Page 79 of The Queen’s Bodyguard

“Well, what you’re there for is too important to leave early.”

“But they…” He paused for only a second, weighing whether he should tell at least a bit of the truth. “They’ve postponed the talks; Theora is sleeping off her distress.”

He tried his best to emphasize the word distress without sounding obvious.

There was a pause. “I can imagine, poor thing. But delays aren’t unheard of in these situations. Call me tomorrow night if it’s not rescheduled by then.”

“Will do.”

“I really do have to go—I have some things to get together. But…take care of your wife until I see you again.”

He wasn’t sure if Boada had understood that Theora’s life was in danger, that they needed to find some way home sooner than the end of the week. Still, he said, “You know I will,” and hung up the phone.

He sighed and went back into the bedroom. Seeing Theora, he felt himself grin. She was hugging her pillow, her face pressed against it. He didn’t dare touch her and disturb that sweet sleep, even if his hand was burning with a desire to comfort her.

But he was a Warrior. There were better ways to show his devotion. He donned his armored tunic and weapon, once again heading out to the tunnels.

Diplomacy had clearly failed them. Now he would protect Theora his way.

Finding Pyre’s wing was much easier the second time around. The chain on the door was still intact. And this time, there was no sign of voices.

He pulled the chain taut so it wouldn’t rattle when it snapped, sticking his blade into the thick loop. It broke with a quick twist. Carefully, he laid the chain down and opened the door, dropping quietly into the Vespulan queen’s dark closet.

He could smell four people in this room, and none of them was Pyre. But he’d handle them quickly, if need be.

He took a breath and entered. The room was dark as a moonless night, and everyone seemed to be sleeping. No sense in whetting his blade before it was necessary—after all, he held nothing against the citizens of Vespula, simply their government.

It was never the citizens’ fault.

The living room was a different story. Two of Pyre’s maids sat on the couch, leaping to their feet as soon as he stepped into the room.

He dispatched the first maid before she even had time to draw her weapons, but that gave the next maid enough time to extend her stingers from her wrists. They had both clearly broken the shackles around their wrists that were supposed to keep their weapons safely away, only wearing them to keep up appearances.

Honeyfluffs didn’t fight in a way he’d ever seen in a Warrior. This maid was fast, with a light, flighty grace Argos lacked, allowing her to bounce off surfaces after only the barest contact. She moved with a more circular method. It was an evasive way of fighting, one that avoided getting caught at all costs—a style that made sense for a smaller fighter. But Argos always caught his prey.

And he really didn’t have time for this dancing around.

Argos grabbed her arm mid-attack and dragged the woman over to him, quickly slamming her onto the ground. A Warrior would’ve known better than to fight alone when she was the size of a gnat.

So, Pyre had come up with the same idea as Theora. Well, he couldn’t fault her for that, even if it did inconvenience him a bit. How many of the dozen handmaidens the queen had brought along were actually guards in disguise?

But that slam had clearly alerted others, because when he exited into the open area of the wing, four more were waiting for him. Stingers bared. They’d all broken free of their shackles, too.

He rushed out of the room, attacking the next person he saw—but was met by Pyre herself, her stingers crossed against his small spear, preventing the weapon from hitting its mark.

Shit. This just became complicated.

But it was too late to turn back now.

He launched into his next attack without pause. Pyre blocked that, too, shouting something Argos couldn’t understand to her maids, who scattered—and now he could see that the remaining half-dozen might have been regular maids, the rest clearly fighters in disguise, stingers drawn.

Luckily, Pyre had been a soldier before she became a queen, and it seemed she had no intention of letting others fight her battles for her.

“I don’t want any more bloodshed,” she said. “We’re here for peace.”

“Then why did you kill my wife?”

Her brows lowered, as if in confusion. And with that, he charged forward.