Page 12 of The Queen’s Bodyguard

“Where are your clothes?” she demanded. She snatched the clearly used towel from his hand and held it at his hips, demonstrating its use as much as blocking her view. “You’re supposed to wrap the towel around you afterward.”

He raised his brows only subtly. “I’m supposed to wrap a damp cloth around me after I’m already dry?”

Theora didn’t want to admit he had a point. The entire situation was strange enough to leave that be. She stepped back and rubbed her temples with a heavy sigh—and then stifled a yelp when she saw that Argos hadn’t caught the towel after she’d let go. She looked away from his nakedness quickly, her heart pounding.

With his skin scrubbed clean of oil and dirt, she could see dozens of pale scars all over his body, a detail she’d missed while watching him from a distance. He looked younger up close but still managed to have a seasoned, wary look in his eye. Like one of the ageless ones from myth who drank the blood of anyone who dared to wander into the woods at night, who never saw the sun, who gained their power from the moonlight. Pale and ancient and magnificent. And deadly.

Deadly being the detail Theora’s mind clung to.

She needed to regain composure. Regain control. She wiped off her foggy glasses in time to see Argos kneel to pick up the towel.

“Don’t worry about that now,” she said with a sigh. “For Sovereign’s sake, put some clothes on—”

His touch shocked her into silence as he pulled her closer by the waist and wiped her face with the damp towel. She tried to back out of his grasp, but his hand at her lower back kept her still. She gasped and turned her face away from the towel to catch her breath, feeling the rub of his fingers underneath the fabric at the back of her neck.

She pushed her fogged-up glasses on top of her head. From his touch alone, her nerves were like licks of flame, each movement of his hand burning as if she’d never felt a hand against her before. Maybe she was nervous. Maybe she was being ridiculous. Either way, feeling his touch without seeing him clearly was far more tempting than she’d anticipated.

He passed the towel across her collarbone, the heavy, wet cloth dampening the front of her dress, and she wobbled a bit on her feet, grabbing his shoulder to steady herself.

It was odd how erotic the curve of his shoulder suddenly seemed, how much touching him for such an innocent reason felt like disobeying all rules of decency. But they were technically a couple, after all…even if they didn’t intend on keeping it that way.

“Argos,” she said, although there was a slight tremor in her voice that could never pass for commanding. “Cease.”

He held up the towel to show her. She wiped off her lenses and put them back on to see dirt, brown and coral makeup, and a little something that could be blood staining a section of her fluffy white towel.

“Sovereign, I’m dirty,” she said absently.

“You want me to finish?” he asked, his voice rumbling through her as a feeling more than a sound.

Theora’s lenses fogged up again. “This is not happening.” She cleared her throat, prying his fingers away from her back so she could step out of the doorway, put space between them. “Get dressed. Now.”

He didn’t move. Frightfully still. Like the quiet anticipation before the flash and rumble of an impending storm. Theora wanted to believe her pounding heart and shortness of breath were from the steam overheating her, not the intense gaze of his amber eyes. She tried to think back on her observations of him, what this particular silence meant…and then she remembered the hunting simulations she’d seen in the arena. Childlike games, they’d seemed to her, where one Warrior had to hunt down and catch a few of his peers while blindfolded.

Dread Sovereign.

This was exactly how he had waited on prey.

“Go get ready for bed,” she said, pointing toward his duffel in the bedroom “now,” only allowing the breathlessness to overtake her after he’d walked away. She shut the bathroom door and leaned against it, taking deep breaths. That steam had made her lightheaded. The steam. Not that patient look in his eye. Not his strong hand against her, soothing her.

Tempting her.

What an idiotic thought.

Theora hadn’t thought much of any one Warrior in the year since she took the throne. Argos had only stood out from the others due to his size and his general demeanor—it was obvious he was a force to be reckoned with, as the other Warriors seemed to avoid him when they could. That would have been worrisome if not for Boada’s assurances. But after she and Boada had arranged the plan, she’d gone specifically to study his battle habits, his skills in the practice arena. None of the other Warriors bothered to look her way anymore, but a few times Argos would look up at the stands in the arena, at her watching him. Perhaps Boada had told him the plan, and he’d known as soon as she had.

One afternoon, a fight had broken out in the arena, and Argos had physically subdued every single troublemaker, all before the Warriors’ alpha or Boada could get involved. And the first thing he did when it was over was look at Theora in the stands, touching his forehead and then pointing to her, as if to say, This what I can do for you. That one action had solidified her belief that he was the perfect candidate to help execute her plan.

It didn’t occur to her until this very moment that he might’ve meant, This is what I’m going to do to you later.

And yet, that. Feeling him. Breathing his air. Sharing his space. It didn’t feel like death to her. Not completely, at least.

And it was more of a distraction than she’d ever anticipated.

Even so, she took deliberately slow breaths to keep her pulse down as she turned to see that he’d already put on pants and a shirt. She caught the subtle, intense weave and dull finish of his shirt—details that were easy to pick out since she had been wearing armored clothing for the past year. Did Warriors not wear pajamas?

“You know why you’re here, don’t you?” she asked.

“You claimed me,” Argos said simply, his voice a deep rumble even when he wasn’t growling. He took a book from the shelf and opened it. To Theora, this seemed to be done in defiance rather than interest.