Page 50 of The Queen’s Bodyguard

He smirked and held the lollipop out to her, and she broke into a grin—and relaxed—before accepting it into her mouth. The sugar seemed to ease her nerves.

“You surprised me with that pet name earlier,” she said.

Argos shrugged. It was honestly the tamest pet name he could think of—an option that couldn’t be misconstrued, made them sound serious, while also not being so cute as to be, well, disgusting. “I thought it would make us seem more natural.”

“I’m sure it did.” Theora smoothed her hair, and Argos could sense warmth radiating from her. “You sounded very natural saying it. I mean, for a second I almost believed you.”

Theora blushing meant, at the very least, that she was no longer dwelling on what was about to happen. A small victory.

He heard a door open—there must have been two between them and the meeting room, because the door to their waiting room remained closed. Clearly this was part of security, because he hadn’t smelled anything before. A door his senses couldn’t penetrate was…a complication. But nothing to outright worry about yet.

Anyway, as soon as it was opened he was granted access—there were about eighteen people in the room, thirteen of them Vespulan. He recognized a few of the scents but couldn’t quite place them. The only one he could place was Queen Pyre. If anyone in that room was going to be a threat, it was her.

Finally, a woman opened the door, shutting it carefully behind her before turning to face them.

“Due to recent events,” she said, with a tone so chipper one would think she wasn’t referring to a beheading, “touching anyone in Queen Pyre’s party is prohibited. Unfortunately, that means you won’t be able to offer them any formal greeting. But rest assured, Queen Pyre’s party is under the same guidelines and will take no offense. Now please prepare to be roomed. Your first peace talk session will begin momentarily.”

Argos could feel Theora’s anxiety even as she joined Venita, who was already adjusting her clothing in the mirrored wall. “Sovereign forbid we offend the great Exalted One,” Theora muttered, handing Argos the lollipop so she could fix her lipstick.

Argos bit the candy to finish it quickly. His wife’s lipstick mark left on the stick was beyond sexy, but he didn’t have time to enjoy details like that now. It was time to get down to business. To get in a mindset to hunt.

Venita removed her tortoiseshell glasses to clean them as she said quietly, “I don’t trust these people as far as I can throw a mule. But they’re peace talks. Please be on your best behavior.”

Theora rolled her eyes. “We’re not children, Venita.”

“Forgive me, Your Grace. I just know when you’re upset you start talking faster than you can think.”

Theora sighed. “I feel like I’m being fed to the wolves, is all.”

“I hate it, too. Just remember, things can only get better from here.” Venita nodded at her reflection, then turned to her queen. “Are we ready?”

A guard opened the armored door.

Theora looked up at Argos quickly. “Don’t growl.”

Was he growling? Perhaps he was too ready.

She reached her hand up, and he handed over his glasses without a word. It didn’t feel rational, cleaning his glasses now, but the gesture gave him a moment to settle. To suppress the urge to hunt.

“I can’t do this without you,” she whispered.

“I’m with you,” he said. All that mattered was protecting his wife.

She’s not your wife forever, Argos.

But as he leaned over, allowing her to replace his glasses, he decided the length and circumstances of their arrangement didn’t matter.

He wouldn’t allow the past to repeat itself.

Chapter 13

Theora

Argos guided Theora into the room with his hand at her back, and it was only his presence that gave her the courage to approach the meeting table, despite her stomach twisting in knots.

Because what could only be Queen Pyre, Exalted One of Vespula, sat on one side of the table. Alone. No second or third to assist in negotiations. A dozen brightly dressed handmaidens sat in the viewing area, like a flock of colorful birds.

All Vespulans looked like they could be cousins, even when they weren’t remotely related—theirs was an aesthetic steeped in an ancient religion that Theora wasn’t entirely familiar with, but she knew it had something to do with the idea that bees had one queen—one mother of many. Even their surnames weren’t based on their actual parents, but were simply the first name of whichever queen was ruling at the time of their birth. Most of them had the signature copper brown or honey-colored skin and dark hair, though many of them bleached it blond or chalked it in gold in celebration of their sun goddess.