Page 60 of The Forgotten Queen
“Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one.” Von counted, raising the last vial of solution up to his eyes. “Twenty-one is an unlucky number.” He breathed heavily, then kissed the small glass bottle for luck. He placed the bottle in his medicine box and fastened the lid shut, checking three times that it was closed tight. He looked around the empty bedroom that had been his home for the last three and a half months. He wouldn’t miss the lumpy mattress, the stiff pillow, or the way he had to shimmy around the dresser to get to his side of the bed. The last nine months of his life had been the worst living conditions he’d ever had to suffer through, and it was all Commander Stoddard’s fault.
He looked at the suitcase full of cash lying on top of the bed. He would recheck it, but he’d already counted it five times. The money was still all there. His problems would be solved now. He’d leave this cockroach-infested cottage and never look back.
“That’s the last of it, besides my clothes,” Edmay said as she walked into the room.
Pretending to be married to Edmay the last three months had been humiliating. A man as brilliant as him deserved privacy. Von couldn’t stomach one more night sleeping in the same bed or house as his nurse, even if it wasn’t real.
He swiped at the sweat on his bald head. He would never get used to the humid climate of Cristole. “I’ll take these bags out to the wagon and wait for you out there.” He picked up the suitcase on the bed, tucking his medicine box under his other arm. These were his last two items. The most important things he owned. They would be stored under his seat for the journey.
Before he could settle himself, he needed to drop Edmay off at her brother’s house near the Appa border. He’d give her a cut of the money for her silence and be on his way. Von had run all the numbers in his head. He couldn’t return to Albion or Tolsten. He might be recognized. Northland was too far away, and Cristole was too humid. The kingdom of Appa was his best option. He’d have to journey back to Cristole once or twice a year to supply Stoddard with more of Princess Seran’s medicine, but he was sure he would be compensated for his work.
Von walked through the empty kitchen and out the door to the waiting wagon. He opened the bench and carefully placed his medicine box inside.
“Going somewhere?” a deep voice behind him asked.
Von startled, dropping his box the last three inches. The glass vials inside clanged together, but instead of checking if they were broken like he wanted to do, he turned to his visitor.
His hands trembled at the size of the man. Big muscles—an absolute brute. He didn’t look like a Cristole guard. He wasn’t wearing the typical navy uniform.
“Can I help you?” Von asked. He clenched the handle of his suitcase of money.
The man smiled as his eyes scanned the fully loaded wagon. “Are you leaving?”
Von slowly followed his gaze. It was evident that they had packed up their belongings. There was a ninety-nine percent chance that the man couldn’t be convinced otherwise.
“I am.” He nodded, sending his glasses down his nose. His fingers lifted, pushing them back up.
The man reached his hand out. “I’m Kase Kendrick. I’m one of King Marx’s guards.”
Why was a guard here? Had Stoddard turned on him? Was he going to be taken to prison? Von calculated his chances for escape. On one side was nothing but flat ground and wide-open space. The other side was the ocean. He was trapped.
He licked his lips as he shook the guard’s hand. “What do you want?”
Kase shrugged innocently. “King Marx sent me to invite you to the castle. He missed you at the wedding three days ago.”
Von’s heart rate sped up, pulsing through his neck. “Why would I be at the wedding?”
“Isn’t Sydria Hasler your niece?”
“Yes.” He’d answered too quickly. The guard was probably trained in detecting the facial twitches of liars.
“Aren’t you the one who saved her life?”
He nodded again.
“Well, the king has some questions about her condition.”
“What kind of questions?” Questions weren’t part of Stoddard’s plan.
“King Marx would like to know about Sydria’s diagnosis and treatment.”
“I would think her diagnosis was obvious. She has amnesia,” he stammered.
“From a carriage accident?” Kase questioned, seemingly unconvinced.
“She must’ve hit her head.”
“How long until her memory comes back?”
