Page 92 of The Queen’s Bodyguard

“That’s exactly why,” he went on, “this is probably a good time to take Pyre up on her offer.”

Theora hardly understood his words. “Wait, you were serious? Go to her? Now?”

“She wants to negotiate peace with you. Face-to-face. That’s what these talks were for anyway, right?”

“It sounds like a trap to me, Argos.”

“It didn’t smell like a trap. And she sounded sincere.”

“Argos.” Theora took a breath. “I think we can both agree that last night was…” Theora blushed just thinking about what last night was. But it wasn’t what Aranea needed, at the end of the day, so she went with “a mistake.”

Argos paused. She hated the way he was looking at her, his brows slightly lowered, as if he’d never expected those words to leave her mouth. “Why?”

Theora swallowed—a few times, as her mouth seemed to be watering at just the sight of him. “Could you put on a shirt?”

Argos stared at her as if he hadn’t heard, then picked up the shirt he’d worn last night from the floor.

“You have clean shirts in your suitcase—”

“What’s going on, Theora?” He ignored her suggestion, donning the one he held. “You gave the impression you enjoyed yourself last night.”

“I-I did.”

“So?”

“So.” She cleared her throat. “I can enjoy myself and admit it was a mistake.”

Argos stared at her for a moment. “After the first orgasm? Okay, call it a mistake. The next seven?” He raised a sardonic brow and walked out into the common area.

“Well, fine,” she said, her annoyance only increasing at his reaction. Why was he being so unreasonable? He must know she was right? “Fine. I can admit it. We both had a great time. But that doesn’t mean—where do you think you’re going?”

He’d come back into the room, carrying his boots. “For a walk.”

“We can’t go anywhere until we’re told it’s safe.”

He rolled his eyes, sitting on the bed to put on his boots. “Says the woman who’d planned on leaving last night to see her boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” She scowled, a twinge of hurt in her gut. Even so, she couldn’t erase the irritation from her voice when she said, “I feel like I’m being perfectly reasonable.”

“I just don’t see why we’re having this conversation,” he said, a clear rumble in his chest that filled her with guilt. “It’s not as if I fucked you.”

“ ‘Fucked’ me?” And the guilt dissipated, replaced by anger. “What am I, some object—?”

“That’s what you’re worried about, right?” he said, his tone as angry as hers. “We didn’t consummate. You’re not stuck with me beyond this week. So don’t worry about it.”

“Trust me, I’m not,” she snapped, fuming.

Argos looked at her, not fuming but simmering…with so much emotion she wanted to take back every word. I’m cruel to you, she wanted to say, because I’m scared of how you make me feel…

But she was a queen…and a queen didn’t grovel.

Argos suddenly looked toward the door. Paused. “A group of people are headed this way.”

“Is it Venita?” She released a breath, part of her relieved to change the subject. “With news, I hope.”

“I’m not sure,” he said, and left the room.

Theora scrambled into her slippers to rush after him. She ran out past the benches and lampposts, only stopping because Argos forced her to, five feet from the door to their wing.