Page 58 of The Queen’s Bodyguard

Argos grinned the slightest bit. “Judging is your favorite hobby.”

“I know, it’s a horrible trait.” Theora huffed. “I have twelve princes courting me, and none of them seem good enough.”

“What about Apollo?”

“He’s…the closest thing to happiness I’m going to get.”

She loved him…and even if she wasn’t sure she could ever get to the place where she was in love with him, she knew they’d enjoy each other’s companionship. But Theora didn’t need to give Argos another reason to dislike him. Anyway, Apollo was interesting, and stable, and compassionate. He was a good man. They liked each other, enjoyed each other’s company immensely. Perhaps, after this was all over, they’d even share a laugh over this week of deception.

Besides…love didn’t matter in a political marriage.

“Send these to my room,” she said to the salesman quickly. “We’ve kept everyone waiting long enough.”

Chapter 16

Argos

He didn’t understand why they had to keep this particular appointment. Lunch with Theora’s meddling advisor and unexpected ex-boyfriend was the absolute last activity Argos wanted on his schedule. But…at least the sign was entertaining.

“ ‘The Rustic Amphibian’?” Argos read it with equal confusion and amusement. “Don’t tell me we have to catch our own frogs for lunch.”

“Behave yourself,” Theora hissed. “This is an incredibly high-end restaurant, and I won’t have you embarrassing me.”

“Oh yeah, definitely,” he said, deadpan. “With a name like that? No, I see it now.”

He didn’t counter her when she rolled her eyes, didn’t fight it when she grabbed the front of his shirt to drag him inside the restaurant.

He’d never admit to it, but he did have to swallow his words just a bit. Because there was absolutely nothing rustic about this place—the gold-embellished patterns, intimate half-moon booths, and elegant live music were all modeled on Aranean design. He swiped one of the menus from the host desk, glancing over it as they were led up a spiral staircase. A three-hour experience—who needed more than twenty minutes to eat? And…small plates. Each a chapter of a themed story. He was going to have to get thirty of those just to keep from starving.

Once upstairs, he stashed the menu on a nearby windowsill and took Theora’s hand, now that there was room to walk beside her. The hall was carpeted, unlike the dining room below, and it swallowed the sound of their footsteps. Here there was no longer the bustling of servers and conversations of other diners. It was relieving, if he was honest, to have a bit of silence before the storm he knew was about to come. Venita hadn’t had time to ask all her questions, but now they had all the time in the world. Or the next grueling three hours of lunch, at least.

He smelled Apollo and Venita around the corner, but also something else that was more concerning. The very distinct scent of a Vespulan. He tried not to physically react, but he prepared to turn the corner first, to protect Theora if need be.

When they turned the corner, Apollo was there waiting in the hall, standing in front of a pair of double doors. That was annoying, but the more immediate problem was it didn’t make sense. Because the Vespulan scent was coming from him. Wafting from him, as if he’d spent some time in a contained space with someone.

And Argos could swear he hadn’t smelled like that when he met them at their suite.

“Your Grace,” Apollo greeted Theora warmly, giving her a small bow. And then he looked at the servant with a nod. “Thank you, Evert, I’ll take it from here.”

The man bowed and left them in the hall.

And immediately Theora lost all her senses and walked into Apollo’s embrace.

Argos rolled his eyes. This damned woman.

Still, he couldn’t very well pull them apart, even if they did linger a second too long. He couldn’t make it look like they didn’t get along in public, and dragging her away from her friend wouldn’t help. He would just have to get creative during lunch.

He had three hours to turn this thing around in his favor.

Theora disengaged, dabbing at her eyes carefully, before turning to Argos. “My love,” she said, her voice like music despite how unfamiliar the term of endearment seemed on her tongue, “you remember my best friend, Apollo.”

“That’s an interesting scent you’re wearing,” Argos said instead of bothering with pleasantries. “Milk and honey?”

Apollo paused. “Yes, I like to keep it simple, so it doesn’t compete with the scents around me.”

“Hm.” Argos didn’t say any more, his Aranean stoicism intact.

But the pause that followed, however short, felt full. Tense.