Page 38 of The Queen’s Bodyguard

“Oh no,” he mumbled sarcastically. “Your bodyguard looks menacing.”

She leveled a glare at him, though that wasn’t new. Sleep hadn’t improved her attitude toward him, and she’d been barking at him all morning. He wanted to respond in kind but, in the end, couldn’t manage it. It was all so stupid. Holding on to emotions for the sake of them. It wasn’t as if being pissed at each other would change the fact that they had to pretend to be madly in love in only a few hours.

Besides, it was more than obvious that she was anxious about today.

“You’re supposed to look like my husband,” Theora said, biting the word out as if it were a curse. “Not a natural-born killer.”

“You should’ve picked a smaller Warrior, then.”

That immediately shut her up, though her lips were tight, undoubtedly with the pent-up urge to yell at him. He let slip a small laugh, causing even more heat to radiate from her face.

“I can’t wait for this week to be over,” she muttered, snatching up a black tunic instead and holding it out to him. “Put this on.”

He hated even the idea of taking it from her but obliged quickly—anything to put an end to these unnecessary outfit swaps. In Warrior culture, traditional tunics of this sort were reserved for special events, but he’d seen Dociles wear them for casual purposes. Still, he felt inordinately overdressed for travel.

“Still too big?” he asked, rolling up the long sleeves.

“Can you stop with the tone?” She looked him over. “It’s an improvement. The airy fabric and darker dye help to hide your size. And,” she added reluctantly, “you look alluring enough to be a queen’s husband. Even if viciously so.”

He raised a brow. “ ‘Vicious’ doesn’t sound any better than ‘menacing.’ ”

Perhaps not, but to look at Theora as she examined him…it seemed as if she’d forgotten she was angry with him. He could see the way her eyes dilated, taking him in. The way her gaze lingered on his forearms, his chest. And he could smell her, in a way he knew threatened to dampen the lining of her neat, queenly panties.

He had a sudden desire to compare that scent to how he was certain she would taste.

As if sensing his illicit thought, she broke her gaze away from him, clearing her throat. “Well, you don’t look like a killer, at the very least. Think you can go a few days without scaring everyone?”

The default rumble of his growl made no promises.

It was still firmly night when they arrived on the train platform. Argos had thought nothing of seeing trains while out on hunts, but the moment he saw the gray smoke pluming from the stack as the train screamed to a halt was the moment he decided he didn’t trust them.

Venita was waiting on the platform, directing the porters moving their bags. But when she turned and saw them together, she looked as if she were going to fall over.

“Sovereign,” she swore, hand against her chest. “That is Boada’s proxy? That—that—?”

“That what?” Argos said, leveling a look at Venita. Barely a growl, and yet the advisor stumbled back, a look of terror etched on her face.

She looked to her queen for help, eyes wide. “Your Grace…that’s a Warrior.”

“Clearly,” said Theora, unbothered.

Venita took a moment to compose herself. “As your advisor, I have to insist we leave him here and make do with the two of us for negotiations. I guarantee you they won’t allow a Warrior, especially one without a proper handler, past security—”

“No armor,” Theora said. “No weapons. No sharp objects. People, I believe, were encouraged.”

Argos barely held in a laugh. Boada’s advice to keep this woman out of the loop was sound, but he had a feeling she wasn’t going to take their lie very well. He wasn’t so sure Theora was going to be able to stick with it, either—he could smell her nervous sweat and saw her hesitation to even bring up the topic.

So, he took the lead, lacing his hand through hers without a word, and Venita looked as if she might have a heart attack. But the gesture prompted Theora to finally say, “Venita, I need you to not make an ordeal of this. I’m going to introduce you, and then I don’t want to hear another word about it. Yes, this is Argos, Boada’s proxy. And also”—her breath seemed to catch a bit before she finished—“my husband.”

Venita indeed didn’t say another word about it, she was in such a state of horror.

Argos could feel Theora’s hand trembling, but her voice was cool when she said, “Shall we go?” and walked forward.

“Your Grace,” Venita said, her voice on edge. She tried to catch up as she held her belly. “May I speak with you alone?”

“I don’t see how that’s necessary.” Despite the edge in her voice, Theora did slow down so Venita didn’t have to rush. “The detail the judge will be aware of is that he’s here for the peace talks. That’s all.”

“Forgive me, Your Grace,” Venita said sternly, “but remember last week when we discussed the importance of whom you marry—”