Page 42 of The Queen’s Bodyguard

And Theora seemed to realize his thought as she rolled her shoulders back, glaring up at him with fresh confidence. He tightened his grip on her neck, and she gasped and stepped forward as if to escape, only succeeding in bringing her face closer to his. Her pulse raced in his grasp. In that snap of a moment, he felt an overwhelming desire to taste those perfect, pouting lips, but that irrational thought was quickly drowned out by her anger. “You are an insolent—”

“Your time starts now,” he said, releasing her, a laugh in his voice that never quite made it to his cold expression—all she had to do was speak and her words, if not her voice, deterred him from any fonder thoughts of her. “You’re dismissed, wife,” and, without offering her their trust salute, he went back into the suite.

Chapter 11

Theora

Theora stood in the hall, rubbing her neck where his hand had been. His large, capable hand—

She shook her head, trying to steady her breath. If anyone could’ve heard the undignified thoughts that had gone through her mind…What was this man doing to her? She was a queen, for Sovereign’s sake. And he was a Warrior, with no rank, no title, and no decorum.

And wide shoulders, and sexy lips, and—

“Shut up, Theora,” she muttered to herself.

She took a breath, turned on her heel, and strode away.

The carpet beneath her square heels was lush, swallowing the sound of her footfalls. A narrow hall ran past their cabin so passengers and staff could travel between train cars without having to go through their room—but of course, she didn’t trust anyone and had requested there be no attendants on her side of the train. The remainder of the car opened into a wider hall with gloriously large windows on both sides. Beneath each window was a long silk-cushioned bench with rounded arm rests. Theora wanted so badly to sit on one of those benches and cry.

But that was ridiculous. She was a queen, and above all she had to remain calm. She had technically—foolishly—encouraged this dynamic of petty revenge. If she had just done what Boada had said from the beginning and treated him less like a servant in her employ, perhaps they wouldn’t have this issue. They would be equals.

Theora scowled at this idea and shoved open the door to the next car. The dining car was dimly lit, with intimate round tables encircled by dark green cushioned couches. The dark wood bar ran the length of the wall, a mirror behind the shelves of bottles. Brass detailing embellished each piece of furniture. Lovely. And yet, a tinge of dread slipped through Theora’s veins at the empty room.

It wasn’t purely the emptiness—or perhaps it was, and Theora couldn’t stand the thought of being alone for a moment until this whole ordeal was over. But there was something about a room that should be occupied, filled with bustling diners, bartenders mixing drinks, laughter, conversation…It was unnerving in all its silence. Ghostly.

“I can’t believe this petty Warrior is trying to regulate how I spend my time,” she said aloud to fill the silence, to shove the dread from her mind.

“And he’s timing me,” she continued, pacing. “The audacity is astounding.”

She had expected to work with someone who respected the authority of royalty—respected that her word was law, and that he was simply there to go along for the ride. But both of them were too strong-willed, and adjustments needed to be made if this plan was going to succeed. Not only did they need to stop bickering, but she needed to get used to touching him and…Sovereign. Being near him was overwhelming enough, but his touch? She was sure to make a fool of herself before the week was out, with the way his hands against her made her feel.

Theora huffed, walking over to the window, even if all she could see was her reflection, due to the darkness of early morning. No river below, no forest beyond. Just her very tired, borderline-teary visage.

“He’s not even good-looking enough to warrant this much effort,” she muttered, as if that were a rational thing to think at a time like this.

He had no right to order her around the way he did. At the same time, he was the one thing standing between her and potential death. Was this truly how Warrior marriages worked, or was he…blackmailing her?

What made it all worse was that Venita was clearly and justifiably opposed to it. Theora wasn’t sure how she could ever keep up the charade without the support of her advisor. Especially since…there had been a time when she saw Venita as practically an older sister. When she would tell her everything. But Venita was far too conservative now, far too much of a rule follower to ever have gotten on board with this plan, had she known.

Theora took up a cloth napkin from a nearby table and pressed it to her eyes, trying to stop the tears before they could affect her—there was nothing so unbecoming as a sniveling queen. Instead, she mixed herself a gin and tonic. Only when she was nearly finished with it did she realize that she probably shouldn’t have drunk it so quickly, and on an empty stomach.

But she had forgotten all about crying, and that was the point.

Venita would get over it, especially since the marriage wasn’t lasting beyond the week. And blackmail was perhaps a drastic summation—Argos was challenging her, that was all…which, in a way, felt worse. In politics, blackmail was a semi-normal occurrence. But challenging her dominance in this relationship was just pure insubordination. It was as if he didn’t remember who she was.

Well, then she would just have to make sure to remind him who was boss.

She poured herself a sparkling water and sat at one of the small tables by the window. She would speak his language, play his little game. Challenge him right back.

Make him wait.

But the longer she sat there, sipping on her fancy water, the more impatient she felt. How long had it been, exactly? Enough time to have proved her point?

She looked out the window but only saw her reflection against the still-dark morning.

And suddenly, with nothing to distract her, all she could think about was her bodyguard’s hands.

It was better than the alternative—what she had to face in the next few hours. And anyway, it wasn’t as if he were here to judge her—though, part of her was already judging herself. Because…what would he do to her when she arrived back to their suite, late? How would he punish her with those big, strong—