Page 44 of The Forgotten Queen
There was an awkwardness lingering between them, something heavy that hadn’t been there earlier. The sound of waves tumbling into rocks eased the silence.
“So do we have a deal?” he asked, pulling her attention to him.
It was everything Sydria had wanted. She could find out the truth, find out who she was, get out of the marriage, and return home. All she had to do was pretend that she was falling in love with King Marx enough to convince his father.
She would be a fool not to make this deal.
She stuck her hand out. “Yes. We have a deal.”
King Marx smiled. He really should smile more. He was quite attractive when he did. He shook her hand, solidifying their agreement.
“So this is a fake marriage?” she reiterated, and for some reason, neither of them dropped their hands.
“That’s right,” he said. This wasn’t a simple handshake anymore.Thiswas akin to handholding. “We already know that I’m good at pretending to be what people want, but how good are you?”
Sydria swallowed, dropping his grip. “I don’t know.”
“I guess we’ll find out.”
There was another one of his easy smiles.
13
Sydria
Sydria sat on the velvet bench in her room as Idella brushed through her long black hair, readying her for bed. She reached for the orange medicine vial, going through her nightly routine of dropping the liquid onto her tongue. She looked up through the mirror, noticing the way Idella watched her.
“What did you think about King Marx?” Idella asked. She’d waited an entire twenty minutes before she’d said anything. That was some amazing restraint.
“He’s different than I thought he’d be. There was a kindness about him that I didn’t expect.”
Was it kindness or selfishness? The deal they’d struck benefited him too. So maybe he was looking out for himself.
“I think you’re ready.” Idella set the brush down on the vanity counter. “I laid out a nightgown for you.”
Sydria glanced at the bed and the silky white gown that was strewn across the mauve comforter. It looked more like an undergarment slip than pajamas. The front was cut low in a deep V, and the straps were narrow and thin, only a little wider than a piece of string. She didn’t know what was typical for a queen to wear to bed, but that nightgown seemed to miss the mark, especially considering the modesty guidelines set forth by the Council of Essentials.
Where had that piece of information come from? Modesty guidelines? She shook the thought away and pointed to the slinky gown. “You want me to wear that to bed?”
A big grin spread across Idella’s face, and she nodded excitedly. “Isn’t it gorgeous?”
“It seems a little fancy for sleeping, and it’s missing some crucial pieces of fabric.”
“You’re not going to be wearing it that long,” Idella said, and Sydria thought she saw the hint of a blush tint her maid’s cheeks.
Her brows drew together. “Why wouldn’t I be wearing it for long?”
Idella looked away, her blush deepening. “Because it’s your wedding night, and the king will be joining you soon.”
Her mouth went dry.
She’d agreed to pretend like this marriage was real, and real married couples had wedding nights.
“Thank you, Idella. That will be all.” She didn’t have the heart to tell her maid that she was absolutely not putting on that nightgown and that she was absolutely not allowing King Marx to enter her bedroom. Her maid beamed with enthusiasm as she curtsied, then she rushed out of the room.
Sydria paced back and forth, not sure how to handle the situation. She and Marx hadn’t set up any boundaries regarding their relationship. Was physical touch a part of it? Was kissing a part of it? Were wedding nights a part of it? Her stomach churned. How could she have been so foolish as to not set the parameters? Another negotiation failure.
She glanced at the wooden door that led to the king’s chamber. In a few minutes, he’d probably knock and expect something more from her than she was willing to give.
