Page 18 of The Queen’s Bodyguard

“A siren song to a Warrior’s magic is a rare thing, Argos,” said Boada, “and nothing to be ashamed of. It’s a gift in the right hands. And, believe it or not, Theora’s are the right hands.”

“I highly doubt that,” he grumbled, “with the way she’s been behaving.”

“Don’t you like a good challenge? In that aspect, she’s the perfect match for you.”

Argos smirked but shook it off quickly. She wasn’t entirely wrong, but still. An enchanting voice didn’t erase a multitude of flaws. And besides, there was still the issue of…“I almost killed her last night.” When Boada was silent, he finally looked at her. “When we were arguing about where I would sleep. I kept control of myself, but…my magic lashed out, and she didn’t even notice. She couldn’t tell. How is she going to command me if she can’t read the signs of magic use?”

“She’s…new to this.”

“New to what?”

Boada sighed. “Did you point it out to her?”

He scoffed, sliding farther down into his chair. “I didn’t think the sudden urge to tear out her throat would help my argument for sharing a room.”

“You did well, Argos, as you always do. And she’ll do better—I’ll speak with her this evening.”

He shook his head, a foul taste building in his throat. “I don’t want to go back.”

Boada looked at him sternly. “You will complete your mission, Warrior. That’s an order.”

Argos gripped the arms of the chair, the shift of cracking wood beneath his hands. “You ask so much of me,” he said, feeling as foolish as he did justified. “You never ask it of anyone else.”

Boada was silent for a moment. “When reinforcements arrived the day of the attack, do you remember what you were doing?”

“No,” he said quietly. Avoidant.

“Shielding your wife’s lifeless body with yours.”

Argos felt his chest beginning to tighten. He remembered everything from that day, down to Izzi insisting he eat extra eggs for breakfast that morning. Down to the stupid joke she’d told before the landmine went off in her face. Down to the moment more explosives erupted and the entire caravan of cars they’d been escorting—full of dignitaries, including the former queen—came to a chaotic halt. Down to his wife dying in his arms.

It was the day he decided he hated queens and all they stood for—all the carnage they left in their wake, and for what? He still didn’t know what had prompted the attack, why the war had started in the first place.

All he knew was he’d had no reason to hate the Vespulans before that day.

It was the aftermath of it that was still fuzzy, the next few months spent adjusting to losing the woman he’d been bonded to for the better part of a decade, withdrawing from his pack, lashing out, to the point that Boada had to permanently separate his sleeping quarters from the others’. It was considered disrespectful to mourn the dead, selfish to miss them…and so, Argos didn’t mourn. He raged. He plotted. After all, revenge wasn’t technically mourning, not if it was used to punish someone who had hurt others, too.

“Any other Warrior would have left her body alone,” Boada went on, “but you didn’t. You couldn’t. That shows so much heart, Argos. You feel deeply, and that is what’s needed for this mission.”

Boada didn’t chastise him when he began to growl, a reaction that was his natural defense against the accusation that he was soft.

“You’ve been claimed before, so you understand how to be in a relationship,” she went on. “You’re used to hunting alone, so can go about your duties without assistance. You have the patience of a saint—if she hesitates in her commands, I know you’ll have the Honor and self-control to help her. And you have the emotional capacity to comfort Theora through one of the hardest things she’s ever had to do.”

You think too much of me, he wanted to say. I can barely comfort myself…

When Argos surfaced from his thoughts, he found Boada watching him. “You’re a man of Honor, so I’ll give you a better reason. Tell me, what is a Warrior’s purpose?”

“To honor the Sovereign in everything,” he replied, not quite understanding where she was going with her question…because Boada always had a point, even if she took a moment to get to it.

“Very true. But how about in connection to the queen?”

Argos didn’t dare scoff at his handler, even if the question itself was laughable to him. “Hunt down people she wants dead? Fight her wars? I don’t know.”

Boada raised a brow. “Close. But those are more functions than purpose.”

He shrugged. “I’m not sure what answer you’re looking for, ma’am. We hadn’t been in active war for decades before a year ago.”

“If the Crown hired more handlers, as they did generations ago, that wouldn’t be an issue. Which brings me to my point: that a Warrior’s purpose, in the ancient ways as well as the new, is to protect the queen.”