Page 40 of The Queen’s Bodyguard

“Well, you certainly can’t wear it. That color will completely wash you out.”

Argos let out a low laugh. He could feel Theora’s blush from where she stood. He wasn’t sure if she was pleased with herself for making him laugh or simply enjoying herself, but it was a nice change.

But she suddenly cleared her throat, turning away to go through one of her many suitcases. “Speaking of items of clothing, I need you to try these on.” She set down a rectangular case on the coffee table, opening it to reveal about a dozen pairs of glasses.

Argos put down his weaving. “I already don’t like the look of this.”

“Half the pairs are mine. But I wasn’t sure which style would look best on you, so I selected a few options for you, as well.”

“Why?” Argos asked, his tone part confusion, part distaste.

“To make you look more approachable.”

“Yeah. No.”

“Stop being stubborn.” She surveyed his face with a frown, then pulled out a pair of wire-framed glasses. “Try these on. I need to see if they fit, or if they need to be adjusted.”

“I’m here to protect you, not obey your every whim.” His chest began to rumble. “I draw the line at wearing sheets of glass on my face for no good reason.”

“They’re just for show.”

“Why?”

“Sovereign,” she grumbled. “It’s like talking to a toddler sometimes.”

“I could say the same about your temper tantrums.”

“I do not have temper tantrums,” she snapped.

Argos smirked, on the edge of laughter. “No, of course not.”

She tried to hand him the pair, but he wouldn’t budge. “Don’t test my patience, not when we’re literally five hours from having to fool everyone. Now put them on.” She thrust the pair of glasses at him, and he snatched them from her and put them on his face. “Was that so difficult, Warrior?”

He didn’t know why, but that single comment annoyed him. “Warrior.” Like she was his handler. Like they weren’t a team. Like he was just some tool to her, a weapon in annoyingly fancy clothes.

Well, if she was going to challenge him, he would challenge her right back. So, instead of responding, he broke the frames in half and tossed them casually across the room.

Theora gaped. “Argos!”

He growled.

“Cease!”

He growled louder as he stood. She’d reverted to her old ways of bossing him around for no reason. Of disrespecting him. Thus, he would hand the same back until she understood. “Don’t use the command words we hold sacred as an excuse to act like a brat.”

He could feel her hot, angry blush as she rose from the couch. “You’re going to wear these whether you like it or not.” She held up a pair of tortoiseshell glasses. “And don’t you dare break them, or—”

Argos glared as he crushed the frames in his hand and tossed the remains to join his first victim on the floor. And before Theora could yell at him, he placed his hand on her chest and pushed her to sit on the couch again. He took the violet-framed glasses from her face, dropped them onto the coffee table, and replaced them with a green pair.

Theora took a trembling breath. “Argos—”

“Cease,” he said.

He’d meant to do this as a means of challenging her authority, in the safest way possible. But Theora’s breath seemed to catch, and now her sweat, her blush, smelled different. Frustrated…aroused. Argos caught the subtle movement as she squeezed her thighs together beneath her skirt.

So. The queen enjoyed being commanded. Or was it being handled that had excited her? Either way, Argos had to catch himself, divert his thoughts before the blood rushed to the one body extension that could never touch her.

He looked away from her, pressing back a grin.