Page 64 of The Forgotten Queen
The fan got louder, pulsing in her ears, and her hands felt clammy even though they were resting in her lap.
“I love cumulus clouds!” she blurted with more excitement than the situation called for.
Marx turned his head to her. Amusement carried through his eyes as he dared her to continue.
Cumulus clouds? Why didn’t I stick to the plan?
She looked at Foys, who seemed confused with her answer, so Sydria pasted on her showman’s smile, trying to smooth things over. “Rather, I studied meteorology in Northland. Where I’m from.”
Foys leaned forward. “Meteorology?”
She lifted her chin. “Yes, you know weather patterns. And clouds. Nimbus. Cirrus—”
“And, of course your favorite…cumulus.” Marx smiled with a glint so goading she couldn’t stop now.
“Yes, they are my favortie.” Her playful expression matched his. “How could I ever forget about cumulus?”
Foys nodded. “Did you study anything else besides meteorology?”
“Education and politics.” The answer rolled off her tongue easily as the image of a post-Desolation map of all seven kingdoms shot through her mind. It was quick, too quick for her to find the meaning behind it.
“What else can you tell me about yourself?” the newswriter asked.
Sydria’s smile faltered as she tried to make sense of whether she’d experienced a real memory. “I…uh…”
Marx grabbed her hand with his free hand, letting their fingers intertwine. “Sydria has a soft place in her heart for sea life.”
“You’ve come to the right kingdom, then.” Foys smiled.
The spontaneous handholding set Sydria back. Her thoughts were on the warmth behind Marx’s touch, but she managed to turn to the newswriter. “Yes, it appears so.”
Foys looked between them. “And how did you two meet?”
“I’d like to answer this one.” Marx closed his hand around Sydria’s shoulder, snuggling her in closer.
She tried not to let the king’s nearness break her, but his touch and his minty smell made it hard for her to concentrate.
“I’d had a terrible day,” Marx began. “There was a lot on my mind, so I took a walk down the beach. When I got to the end, I saw a woman standing on the edge of the rocks. Her black hair was wet and blowing in the wind behind her. She wore a simple lavender dress, but no one had ever looked so elegant before.”
Sydria’s eyes slowly drifted across the side of Marx’s face as he spoke. She studied every smooth angle of his features and the different shades in his light stubble; the golden complexion that painted his skin screamed of summertime. His usually unruly hair was styled in a messy but purposeful way. His voice rumbled against her arm as he spoke, filling the space between them, and Sydria heardeveryword.
“I didn’t know what she was doing there, but I knew I needed to find out. I walked toward her, scared that she wasn’t real but excited that she actually might be. When she turned around, her dark eyes captured me. I felt her stare in every beat of my heart. It was different from anything I’d ever felt before.”
Foys leaned into his story, captivated by the words he spoke. If she leaned another inch closer, she would have fallen off the chair. “What happened next?” she asked.
Marx slowly turned his head, meeting Sydria’s gaze. His eyes were a mixture of greens and browns and held an intensity she’d never witnessed before.
“She saw right through me,” he said. “To therealme, and I knew I’d never be the same again.”
Sydria swallowed. The warmth from his body, from his hand, from his words, filled her frozen mind. She was certain she’d never heard anything so beautiful in her entire life even if shecouldremember everything. His words were branded into her heart—it didn’t matter if her mind kept them or not.
Foys melted into her chair, sighing with contentment. “That’s a romantic story.”
Marx held Sydria’s gaze.
That was a story, Sydria reminded herself.
Marx was a good storyteller.
