Page 74 of The Forgotten Queen
The group broke off into smaller conversations, and Sydria found herself listening to Dannyn tell a story about the first ball she ever attended while the men talked about the new transportation system that was breaking ground in Calicristole. Halfway through Dannyn’s story, Cheney walked around the group of girls, positioning herself on the other side of Marx. Sydria tried to concentrate on the details of Dannyn’s story, but Cheney couldn’t be ignored.
“Marx, your hair is getting so long.” Her painted fingernails tickled the back of his neck, where his hair flipped out. “Come by my house sometime, and I’ll cut it again.”
There were two things that Sydria picked up on.
The obvious, that Cheney had cut Marx’s hair before. For some reason, that knowledge grated on her in a way that it shouldn’t. It wasn’t like haircuts were an intimate thing, but theycouldbe.
The second thing she noticed? Marx hadn’t moved. He’d tensed, and his back stiffened, a clear sign that he was uncomfortable with Cheney’s claw-like nails on his skin (the woman knew how to cut hair but not her fingernails?), but he hadn’t stopped her advances. Even if he didn’t like Sydria, whichhe didn’t, he was still supposed to convince everyone else that they were in love.
Perhaps Sydria should do something on her own—make it clear that Marx was taken. Her chest constricted at the thought. Marx wasn’thers,and because of that, Sydria lacked the confidence to put the woman in her place.
“I like your pants,” Cheney said, still tickling his neck. “Where did you get your new style from?”
“From mywife.” Marx grabbed Cheney’s hand and removed it from his neck and wrapped his arm around Sydria’s waist, pulling her close.
She bit back her smile as ten thousand emotions rolled through her body. She was elated that Marx had put on end to Cheney’s advances and that she hadn’t had to herself. But she was also melting from the gentle way Marx touched her, reassured her.
Their marriage might not have been real, but the feelings Sydria felt were.
The violin music stopped, and the sound of silverware clinking against glass silenced the room.
“I’d like to propose a toast.” All eyes turned to King McKane standing in the center of the room with his glass held high. He smiled at Sydria. “To the new queen. The future of Cristole is in her hands.”
The entire future? That seemed like a lot of pressure.
“To the happy couple!” McKane said, lifting his glass higher.
The ballroom cheered, and glasses were raised.
A similar scene played across Sydria’s mind.
A different ballroom.
Different clothes.
Faceless people.
So many smiles.
But thesamesentiments.
Marx tugged her hip against his. Sydria shook the feeling of familiarity out of her head and smiled at him.
This was their big moment—the perfect opportunity to show everyone and King McKane that they were, in fact, a happy couple.
“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” The room chanted.
Kiss?
Her eyes wandered up to his.
Marx’s brows were raised. “I think the entire ballroom wants us to kiss.”
“I hear them.”
He slid his hand from her hip to her lower back. “You need to ask me first.”
Sydria suppressed a smile. “No.”
