Page 59 of The Queen’s Bodyguard

Apollo was definitely hiding something.

“Well,” said Apollo with a welcoming smile, “shall we?”

He led them into a small private room, where there was not only a table made of rich wood, set for four, but also a couch in the corner, with a small coffee table laid out and ready if they should want dessert. Behind the couch were false bay windows projecting a beautiful sunny afternoon, complete with flowers and a lake in the distance, but without the warmth and fresh air of the outdoors. How did people ever vacation here, when everything was so clearly fake?

But there were no other suspicious scents, so Argos followed Theora to their side of the table, which was against the wall, with a wooden bench lined with cushions. They would be sitting beside each other, at least.

“Drink this slowly,” Theora whispered to him, picking up the small glass of opaque liquid before her. “And swish it around a bit in your mouth before you swallow. It’s a palate cleanser.”

Argos didn’t question why his palate had to be cleansed before he’d actually eaten anything, just silently lifted his glass and did as he was told. “Palate cleanser” sounded more intimidating than what this actually was—a concoction of ginger and citrus. If this was an indication of the rest of the meal, perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad.

“Lunch is my treat,” said Apollo, resuming his seat. “So, please, order as many drinks as you’d like.”

“Nonsense,” said Theora, nearly offended.

“I insist. In celebration of peaceful times.”

Theora nodded. Grinned. “Thank you, Apollo. But, as far as I’m concerned, peaceful times will begin when the treaty is notarized by the judge and we’re all safe and sound back home.”

“We’re perfectly safe here, Your Grace,” Venita said. “With all of their fine telepaths, nothing happens in this colony without all of their security knowing it. Besides, the Vespulans don’t even have access to this market.”

“Let’s keep the conversation light for lunch, shall we?” Apollo said, casually holding his wineglass as a server filled it.

The first course was served. A small bowl—though bowl was generous, it was more like a shot glass—of some sort of soup, topped with seeds. It was accompanied by a tiny spoon. Like something fit for a baby.

Argos looked at Theora, who immediately squeezed his hand—a warning to behave.

Apollo tipped his head at Theora with the slightest grin. “I took the liberty of ordering wine for the table. Do you recognize that bottle?”

I need to redirect this, Argos thought with a sigh as Theora smiled at her so-called-friend from across the table, her eyes brighter than he’d ever seen them.

“How could I ever forget the wine from my last birthday we spent together?” Theora said, holding up her own glass. “That time in the mountains. It had snowed, and it was so cold outside I could barely drink anything but hot chocolate spiked with this wine.”

“You do hate the cold,” said Argos—a fact he could deduce from the thickness of the duvet on her bed, even in this warm weather. He stroked Theora’s chin once, a gesture that he could feel immediately sent heat through her. Face caresses hadn’t been on the designated physical contact list. He kept breaking the rules.

But desperate measures were clearly called for.

“Now, how would you even know something like that about her?” Venita asked, her tone not betraying what her words implied. “You never knew her in cold weather—”

“My dear Theora,” said Apollo, good-naturedly, “I have to say, I wish you’d told me you were getting married. I would’ve found a way to attend the wedding.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Venita with a disapproving scoff—most likely at the mere thought of attending any sort of event including a Warrior. “You were safer where you were. Anyway,” she added, slightly annoyed, “it was last week.”

“Last week?” Apollo raised a brow at his sister. “The war was over last week. It would’ve been perfectly safe.”

“No, dear brother, I mean the two of them met last week.”

“Venita,” Theora warned, too late.

Apollo nodded, not quite as bothered as Argos was sure Venita had hoped. “Then it’s a political marriage. That isn’t so strange for a queen.”

His words, however, did bother Argos. Queens didn’t marry Warriors, for convenience or otherwise. Apollo must have known that, but was keeping his cards close to his chest, taking the wiser route by remaining in his queen’s good graces. And there was something about that method that felt far more dangerous—not to mention insulting—than Venita’s accusations.

Because Theora trusted him, and he was making sure she continued to do so. In that trust, she was bound to drop her guard, spill secrets. And the last person who needed to know any of their secrets was a man who smelled like a spy for the Vespulans.

He had to think of something to fix this.

“I’d say it’s controversial, to some,” said Argos with a shrug. “Nontraditional. I wouldn’t call it political.” He looked at Theora, who seemed to be gathering his meaning as he spoke, remembering where she was. “Love can’t be political, I don’t think.”