Page 13 of The Queen’s Bodyguard

“Yes, but do you know why?”

He flipped through it aimlessly—a history book, judging by the images inside. “Boada told me not to refuse you.”

Theora bit her tongue, opting to pause rather than say something rash. Was this the handler’s idea of a joke? This was who she was supposed to trust to protect her? She had a hard time believing he could even understand what was in that book he was holding.

“You’re here,” she said, less than patiently, “because the Vespulans’ witch of a war commander traumatized my people by forcefully taking an Aranean trading post, and instead of retaliating like I want to, I have to bring a bodyguard along to the peace talks to make sure she doesn’t do it again.”

“Ah yes, recruit a Warrior to make peace,” he said, replacing the book on the shelf. “Makes sense now.”

Theora’s pulse ticked in her temple, heat rising on her cheeks. His sarcasm came in loud and clear, even if it hadn’t earlier.

“Well, your opinion of my plan doesn’t matter. All you have to do is pretend to be my husband for the duration of the peace talks. You can manage that, I hope.”

“ ‘Pretend’? We are married.”

Theora looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Excuse me?”

“What did you think that rope was for? Symbolism?” Argos said with a disbelieving chuckle. “You claimed me as your husband. You are my wife. And, funnily enough, you had plenty of say in it, seeing as it was your brilliant idea.”

At his tone, Theora felt hot anger rise up her neck. “Boada said I can easily renege at the end of the talks. I wouldn’t call that a marriage.”

He nodded. “As long as there’s no intercourse involved. And it is a marriage.”

“Trust me,” Theora said, the once-over she gave him dripping with disdain, “that won’t be a problem. Absolutely not a marriage.”

“Whatever you say, wife.”

Theora fought the urge to argue—she wasn’t prepared to go back and forth with her bodyguard, of all people, all night.

“Do you have anything to sleep in other than armor?” She froze at her own question, looking away so he wouldn’t see her blush. There was only one bed. Oh, Sovereign. What would they do about it? Sleep…beside each other, like in one of Boada’s silly romance novels? After what had just happened with the towel, she didn’t want to risk that sort of intimacy again. “Actually, sleep in whatever you’re used to. I think it’s better you go back to the barracks tonight, anyway.”

He stared at her for a moment in a way she didn’t understand. “Are you serious?”

“Yes,” she said firmly. “I’d prefer to get used to you in daylight before we start rooming together.”

“It breaks ritual to sleep away from my wife during the first week.”

Theora felt herself waver beneath his gaze—she wished Boada had warned her that Argos would be as intimidating as he was difficult. But then, she had signed up for a bodyguard, hadn’t she? This was exactly what she’d wanted. A man who wouldn’t leave her side, who would watch over her as she slept, protect her from things she couldn’t see coming.

Still, it was all very sudden…and all a bit too intimate. “I’m sure the Sovereign will understand and forgive you.”

He did not look pleased by her words. “You do realize you disgrace us both by even suggesting it.”

“Well, I don’t want you in my room,” she said sharply, “disgraceful or not. What am I supposed to do if your magic flares up while we’re sleeping?”

He looked at her sideways. “Magic requires consciousness, so that literally can’t happen.”

“Even so. We’ll deal with this tomorrow.”

“So, you’re divorcing me,” he assessed without hesitation.

“As I said. We’ll deal with this tomorrow.”

“No.”

The abruptness of his response nearly made her swallow her tongue with shock. No one had ever spoken to her that way…ever. No one had ever refused her so coldly. Especially not someone so clearly beneath her rank. She felt rage bubbling up in her gut. “Excuse me?”

“No,” he repeated. “You’re not breaking ritual just because you’re not used to me.”