Page 142 of The Forgotten Queen
“Well, I hope you win.”
Prince Palmer nodded. “I hope that Prince Ezra wins too, then I can see you again at the 2260 Council of Essentials.”
She smiled. “Yes, if all goes well, we both should be there.”
49
Marx
Marx sat on a cushioned bench outside the Government Center’s large meeting room, waiting for his time to testify…athistrial. Two New Hope guards stood on either side of him, not because he was the king of Cristole, but because he was a prisoner.
It was a new turn of events.
He rested his elbows on his knees, bending over. At least he smelled good and had on his new favorite blue suit—the one Seran had requested to be made for him. Dannyn had really pulled through with the shower. He tapped his toe on the ground, trying to find something to do with the restless energy inside of him.
Marx was nervous about the trial. When it came to the other six rulers, he didn’t have a lot of allies. At the last Council of Essentials over a year ago, he hadn’t cared much about building relationships with the other kings. Palmer had just died. Marx had only been king for a few weeks and hadn’t even wanted to be at the Council of Essentials. And on top of all of that, the only policy he’d put forth had been something trivial. His enthusiasm for colorful clothing had probably made him seem vain.
He shouldn’t have been there.
Palmer should have.
How different would everything have been if Palmer hadn’t died? Marx had messed that up, and now he’d messed everything up with his reign and with Seran.
The door to the meeting room swung open, and a woman in a tight cream dress nodded at him. “Your Majesty, they’re ready for you.”
Marx stood, tugging his suit jacket down. He breathed in and exhaled, then followed the woman through the door. Commander Stoddard was being escorted out after his own testimony. As he passed, he gave Marx a look that set him on edge, a look like he’d won. Marx watched over his shoulder as the commander walked out. Then he turned his eyes to the rest of the room. Several rows of chairs had been set up with a long aisle down the middle. He glanced toward the front, seeing Dannyn and Kase. They both wore a solemn expression. What was going on? Why did they look so depressed?
He didn’t know who the rest of the people that filled the chairs were, most likely newswriters, High Rulers, and other important political figures. Ahead of him, on the dais, was a long rectangular table with seven chairs. Five kings and one queen stared back at Marx. His eyes glanced to the seventh chair, the empty one where the king of Cristole was supposed to sit. Had the servant who’d set up the venue forgotten that it was the seventh ruler who was on trial, or had they purposely set a chair for him to draw attention to his guilt?
Marx walked down the aisle. He glanced to the sides, looking for Seran. He hoped she was there so she could hear his side of the story. It wouldn’t be the whole story. He didn’t plan on telling the Council that he’d fallen in love with his wife, but she’d hear everything else. His eyes quickly jumped from row to row, but he didn’t see her.
She hadn’t wanted to come.
It was another blow.
When she’d left Cristole, she hadn’t looked back.
He stopped at the single table and chair that faced the Council.
King Bryant stood as hosting king. This was his show. “Marx McKane, as a Council, we commit you to honesty. Any untruths against the Council will result in execution for treason. Do you understand?”
He raised his chin. “Yes.”
“You may sit,” Bryant said, taking his own seat.
Marx sat, resting his elbows on the table.
King Bryant stared down at him. “You are charged with assisting in the kidnapping of Princess Seran Haslet, aiding fugitives of the Council of Essentials such as Commander Stoddard, Doctor Von O’Neil, and Edmay Darrow, as well as committing treason against the Council of Essentials and its members. How do you respond?”
“I’m innocent,” he said, looking straight into Bryant’s eyes.
Whispers funneled through the room.
“Speak your defense,” Bryant said.
Marx swallowed. This was his chance. He’d gone over what he wanted to say in his mind fifty times in the last two weeks, but sitting there with condemnation slapping him in the face, the words escaped him.
“I, uh…” He looked down, sucking in a breath. He glanced back up, meeting King Ezra’s gaze. The king’s dark curly hair spilled over his forehead, reaching his eyes. He was the guy who had jumped in front of Seran when there was a gun pointed at her. He’d stanched the bleeding wound in her chest with his own hand. Marx looked at Bryant. He’d brought his entire army to Cristole to bring Seran home. These people before him weren’t that much different from him. They all loved Seran and wanted what was best for her. He had nothing to fear.
