Chapter 3 #2
But expectations and adoration for him aside, Theora couldn’t find it within herself to think about a royal wedding at a time like this. Not until she held the signed peace agreement in her own two hands. Not until Argos was back in the barracks, and this awful business was behind her.
Thankfully, at the beginning of the war Apollo had been sent to stay in Ampulex with Boada’s people, taking advantage of the steadiest alliance any two colonies had ever formed.
He was safest where he was, and even Venita wouldn’t dare send for him before peace was properly attained, no matter how badly she wanted to play matchmaker.
“Leveya wanted it, too,” Venita said quietly, reflectively.
Theora found herself grinning at the memories. “Remember when she desperately tried to put marriage laurels around our necks because we were holding hands?”
Venita broke into a smile, her small fangs glistening. “You do hold hands an awful lot in private.”
Theora scowled. “Hand-holding doesn’t have to necessarily mean romance.”
“No, but it reflects the love you feel for one another. I think it’s sweet.
” Venita grinned, before letting out a soft sigh.
“My sister could be a flighty ninny sometimes, but she understood the importance you and Apollo held, even while she was queen. To reignite the old ways of queen and king standing side by side, with both of you bearing the mark of being chosen by the Sovereign, on top of that…You must know how much that would mean to all of Aranea.”
“Why, Venita.” Theora grinned the slightest bit. “How very untraditional of you.”
“I’ll admit, one or two of the ancient ways still have merit,” Venita said, however reluctantly.
“Generally, there’s no point in a queen marrying unless there’s some political gain involved, or unless she just wants children of her own.
But with you and Apollo…” Her expression turned mildly concerned.
“If I’m honest, Your Grace, those aren’t the main reasons I believe you should consider the match.
With the war being over now, there’s really nothing to distract the people from, well… your lack of magic.”
Theora hadn’t been able to attend to many regular queenly duties due to the war, but Venita was right.
Queens were expected to weave ceremonial ribbons fairly often.
To christen new buildings and ships, as a way to honor people who contributed greatly to the colony.
And the smaller ribbons were usually woven in front of the person being honored—that was part of the Honor in itself.
Naturally, she couldn’t do…any of that.
Theora swallowed. “And you believe Apollo will be that distraction?”
“I know that he will make it his mission to be so. His loyalty, combined with the sheer adoration and worship the people will show toward you both, being hand-selected by the Sovereign to rule.” She was thoughtful for a moment, then shrugged.
“Not to mention you both have high approval ratings from the public, in general.”
Theora chuckled, and suddenly it felt as if she were in a time before the war. Before the pain. When she would laugh with Venita as if the woman were her older sister rather than an advisor she had to treat cordially.
But Venita had always possessed the serious, businesslike personality Leveya lacked, and she quickly sobered from her nostalgia into a woman with a queen and colony to protect. “For my sister’s sake,” she said now, “don’t let her death be in vain.”
Leveya had never been the responsible type.
Theora had sometimes been frustrated by her friend’s lack of any sense of duty, her preference for lavish parties over politics.
But…she had been Theora’s best friend. They’d been the same age, with Apollo a year older, and all three were raised in the palace together. Thick as thieves.
And yet…sweet memories of her friend were so often buried beneath memories of the attack that had killed her and left Theora traumatized.
The sound of Leveya’s screams, the sharp agony of a stinger tearing through Theora’s leg.
The scar on her hip that itched and ached whenever she was forced to think about it.
Theora wrangled the urge to scratch at her scar, shoving the memories away with it. “One thing at a time,” she said, and escorted Venita to the door. “And that includes me showering and you getting to your bedroom before that tea makes you too drowsy.”
“Thank you for your time, Your Grace.” The advisor paused. “And I hope you know…it’s okay to help our people and make yourself happy in the process. You’re allowed to do both.”
“Thank you, Venita,” Theora said, and her advisor bowed and headed back down the hall.
She was thankful Venita hadn’t pushed for her to explain any more, as she so often did.
How could anyone who wasn’t a ruler truly understand the weight of her decisions?
