Page 112 of The Forgotten Queen
Sydria Alyson Hasler.
He shook his head.
It was just a coincidence.
It had to be.
But things dropped into place in his mind, especially his last words.
She was killed at her own wedding.
Marx thought back to King Ezra and his dark head of curls.
No, it was impossible.
He stumbled backward. “I forgot something,” he said. “I’m so sorry, but I have to go. Will you be okay here?”
Sydria’s smile faltered. “I’ll be fine, but are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Maybe he had.
“Yeah.” He stepped toward the door. “I forgot a meeting I was supposed to attend. You know me,” he said as he made his way to the exit, “always late. I’ll see you later tonight.”
She smiled. “I hope so.”
Marx ran to his bedroom, knowing exactly what he was looking for. He went to his closet and pulled down the chest with Palmer’s initials carved into the top. He fumbled with the lock and opened the lid. His fingers felt heavy as he sifted through Palmer’s things until he found the letter. Marx’s name was scribbled across the top in Palmer’s handwriting. He unfolded the paper, scanning Palmer’s words.
Marx,
I made it to Albion last night. The wedding is in two days, so I have plenty of time to spare. Who knows, I might even find a girl to distract me while I wait for the festivities. Albion is a nice place, but it’s cold, and it’s missing an ocean, so it’s not home. Although, I’m hoping I’ll have a chance to hike the mountains around here before I have to leave for Appa.
The other rulers I’ve met so far have been pretty decent. Dad was right. It’s good for me to make connections leading up to the Council of Essentials in a few months. I will say, I’m kind of regretting that dad didn’t set up an arranged marriage between Princess Seran and me. She’s a knockout. Just kidding. You know how I feel about arranged marriages. The princess is your type, though. Dark eyes, dark hair, tan skin with a smile that could bring down an entire kingdom. It’s a good thing you didn’t come to the wedding. You would have tried to steal the bride from Prince Ezra.
Tell mom I’m still alive.
Palmer
Marx let the letter fall to the ground. His breath felt heavy, and his mind struggled to keep up. Palmer’s words rang through his mind on repeat.
Dark eyes, dark hair, tan skin with a smile that could bring down an entire kingdom.
The description was vague enough that he could have been describing half the people in the world, but somehow it made sense to Marx.
His mind raced through the other clues.
Her keen sense of fashion.
The mention of guards and PTs.
The way she knew how to wait for introductions when she walked into a room.
Her knowledge about government and politics.
His father’s bitterness at being slighted from the marriage alliance years ago.
It all came together into a staggering realization. Could she really be Princess Seran?
She wasn’t married, after all.
