Page 57 of The Forgotten Queen
Her heart skipped a beat. “What else would we be talking about?”
Marx’s easy smile grew as he leaned back to his spot.
“Sydria, we want to get to know you better,” McKane said, pulling her from whatever moment she’d shared with Marx. “Although, we realize that might be a bit of a challenge for you, with your recent condition.”
Marx’s fingers closed into a fist, and he gave her an apologetic expression.
“Your memory might be gone, but I’m sure you still know your likes and dislikes,” King McKane said.
That was the thing. Sydria didn’t know what she liked or disliked. It felt like all of that had been erased with her memory. She’d lost her entire identity.
She swallowed. “I’m not really sure—”
“Come on, Dad. This is only Sydria’s second night here. Let’s not bombard her with questions.” Marx gave his father a pointed stare.
“Since we can’t talk about Sydria,” Dannyn said, “why don’t we talk about Marx?” Her expression turned smug.
“Actually, I think we should talk about Dannyn.” Marx exchanged a playful glare with his sister. “Did you know Dannyn used to kiss the walls?”
“I was like three years old,” she defended.
“No, I think that lasted until you were about nine.”
“Nine!” Dannyn exclaimed. “Do you know how old that is?” She looked at the queen mother. “Mom, help me out here.”
“It did seem to last a while,” her mother said with a grin.
Sydria laughed. “Why did you kiss the walls?”
Marx twisted in his chair so he faced her. “My sister liked to play pretend, and the walls were her prince charming.”
Dannyn raised her shoulders. “Every princess needs a prince to kiss, and since there weren’t any, I improvised.”
“It was funny at first,” Marx said.
Dannyn cut in, finishing his thought. “But then Palmer started doing it too. And that’s when things got weird.”
The entire family stiffened at the mention of Palmer.
Marx cleared his throat. “Palmer was my younger brother. He passed away a little over a year ago.”
Sydria nodded, feeling the thick tension that had replaced the lighthearted story.
Dannyn shoved a bite of food in her mouth while simultaneously talking. “I already told her about Palmer,” she said between chewing, “so everybody can relax. We don’t need to go through all of that right now.”
Relief colored Marx’s expression. “Oh.”
“It’s not like Marx was some saint. I may have kissed the walls, but Marx destroyed the entire castle landscaping one summer,” Dannyn said, bringing things back to normal.
“That’s a bit of an exaggeration,” Marx said as he relaxed into his seat again.
Dannyn ignored him, diving into the story. “Marx and Palmer found an old pre-Desolation stop sign. They spent the entire afternoon hammering a hole through the top of the metal. Then they got some rope from the castle garage and tied the stop sign to the back of Marx’s horse.”
“Why?” Sydria asked, looking between the two of them.
“They wanted to drag the sign around. They dragged that stop sign around the castle grounds, whacking trees and bushes, chopping off the heads of flowers.” Dannyn looked at Marx. “Do you remember that?”
“I remember that Palmer blamed it all on me.”
