arrived at her destination. She stood on the dais…alone.
Was she to wed herself?
At this point, marrying herself didn’t sound too bad.
The music stopped, and Sydria’s eyes wandered to the High Ruler, but he looked at King McKane.
King Marx had been running too late to meet her. Now he was late for the wedding. Who’s late to their own wedding, even an arranged one? Maybe he was hurt, kidnapped, or better yet, maybe he’d fled the kingdom. Anything to get out of the marriage. Was it possible that he didn’t want this marriage either?
No, he wanted it.
He’dpaidfor it.
The awkward waiting stretched on. How long were they going to make her stand there before someone said something?
The room was silent—painfully silent. Who would be the first to speak? Sydria guessed it would be the former king.
There was a commotion at the side door and footsteps. She turned her head in the direction of the disturbance, and there he was, walking toward her. Her eyes widened as she gaped at his freshly showeredfamiliarface. His blonde hair fell to his brows and wisped to the side. He wore a dark, fitted suit, and his hazel eyes were fixed on her.
Her heart seemed to explode inside of her chest at the groom’s reveal. She felt confused and stunned. Puzzle pieces from their last two encounters now fit together. She probably should have known he was the king when he’d entered the greeting room twenty minutes before the wedding…or at least considered that he was a candidate.
King Marx stepped onto the dais and stood next to her. A mixture of mint and soap filled the air around her. So what if he smelled good? Sydria would count that as a win for herself. She had no desire to be married to a smelly man for the rest of her life.
Nevermind.
This wasn’t an actual ceremony. She wasn’t really going to marry the mint-smelling king.
“Very good,” High Ruler Grier said. “We can begin. As is the custom set forth by the Council of Essentials—”
“Sorry I’m late,” King Marx whispered as the High Ruler rambled on. “I had to feed the fish in my aquarium.”
Sydria pursed her lips, keeping her head and her eyes focused on the High Ruler.
“I suppose it was too much to ask that you show up on time to your own wedding,” she whispered.
He stepped closer, his shoulder brushing up against her arm. In a way, she liked that she had a prior relationship with the king. It could only help her cause. But he’d lied to her about who he was.
Twice.
“You lied to me,” she whispered.
“I don’t recall lying to you.”
“You didn’t tell me you were the king.”
“You didn’t ask.”
She turned her head slightly. “Why would I think to ask if you’re the king?”
“Well, this is Cristole Castle, and you were in the greeting room waiting for the king.”
“I didn’t think the king would forgo bathing before meeting his wife-to-be.”
“I’ve showered now.”
Yes, his wonderfully delicious smell made that plenty obvious.
King McKane cleared his throat loudly behind them, no doubt letting them know that their whisperings during the ceremony weren’t appreciated.
