Page 81 of The Forgotten Queen
Had Marx heard right? The wind blew past them, but he’d thought he heard her say that she’d asked a guard to give her a ride on a personal transporter. Why did Sydria have a guard or have access to a PT? That seemed like a huge clue to the puzzle. He turned his face to the side, looking back at her, but she looked at the scenery whipping past them, as though she were completely unfazed by what she’d just said. So he let it go, tucking it away in his mind for later.
It only took a few minutes to get to the beach. He wouldn’t have minded it if the ride had been longer.
Marx grasped Sydria’s hand, helping her climb over the rocks. Once they were on even land, he didn’t let go. The gesture felt too good, too normal. He was getting good at falling in love. Surprising for a man that who never before been invested in a woman.
They walked to where a team of servants worked, putting up a shade tent and spreading out blankets. The rest of their friends had already arrived and were stripping down to their swim garments. Marx glanced at Sydria. He’d forgotten to tell Paula to make her a swim garment. Not that it mattered. She probably wouldn’t get in the water anyway.
“Did you see the surf today?” Warren asked, reaching his hand out to greet them. “We’re going to get in some nice rides.”
Marx reluctantly let go of Sydria to shake Warren’s hand. He turned to the ocean, studying the waves. “Yeah, we’d better get out there before they break too far out.”
He took off his shirt, throwing it aside. Then he turned his head, catching Sydria watching him. Her gaze was fixed on his chest, but the moment she noticed him watching her she glanced away. Was she checking him out? A satisfied smirk snuck across his lips, and he might have flexed his muscles a little, just in case she stole a second look.
Attraction was afunthing.
“I’m going out surfing,” he said, lowering his head to meet her eyes. “I’ll teach you how if you want.”
Sydria sat down on the blanket, pulling her dress over her knees. “I think I’ll sit here and watch.”
Marx bent down, whispering in her ear. “Surfing is all about timing.”
“Timing.” She gave him a sideways glance, keeping her smile under wraps. “I’ll be sure to watch for that.”
He picked up his board and walked to the water, glancing at his wife over his shoulder.
He was the luckiest man alive.
Sydria
The women were slower to get in the water. Dannyn and her friends took their time peeling off their dresses and pulling their hair back. They all had similar swim garments to the one Dannyn had given Sydria, black suits that came up high in the front and back with short cap sleeves, but the part of the suit that made Sydria nervous was the way it cut off at the top of the legs the same way undergarments did.
“This doesn’t meet the Council of Essentials modesty guidelines,” Sydria had said to Dannyn when she’d brought the suit to her room earlier that morning.
“Modesty guidelines? Who pays attention to modesty guidelines?” Dannyn had scoffed. “Besides, we’ll be swimming. We can’t be expected to wear long dresses in the water.”
“Okay,” she’d agreed. She didn’t know why the modesty guidelines had felt so important to her.
Cheney bent down, picking up the surfboard closest to Sydria. “It’s a shame you’re too scared to try to surf.” Her expression was full of fake pity. “I’m sure you’ll have a good time here with the servants.”
“I have a great view of my husband from here,” Sydria said, adding the sweetest smile she could summon. “But good luck out there.”
Cheney rolled her eyes and ran after the rest of the group.
Marx led everyone, holding his surfboard up as he skipped across the water until it was deep enough that he could throw the board forward. He dove after it and hoisted himself on top of the board, laying on his torso. He used his arms as paddles to get farther out into the waves.
“I have another surfboard, Your Majesty,” one of the servants said. “If you’d like to join everyone.”
Sydria smiled at the man. “Thank you. That’s very kind of you, but I actually don’t know anything about surfing. I think I’ll watch first.”
The servant laughed, skimming the water with his eyes. “The truth is, none of these people really know anything about surfing, except for King Marx. He’s the one who discovered the hobby.”
“How did he discover it?” she asked.
“A few years ago, a large box of artifacts was brought to Cristole Castle. When they were digging a new trench in Calicristole, they’d found the remains of a surf shop. Nobody at the castle cared about the box, but King Marx and Prince Palmer spent hours poring over the broken items inside. There were faded posters of men surfing, fragments of fiberglass boards, suits that they’d worn in the water to keep their bodies warm. Once King Marx saw those pictures, his adventurous spirit became addicted. He researched everything he could find about surfing and had the castle engineers make him his first board. It’s taken a lot of practice, but the king’s gotten the hang of it now.” The servant shrugged. “Anyway, let me know if you want this other board.”
Sydria nodded. She watched as a big wave moved toward Marx. He tucked the board and his head under the curl, letting the water spill over him. Once the wave passed, he resurfaced and continued swimming out to where more waves were folding over. The group spread out, sitting on their surfboards, with legs straddling either side. Cheney slithered her way next to Marx, hitting the water playfully, sending a splash toward him. That woman didn’t stop. Marx nodded at something she said. Then his gaze and his head turned to the beach. Sydria couldn’t tell exactly where he looked, but it seemed like she was the target.
As the next wave approached, several of them, including Marx, lay down on their boards, using their arms once again to propel them forward. As the water peaked, Sydria held her breath, not knowing what would happen next. Marx dug himself forward, paddling, and just when she thought the wave would overtake him, he pushed his body up and tucked his feet under him, standing on the board. His knees bent, and his arms went out to the side for balance. The back of the surfboard was nestled at the top of the wave. Marx leaned into the wall of water, keeping his center of gravity on the board. He seemed to be floating, moving with the curling swell. He torqued his mid-section, swerving in and out, sending a spray of water in his wake with each cut of his board. His knees bent even more, and his body leaned over as he dropped one hand in the water, skimming his fingers across the white foam. Then he straightened and flipped his board into the wave like he intended to climb over the top of it.
