Page 35 of The Queen’s Bodyguard

Theora snatched up her telephone, nearly dropping the earpiece. She wasn’t sure what Boada would be up to at this time of night, but there was no point in peace talks if war happened to erupt once again over a grave misunderstanding.

Three rings, each one heightening her anxiety, before Boada finally picked up. “What happened, kiddo?”

“Boada, I—” She swallowed. She couldn’t say it now. How could she ever describe…that—what had just happened—over the phone?

“Theora?” Boada’s normally calm voice had an edge of concern. “Argos just walked in, with—” The silence on the other end twisted at Theora’s gut. “What the—?”

“I’ll join you in your office,” Theora said, and she slammed down the phone. Dread Sovereign. She was hoping Argos had gone to destroy the evidence, not gone straight to his handler—not before she could get there first, anyway.

Theora put on her slippers and rushed out into the hall. Generally, she’d never leave her room looking this way, but there were more important things to worry about now.

She tripped over her slippers as she entered the office. Boada wore a loose-fitting floor-length dress, and for a moment Theora felt as if she couldn’t breathe, flashbacks of Warriors in gowns of armor creeping into the back of her mind. Maybe the Vespulans already knew about their war commander. Maybe they had called off the ceasefire and were on their way here—

“Is this your idea of diplomacy?” Boada snapped, gesturing to the—blessedly—closed sack on her desk.

The handler’s words knocked her back to her present predicament. She was a queen, for Sovereign’s sake. She could not allow her memories to control her emotions.

Besides, she knew from asking questions as a child that Boada had to wear armor while training young Warriors to obey her voice. Apparently, toddlers went for the ankles.

“Does that severed head look like my doing to you?” she replied, matching the handler’s tone.

“You claimed him. Only for this mission, but it’s still legitimate. It’s his Honor to get you things you want, even if you ask for them without asking. Expressing a desire for something is enough.”

“All I wanted was a bodyguard, Boada.” Theora paced, scratching at her scar, the lingering itchiness the only clue left of her trauma. “Besides, shouldn’t he know better than to hunt down a Vespulan dignitary just before peace talks?”

“He is in the room with you,” Argos growled. “And you selected a Warrior to bodyguard for you, so excuse me if I do things my way instead of waiting for more attacks to happe—”

“Cease, Warrior,” Boada commanded, and Argos immediately silenced. She took a second, calming her anger, before glaring at Theora. “What’s done is done. All we can do now is come up with a solution.”

Theora took a breath, picking up the phone receiver. “Let’s bring Venita up to speed. Perhaps she’ll—”

Boada took the phone from her, hanging it back in its place. “The fewer people who know it was Argos, the better. An act of war of this magnitude could cause a mountain of problems for us just when we’re about to step into peace talks. Besides, the queen before Pyre had a tendency to make enemies, so it’s not far-fetched that the beheading will be pinned on someone unrelated to us entirely.”

“Come on, Boada.” Theora sighed. “Given the circumstances, I think Aranea is going to be the first colony they blame.”

“Not if we’re ten steps ahead of them.” Boada looked at Argos. “Were you seen?”

“No, ma’am,” he said.

“Of course you weren’t,” Boada said with a satisfied nod. “Well, that solves it then. You feign ignorance. The news won’t have reached us by then, and we can always blame the long train ride for your being uninformed. The main thing is to not be the first to mention it, and then to give sincere condolences when it’s brought up.”

“That’s all well and good, Boada,” said Theora, her hard tone implying that it was not at all well and good. “But the war commander’s head goes missing and I suddenly show up to the peace talks with my Warrior husband? We won’t get away with lying.”

Boada snapped her fingers, her eyes brightening. “You will if you married for love.”

Theora and Argos looked at the handler at the same time, both as intrigued as they were skeptical.

“Married for love?” Theora asked, borderline disgusted.

“Ignorance and condolences are one thing,” Boada said. “But the only way to truly fix this is to make sure everyone thinks you and Argos are truly, madly, deeply in love with each other from the moment you enter that colony.”

“What did I tell you, Theora?” said Argos, and the fact that Theora had to acknowledge, if only internally, that a Warrior had come up with a tactic just as good as her advisor’s was going to haunt her for the next week. “A passion-based relationship is the way to go. If everyone thinks we’re obsessed with each other, it’ll explain why the relationship progressed so quickly.”

Boada pointed at him, as if to agree. “And they’ll never suspect him of being your bodyguard who killed someone if they associate him with being your adoring husband.”

“We will present as a sensible Aranean couple,” Theora said in frustration, nerves building at even the idea of performing public displays of affection for the next week. “No one will expect any more from me.”

“That won’t be enough,” Boada replied with a shake of her head. “Not everyone is familiar with the ways of Aranean culture—they’ll see your sensibility as coldness, as a lack of affection. Besides, there are plenty of Araneans who drop their stoicism while abroad. Apollo included, so I hear.”