That it was so much easier on her nerves to not have to worry about the life of her consort, a man she hoped to love, when war could very well erupt all over again at any moment?
That she could never truly be happy until her people were safe.
Until she felt safe.
Theora shut and locked her door behind her, just in time to hear the shower shut off.
She positioned herself in front of the door and took a deep breath, steeling herself to face Argos again as he opened the door.
But her authoritative plans crumbled when he opened it, the steam not fogging her lenses quite fast enough for her to miss his muscular body on full display.
“Where are your clothes?” she demanded. She snatched the clearly used towel from his hand and held it at his hips, demonstrating its use as much as blocking her view. “You’re supposed to wrap the towel around you afterward.”
He raised his brows only subtly. “I’m supposed to wrap a damp cloth around me after I’m already dry?”
Theora didn’t want to admit he had a point.
The entire situation was strange enough to leave that be.
She stepped back and rubbed her temples with a heavy sigh—and then stifled a yelp when she saw that Argos hadn’t caught the towel after she’d let go.
She looked away from his nakedness quickly, her heart pounding.
With his skin scrubbed clean of oil and dirt, she could see dozens of pale scars all over his body, a detail she’d missed while watching him from a distance.
He looked younger up close but still managed to have a seasoned, wary look in his eye.
Like one of the ageless ones from myth who drank the blood of anyone who dared to wander into the woods at night, who never saw the sun, who gained their power from the moonlight.
Pale and ancient and magnificent. And deadly.
Deadly being the detail Theora’s mind clung to.
She needed to regain composure. Regain control. She wiped off her foggy glasses in time to see Argos kneel to pick up the towel.
“Don’t worry about that now,” she said with a sigh. “For Sovereign’s sake, put some clothes on—”
His touch shocked her into silence as he pulled her closer by the waist and wiped her face with the damp towel.
She tried to back out of his grasp, but his hand at her lower back kept her still.
She gasped and turned her face away from the towel to catch her breath, feeling the rub of his fingers underneath the fabric at the back of her neck.
She pushed her fogged-up glasses on top of her head.
From his touch alone, her nerves were like licks of flame, each movement of his hand burning as if she’d never felt a hand against her before.
Maybe she was nervous. Maybe she was being ridiculous.
Either way, feeling his touch without seeing him clearly was far more tempting than she’d anticipated.
He passed the towel across her collarbone, the heavy, wet cloth dampening the front of her dress, and she wobbled a bit on her feet, grabbing his shoulder to steady herself.
It was odd how erotic the curve of his shoulder suddenly seemed, how much touching him for such an innocent reason felt like disobeying all rules of decency. But they were technically a couple, after all…even if they didn’t intend on keeping it that way.
“Argos,” she said, although there was a slight tremor in her voice that could never pass for commanding. “Cease.”
He held up the towel to show her. She wiped off her lenses and put them back on to see dirt, brown and coral makeup, and a little something that could be blood staining a section of her fluffy white towel.
“Sovereign, I’m dirty,” she said absently.
“You want me to finish?” he asked, his voice rumbling through her as a feeling more than a sound.
Theora’s lenses fogged up again. “This is not happening.” She cleared her throat, prying his fingers away from her back so she could step out of the doorway, put space between them. “Get dressed. Now.”
He didn’t move. Frightfully still. Like the quiet anticipation before the flash and rumble of an impending storm.
Theora wanted to believe her pounding heart and shortness of breath were from the steam overheating her, not the intense gaze of his amber eyes.
She tried to think back on her observations of him, what this particular silence meant…
and then she remembered the hunting simulations she’d seen in the arena.
Childlike games, they’d seemed to her, where one Warrior had to hunt down and catch a few of his peers while blindfolded.
Dread Sovereign.
This was exactly how he had waited on prey.
“Go get ready for bed,” she said, pointing toward his duffel in the bedroom “now,” only allowing the breathlessness to overtake her after he’d walked away.
She shut the bathroom door and leaned against it, taking deep breaths.
That steam had made her lightheaded. The steam.
Not that patient look in his eye. Not his strong hand against her, soothing her.
Tempting her.
What an idiotic thought.