Page 8 of The Forgotten Queen
He looked back at her. Glowing fire illuminated his face and his simple smile. “I did it for you.”
Marx
Marx leaned down, picking up his damp shirt. He threw it over his head as he walked to greet his friends. He used the termfriendsloosely. There was his younger sister, Dannyn—he supposed she was a friend—then his personal guard, Kase Kendrick. And Warren Bradshaw, the son of a High Ruler, Cheney Cordova, the daughter of one of the wealthiest men in Cristole, and then an entourage of people from affluent families whom his father had decided years ago should be his friends.
He looked over his shoulder to make sure the girl wasn’t visible. No one would be able to see her from her spot between the rocks. It was probably for the best that she was hidden. If his friends had found him with her, Marx never would’ve heard the end of it. She was way too beautiful to go unnoticed and unmentioned—a little fragile but beautiful, nonetheless.
When Marx had first seen her standing on the rocks in her flowing lavender dress, he hadn’t known what to think. It was like she had appeared out of nowhere. Then she’d lain down on her stomach, and for a moment, he’d thought she was trying to bodysurf, which would have been weird. But nothing could’ve prepared him for a marine life rescue mission. In all honesty, Marx had never once paid attention to sea life, or any animal, for that matter. The fact that he had orchestrated the rescue of an entire bay was pretty much laughable. But the girl had looked so, so…well, stunning, helpless, determined. How could he not help her? Her black hair had been tangled into a long braid that fell down her back. Her skin was tan like it had been touched by the sun every single day. Black eyebrows and lashes added to her delicate features. But it was her dark eyes that had gotten Marx in the end. They’d gazed up at him with so much concern; he would’ve rescued every single house pet in all of Cristole if it would have made her happy. Marx smiled to himself. Helping an unassuming woman like that had to be crossing off a life goal he hadn’t even known he’d had.
A life goal that he would love to repeat.
And for once, Marx didn’t feel like a complete failure. He had done something good—something someone was proud of. It wasn’t like he wanted a medal for his gallant act of kindness. His younger brother, Palmer, used to do things like that all the time. It was the kind of guy he’d been. But it wasn’t typically the type of guyMarxwas.
“Where did you wander off to?” Dannyn asked. His sister’s blonde hair bounced around her shoulders as she skipped forward.
Marx shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’ve just been here.”
“You left me all alone,” Cheney said, aiming her smile at him. She combed her fingers through her short brown hair as she sauntered toward him. The sway of her hips bugged him, causing him to frown.
It’s not that he didn’t like Cheney. He just didn’t like her likethat. Sure, there had been times over the last few years that he’d given her the impression that they were more than friends. Tonight was one of those times. Before this evening, their most recent kiss had been nearly two months ago. Marx had been looking through Palmer’s old stuff, rummaging through awards and keepsakes. Sometimes he was numb to the pain of his brother’s death, and other times the wound was open wide. Cheney had found him at his lowest, when the sorrow was accessible. In a moment of weakness, he’d let her comfort him. It had only taken a few seconds of her lips on his for Marx to know that she couldn’t take away the guilt of Palmer’s death.
Nothing could take that away.
But Marx had been lonely, so he’d given in, something he rarely did. Cheney had been the only girl he’d kissed recently, and by recently, he meant in the last two years. He wasn’t the type of guy who went from one woman to the next. He’d learned early on that he wasn’t invested in relationships—or the women who wanted them—as much as they were. Instead of breaking hearts, he’d decided not to get involved, to keep his distance. He wished he’d done that with Cheney.
She stopped right in front of him, glancing down at his shorts. “Did you get in the water?”
“Just a quick swim.” He didn’t feel the need to explain his rescue excursion.
His mood soured again. For a brief moment, with the mysterious woman, he had been his real self, and things hadn’t seemed so bleak.
“We should go back,” Kase said, looking up at the darkening sky. “It’s getting late.”
Dannyn wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling him close to her. “You’re not as fun when you switch into ‘soldier mode.’”
Kase tilted his head down to Dannyn, provocatively raising a brow. “You, of all people, should know how much fun I can be.”
Marx rolled his eyes. He wasn’t thrilled that his little sister was messing around with Kase Kendrick. Kase was his friend and a good enough guy, but was he a good enough guy for Dannyn? Ever since Palmer had died, Dannyn had gone from one guy to the next like it was her way of coping with her grief—a temporary crutch she leaned on. Marx wasn’t about to take that crutch away and watch her tumble to the ground. But he wasn’t going to let a guy like Kase break her heart either.
“Kase, why don’t you go on ahead and make sure the pathway is clear,” Marx said. Kase raised his eyebrows. Marx had never cared about his personal security as king nor had he ever asked Kase to make sure the pathway was clear, but he wanted to put some space between his friend and his little sister.
“Sure,” Kase said, unlocking Dannyn’s grip.
As the other men worked on putting out the fire, Marx glanced over to where the woman was crouched behind the rocks. If his group stayed at the beach, she wouldn’t be able to leave. “Let’s go.”
Dannyn jumped on Warren’s back, pulling on his brown ponytail, letting him give her a piggyback ride.
Cheney copied Dannyn, and before Marx knew what was happening, he had two legs straddling his back and two arms wrapped around his neck. He glanced in the direction of the woman again. For some reason, he hated knowing that she had a front-row view of him carrying Cheney around. Surely the woman would know he wasn’t carrying Cheney because he wanted to. Somehow, she’d seen right through him.
2
Sydria
Sydria made her way back to her aunt and uncle’s cottage. Her pace was faster than usual. She’d never been out this late and hoped that she hadn’t worried them. The hot summer air coated her body like a warm blanket, and she looked forward to peeling off the damp clothes that irritated her skin. Sydria pushed the cottage door open, and immediately Uncle Von stood from his seat at the kitchen table.
He raised his half-moon glasses back up so they rested on the bridge of his nose. The light above the kitchen table shone down on his bald head. “Where have you been?” he asked. A heated expression crossed over his face.
Sydria’s tongue felt heavy, and she looked at Aunt Edmay for some help. “I took a stroll on the beach.”
