Page 48 of The Queen’s Bodyguard

And she led him quickly into the examination room through the door that the guards held open for them.

Chapter 12

Argos

Shortly thereafter, Argos was cleared and released to rejoin his party. He immediately wrapped his arm around Theora’s shoulders, stealing a piece of candy from the clerk’s desk on their way out. Most of these halls were no longer private, and Theora would get pissy at him about it later, but that didn’t matter when there was damage control to be done. He wasn’t sure who this Apollo was to her or why he was here. All he knew was that he was going to have to work even harder to guide Theora, just as he had with Warrior culture, to make this mission a success.

It was clear as day that Apollo wasn’t just a friend.

Venita looked up from her newspaper as they entered the waiting room, not quite able to hide her annoyance. “That took them an awfully long time.”

“We were gone ten minutes,” Theora said, sitting on the couch across from her, patting the cushion to signal Argos to sit beside her. “Apollo didn’t want to view the session?”

“I’m sure he felt too embarrassed to join us. You rejected his romantic gesture quite brusquely, Your Grace.”

Theora scowled. “You mean the romantic gesture you put him up to?”

“I told him this isn’t done, that queens are normally the ones to voice their intentions to their potential consorts, but he insisted. He’s been tending to those roses for months for you, in preparation for the end of the war.”

At those words, Theora looked distracted, uncomfortable, and Argos immediately understood what had just happened—those roses must have been the Docile version of a claiming ceremony.

Wonderful. Another complication.

Still, he’d address it with her when they were alone. For now, all he had to worry about was how he was going to kill Pyre.

Because this was it. The entire reason for agreeing to this unconventional marriage. In a few minutes, he would be across the table from the woman who was responsible for destroying his life. When he entered that room, he would have seconds to assess the layout, any potential disadvantages, items possible to use as a weapon—

“Besides, I’m glad he isn’t here, for safety’s sake,” Venita continued, shooting a disdainful look at Argos. He fought not to roll his eyes. Were they still talking about this?

Theora huffed. “Dread Sovereign, Venita.”

“With all due respect, Your Grace,” Venita said, her voice tight and not entirely respectful, “I doubt that they will allow your husband into the room with us. He’s already been flagged as a threat. Perhaps he should be escorted to your rooms.”

“Of course they will,” Theora said, her tone daring anyone to question her. “They just cleared him. And he hasn’t done anything wrong. Warriors are people, Venita, not monsters.”

A grin slipped to Argos’s lips as he watched her avoid his gaze, as if she could hide the fact that her skin had warmed when he looked at her. But she was blushing, and that was enough. They were back on track. At least somewhat.

Still, for good measure, Argos put his arm around Theora’s shoulders. “And seeing as I’m Boada’s proxy,” he said, “I don’t think they’ll have any choice.”

“I don’t agree with this,” Venita said, pushing herself up from her seat. “A Warrior without a handler at a table full of people unequipped to deal with one? It’s absolutely absurd.”

“Venita,” Theora warned sternly—but Argos could feel her shudder as he pressed his lips to her neck. “Please don’t question your queen’s judgment again.”

Venita snapped her jaw shut—smart woman, accepting defeat rather than arguing with her queen. Argos respected it, even if he couldn’t relate. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but this little girl is on my bladder,” she mumbled, and headed toward the restroom.

As soon as the room cleared, Theora wiggled out of his grasp and escaped to the other side of the couch. She grabbed the side of her neck, as if he’d bitten her instead of kissed her. “What was that? There’s no need to overdo it.”

“That was overdoing it?” Argos raised a brow. “ ‘Madly in love,’ remember?”

“We made her uncomfortable.” The way she rubbed her neck gave the impression that “her” simply meant herself.

“We did our job,” Argos said, settling back on the couch. “So, I take it you’re not happy that Sir Garden Gnome is here?”

“Excuse me?”

“Are flowers how Dociles propose marriage?”

“No,” she said defensively.