Page 32 of The Queen’s Bodyguard

Argos was nerve-racking, smart-mouthed, uncooperative. Honestly, if he weren’t sexy as all hell she’d barely tolerate him at this point. But, despite all that, and despite his terrifyingly feral magic, he was…safe. That, at least, she was sure of.

Still, they didn’t quite feel like a team yet, and part of her was afraid their lack of synchrony would be her end. But she had claimed him, if only until the end of the peace talks…and Warriors understood Honor better than anything.

Since there was clearly no getting to sleep, Theora took the opportunity while Argos was gone to shower and lay her outfit for the next morning on the sofa, so she wouldn’t have to think about it. At least she could catch up on sleep once they were on the train—it would be five long hours of overthinking if she didn’t.

She glanced at the clock. Argos had been well behaved this week, but she hoped he would return on time, simply because she wanted proof that her dominance was solidified. But she dreaded his return, too, because what if he was…hunting for a trophy?

No. Of course not.

There’d been days in a row of none of that nonsense. And anyway, they had agreed to no trophies, under any circumstances. But Argos was nothing if not Honor bound to his rituals. Perhaps he felt an obligation to at least offer something. But what could she say to reject it without getting her head bitten off?

No hard feelings, Argos, but I’m not really one to exchange sex for a dead bird. Thanks for the effort, though.

That was a joke, but suddenly she couldn’t wipe the image of him freshly out of the shower from her mind. She muttered a swear, pressing her palms into her eyes as if that would get rid of it, but the sensation of his hands on her just this evening took its place. If Theora had been a different person, in a different situation, she might very well have exchanged a night with him for a bird, dead or not.

It wasn’t just his body, with just enough fat along those strong muscles to support a comfortable hug. He had a nice face, too—that was the most shocking thing to admit, if she was honest. She had never in her life imagined a Warrior to be attractive, handsome in a rough way. He was nothing like the clean-cut men she was used to, but surprisingly sexy, like the ancient warriors from folklore, who would sweep unsuspecting queens off their feet.

She shook her head and took a loud breath, pushing these thoughts aside. Finding her fake husband attractive was one thing, but acknowledging it? She knew herself, and that could lead to a crush, which was dangerous territory. There was no need to complicate the situation. Besides, realistically, he was probably horrible at sex. Warriors married for life, and though she wasn’t sure about the extent of sexual rules for Warriors, she assumed that since he was single he was also a virgin.

And yet, it was hard to imagine those big hands, capable as they were, being bad at anything.

A harsh ringing jolted Theora from her thoughts, and she found herself glaring at her phone. She sat up quickly and turned on the light on the side table, leaving the rest of the room dim. Only a select few had access to her number, and she was hoping the ones related to work would have better sense than to call her at this time of night. She picked up the small, ornate receiver and put it to her ear, holding the stand to her lips.

“Who is it?” she demanded.

“Have I called at a bad time?” said the man on the other end, his melodic voice soothing Theora’s anxiety. “Or were you just testing out the Boada method of answering a phone?”

Theora laughed, her stresses melting away. “Hello, Apollo.”

“Hello, angel.”

It had been a long year, and Theora was more relieved than ever that it was about to come to an end. That she could finally see her beloved friend again. But hearing his voice now, with the uncertainty of what was to come, she felt all over again like it was the first day they were parted.

It wasn’t like when they were children, when they would simultaneously communicate through notes written in invisible ink as they chatted and laughed together in the same room. All they’d had to connect them for the past year was the telephone. In the beginning she’d called him three times a day to cry and seek advice on what to do, despite having her advisors with her to rely on. Sometimes she’d called just to cry. Eventually, she had knocked it down to once a day. Then once a week, when the work of war became nonstop.

But next week, as soon as the talks were over, she would finally have her friend back…her one true anchor to how happy she was before the war.

“How are you feeling about everything?” he asked, as if reading her mind.

She swallowed back the urge to cry. “Nervous.”

“This is the most progress we’ve made in creating a working relationship with Vespula in years. Our people aren’t blind to that—trust me, I’ve seen the approval ratings. You’re going to do just fine.”

“Thanks, Apollo.” Theora cleared her throat. “Venita told me what you’d discussed. About coming home.”

“I’m sorry she brought it up during such a stressful time.”

“I’m sorry we couldn’t bring you home sooner. But I want to make absolute certain Aranea is safe.”

And make sure you and Argos never cross paths…

“Honestly,” he said, “I don’t mind places that aren’t so safe. All it means is there are more people to help.”

That alone made her miss him even more. Good, noble, loyal, selfless, agreeable Apollo. He would indeed make the perfect consort, when this whole mess was over and done with…though Theora refused to allow the reality of that to set in quite yet. “Admirable, as always.”

There was a pause on his end. “Sovereign, I have missed you, angel.”

I’ve missed you, too. She wanted to say it. But it felt too needy. Too…childish. Not something a queen should ever say, not even over the phone to her oldest friend.