Page 65 of The Forgotten Queen
That was what he did.
He pretended—gave everyone the version of himself that he thought they wanted. He gave the newswriter the smitten king she’d expected. Someday, when Marx was actually in love, he’d be great at it.
And Sydria could only hope that someday, someone would say something half so lovely about her and actually mean it.
“Anything else you’d like to know?” Marx asked, turning back to Foys.
The newswriter asked a few more questions about how Sydria fit in with the royal family, their plans for the future, and if they had any policies they wanted to implement. Sydria sat silent. She smiled and nodded when she was supposed to, but mostly she let Marx do the talking. She didn’t mind the questions. She liked being nestled against Marx.
“See, that wasn’t so bad,” he said as they walked down the hall after the interview was over. “I thought you handled the questions like a professional.”
She inclined her head. “Except now, all of Cristole will think I am an expert on the weather.”
“That’s your fault. You went rogue on that one.”
“I panicked and said what you said yesterday.”
“Look at the bright side. The weather in Cristole is always the same, hot with a few rainstorms mixed in. Anyone can be an expert on that.”
Sydria looked away, curbing her smile.
“Your Majesty?” An older woman with stiff features and equally stiff posture rushed toward them. “There’s a meeting scheduled with the transportation department starting in five minutes. Will you be attending, or shall I tell your father—”
“Thank you, Elsbeth.” Marx stopped the woman.
So that was the Elsbeth the newswriter had mentioned. She must be the king’s secretary.
He glanced at Sydria, and it was almost like he was embarrassed again before shifting his focus to the woman. “I would love to attend the meeting.”
Elsbeth’s eyes tightened. “Really?”
“Yes, really.” Marx ushered his secretary forward. “We’d better go if we want to be on time.”
“And do we want to be on time?” Elsbeth asked, her tone dry.
“I love punctuality,” he exclaimed, looking over his shoulder at Sydria. “I’ll see you later.”
Sydria couldn’t help but smile as she walked down the hall in the opposite direction. She crossed through the foyer, glancing at a maid cleaning the front of the giant windows on the other end. Sydria had lived at Cristole Castle for three days and still hadn’t looked out the beautiful windows. She moved closer, peering outside to a direct view of the castle aquarium. She’d seen the glass cylinder from the greeting room the first day she’d arrived. But the foyer’s vantage point provided a better view.
A team of six men and women stood around the glass container with hoses, nets, and smaller glass boxes. Sydria watched as a man carefully lifted a rainbow colored fish from the tank and placed it into a small container.
“What are they doing?” she asked the nearby maid, her eyes never leaving the scene below.
“King Marx ordered that the aquarium be emptied,” the woman said.
Sydria’s lips parted as she turned to look at the maid. “Why?”
The woman paused her cleaning long enough to look at her and shrug. “He wanted to set them free.”
Her breath caught in the back of her throat, and she blinked slowly as she replayed the words in her head.
He wanted to set themfree.
20
Marx
Marx looked down at the turquoise water fifty-five feet below him. The two-foot waves looked more like ripples from his vantage point. He’d come out to the cliffs early that morning to get away from the thoughts inside his head, to relax. The last four days since his wedding had been full of appointments, interviews, meetings. He didn’t know what it was about marriage, but all of a sudden, he’d gone from careless to responsible. It was exhausting and, if he was honest, a little satisfying.
