Page 28 of The Queen’s Bodyguard

“Stop.”

“This is so tedious,” he said, the beginnings of a growl in his voice. “We haven’t known each other long, and they’ll obviously be aware of that. I think it’s more realistic to base our relationship on passion than anything else.”

Theora felt herself blush violently. “What, exactly, is your definition of ‘passion’ concerning our situation?”

“What I mean is that when people are madly in love, logic goes by the wayside. So we don’t actually need to know anything about each other.” He folded his arms and gave a bitter shrug. “Besides, Dociles are concerned by such strange things. Colors and things they like about each other. Why would anyone want to sit around talking about that?”

“Because that’s what friends do—get to know each other intimately.” Theora brought her legs up on the bed, lying on her side. “What? Warriors don’t make friends?”

“Not like that. ‘Friend’ means you trust they won’t try to kill you. You share food, resources. Jokes.” He shrugged. What else was there to say? “At least in my experience.”

“You don’t have any friends in the barracks?”

“I…used to.”

They were quiet. He was surprised to see that she got up to join him on the sofa.

“What happened?” Theora asked, her tone as naïve as it was sincere.

Argos looked at her for a moment, as if gauging whether this information was safe with her. How would she feel, he wondered, if she knew that he hadn’t been able to protect the wife before her? She would have a reason to divorce him then, perhaps.

“I just don’t get along with anyone,” he said.

“They’re antagonizing you. You should tell Boada.”

He held in a laugh. “Maybe you should talk to her. For me it’s more of a tough-love situation—she encourages me to solve my own problems, and such.”

Theora scoffed. “And you think it’s different for me?”

“Well, you’re her niece.”

“What?” She blinked at him. “Oh. No. Auntie is just a term of respect. I’ve known her all my life, it seems.”

Argos raised his brows. “So have I, and I call her ‘ma’am.’ ”

Theora laughed, and Argos quickly looked away, cracking his knuckles to occupy his hands…to stop himself from dragging her to him by the back of that slender neck and kissing those soft lips. That voice…If something as simple as a laugh could bring him to his knees, he wasn’t sure how he’d survive the rest of this mission.

Theora took a breath. “You realize we’ll have to get very comfortable with each other, very quickly.”

“This feels pretty comfortable,” Argos murmured.

Theora seemed a bit surprised by the confession, as if they hadn’t just spent an entire week together in the same room. “I mean, to the extent of a married couple. It’s not as if Aranean couples touch too often in public anyway, but we will have to hold hands sometimes and stand…incredibly close to each other.”

“Is that all?” said Argos. He shifted, reclining with his head against the arm of the sofa. “I can help you get used to that.”

“What do you suggest?” she asked, tentatively interested.

“Ten minutes of good old-fashioned cuddling.”

Theora looked mortified. “Absolutely not.”

“What are you afraid of,” Argos scoffed, “enjoying it?”

Theora scowled, but she immediately set to the task of leaning awkwardly against him, as if to prove him wrong. She slapped his hand away as he moved to help her, but she seemed to need the help more than she realized—her fumbling, her hesitation, seemed genuine. She truly wasn’t used to this at all.

Even after her head finally rested on his chest, her hand twitched nervously, trying to find an appropriate place to settle.

“Hold on.” Argos looked at his watch. “I’m going to time how long it takes you to relax.”