Page 39 of The Forgotten Queen
“Of course she knows where she’s from,” Dannyn scoffed.
“Didn’t you hear?” He gave his sister a sideways glance. “She has amnesia.”
Dannyn’s nose scrunched together. “Amnesia? Why?”
“Apparently, she was in an accident, and now she doesn’t remember anything.”
“That explains how they convinced her to marry you,” Dannyn joked. “Your wife has amnesia.” Dannyn broke into a giggle then immediately covered her mouth. “That’s terrible,” she muffled through her hand.
Marx rolled his eyes at his sister’s immaturity. She always laughed at the most inappropriate things. But, despite his best efforts, a small laugh choked out of him too. He tried to hide it with a cough.
“She doesn’t know about your crappy reputation?” Dannyn asked, her laughter growing.
Marx shook his head, making his sister laugh even harder.
“The poor girl, she could be from some remote village in Cristole, thinking she’s so lucky to be marrying the king.” Her words were broken up by her stifled giggles. “She doesn’t know any better and if she did, she doesn’t remember.” At this point, his sister was laughing so hard she was hanging on to him for support as if she might collapse to the ground from laughter.
“Very funny,” he muttered. “As if you’re one to talk.”
Dannyn sucked in a deep breath, calming herself. “Well, maybe our entire family is messed up.”
It definitely felt that way.
“Sorry. You know I love you.” She straightened. “I’m sure your wife will love you too.”
I wouldn’t be so sure about that.
“What was with the pause during the wedding?” Dannyn asked, changing the subject at the perfect time before Marx had to explain that this wasn’t a real marriage. “I thought you were going to call the whole thing off.”
“Nah, we were just talking about the weather.” He’d been surprised by her hesitation to marry him. Yes, she didn’t know him, but she would instantly become a wealthy queen. Her reluctance suggested she didn’t care about that stuff. She seemed more concerned aboutwhoMarx was. Notwhat.
Dannyn raised her eyebrows. “You were talking about the weather?”
“Yep,” he said, keeping a straight face.
“I can’t believe you’re not going to tell me.” Dannyn rolled her eyes in annoyance. “You’ve known her for one hour and me your entire life.”
Marx glanced at Sydria. She was his wife. His loyalty was to her now, for better or worse.
Sydria
Sydria sipped her drink slowly, letting the fizzing bubbles tickle her throat. She hadn’t had champagne since she’d woken up from her coma, but she must have had it before because the citrus taste reminded her of…what? She shook her head, frustrated by the blank space inside her mind.
“Queen Sydria, you must not be from Cristole. I would have remembered if I had seen a beauty like you before,” Warren said. He was an attractive man in a rugged sort of way. His brown hair was long and pulled back into a knot at the base of his neck. A short brown beard covered his face, contrasting his light blue eyes. His smile was suggestive, and the way he leaned in close to Sydria said that he was a man with few boundaries.
“Do you always flirt with your friend’s wives?” Sydria asked, deflecting his question about where she was from.
“I don’t know.” Warren laughed. “None of my friends have ever been married before.”
She glanced across the room at King Marx. “And why is that?”
He dipped his shoulder into her, lowering his voice into a husky whisper. “None of us have ever found anyone as charming as you.”
Flattery.
So this was the male equivalent of flirting. She’d seen how women flirted the other night. Cheney had been much more touchy than Warren was, but perhaps that had something to do with the fact that Sydria was a married woman and the queen.
Thequeen.
