Page 63 of The Forgotten Queen
“You’re nervous,” he said. “I can tell.”
“I’m a little nervous,” she eyed him, “but I’m up for the challenge.”
“Is it a challenge to act like you’re falling in love with me?” There was an amused look in his eyes.
Not as big of a challenge as I thought.
“We’ll find out.” She grinned playfully, hoping to cover up her real answer.
“You have nothing to worry about. Remember, just defer all the questions to me.”
They entered the royal sitting room, and a thin woman with auburn hair stood from her place on one of the couches. She curtsied. “Your Majesties.”
Marx placed his hand on the small of Sydria’s back, guiding her forward. The complexity of his simple touch was astonishing. The gesture went a long way to calm her nerves, but tangled her insides at the same time.
“Thank you so much for your time today. My name is Foys Kaufman. I’ve met King Marx before,” the woman said, speaking to Sydria, “but I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting our new queen.”
Sydria smiled at the newswriter as she took her seat.
“Isn’t that the purpose of the interview?” Marx asked. He dropped into the cushion next to her, his hip touching hers, and he lifted his arm, resting it on the back of the couch.
Resting itonSydria’s shoulder, to be exact.
She did her best to ignore the sensations rippling through her body, but it was hard. Marx had a way of making sitting on couch look attractive. She felt every bit of his attractiveness, from his arm on her shoulder to his hip pressed against hers.
“First of all,” the newswriter said, taking her own seat. “I want to congratulate the both of you on your marriage.”
“Thank you,” they said in unison.
“We were a bit surprised when Elsbeth sent the note about it,” Foys explained.
Sydria gave an overdone nod in agreement, not having the faintest idea who Elsbeth was.
“I like to keep the newswriters on a need-to-know basis,” Marx said.
“So this was a planned wedding?” Foys asked.
Sydria looked at Marx, deferring to him like it was her profession. That was the plan.
“Of course.” He pulled his lips into a hollow smile, the one she’d seen him use with his friends on the beach the night they’d first met.
Foys scribbled something on her notepad. “Did you marry for love, or was this an arranged marriage?”
“Marriage shouldn’t be a business transaction,” he replied coolly.
That was an excellent answer. Marx seemed so calm and collected, as if the weight of the newswriter’s questions couldn’t affect him.
“Queen Sydria, the entire kingdom is wondering who you are,” Foys said.
“Aren’t we all?” Marx smiled back at the newswriter with so much sarcasm, Sydria almost laughed out loud.
“Tell us about yourself. Who is Queen Sydria?” Foys’s eyes were fixed on her.
The room seemed to get warmer, and the rhythmic ticking of the ceiling fan above hummed deep in her ears.
Who is Queen Sydria?
Defer to Marx.
