Chapter 3 #3
Theora hadn’t thought much of any one Warrior in the year since she took the throne.
Argos had only stood out from the others due to his size and his general demeanor—it was obvious he was a force to be reckoned with, as the other Warriors seemed to avoid him when they could.
That would have been worrisome if not for Boada’s assurances.
But after she and Boada had arranged the plan, she’d gone specifically to study his battle habits, his skills in the practice arena.
None of the other Warriors bothered to look her way anymore, but a few times Argos would look up at the stands in the arena, at her watching him.
Perhaps Boada had told him the plan, and he’d known as soon as she had.
One afternoon, a fight had broken out in the arena, and Argos had physically subdued every single troublemaker, all before the Warriors’ alpha or Boada could get involved.
And the first thing he did when it was over was look at Theora in the stands, touching his forehead and then pointing to her, as if to say, This what I can do for you.
That one action had solidified her belief that he was the perfect candidate to help execute her plan.
It didn’t occur to her until this very moment that he might’ve meant, This is what I’m going to do to you later.
And yet, that. Feeling him. Breathing his air. Sharing his space. It didn’t feel like death to her. Not completely, at least.
And it was more of a distraction than she’d ever anticipated.
Even so, she took deliberately slow breaths to keep her pulse down as she turned to see that he’d already put on pants and a shirt.
She caught the subtle, intense weave and dull finish of his shirt—details that were easy to pick out since she had been wearing armored clothing for the past year. Did Warriors not wear pajamas?
“You know why you’re here, don’t you?” she asked.
“You claimed me,” Argos said simply, his voice a deep rumble even when he wasn’t growling. He took a book from the shelf and opened it. To Theora, this seemed to be done in defiance rather than interest.
“Yes, but do you know why?”
He flipped through it aimlessly—a history book, judging by the images inside. “Boada told me not to refuse you.”
Theora bit her tongue, opting to pause rather than say something rash. Was this the handler’s idea of a joke? This was who she was supposed to trust to protect her? She had a hard time believing he could even understand what was in that book he was holding.
“You’re here,” she said, less than patiently, “because the Vespulans’ witch of a war commander traumatized my people by forcefully taking an Aranean trading post, and instead of retaliating like I want to, I have to bring a bodyguard along to the peace talks to make sure she doesn’t do it again.”
“Ah yes, recruit a Warrior to make peace,” he said, replacing the book on the shelf. “Makes sense now.”
Theora’s pulse ticked in her temple, heat rising on her cheeks. His sarcasm came in loud and clear, even if it hadn’t earlier.
“Well, your opinion of my plan doesn’t matter. All you have to do is pretend to be my husband for the duration of the peace talks. You can manage that, I hope.”
“ ‘Pretend’? We are married.”
Theora looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Excuse me?”
“What did you think that rope was for? Symbolism?” Argos said with a disbelieving chuckle. “You claimed me as your husband. You are my wife. And, funnily enough, you had plenty of say in it, seeing as it was your brilliant idea.”
At his tone, Theora felt hot anger rise up her neck. “Boada said I can easily renege at the end of the talks. I wouldn’t call that a marriage.”
He nodded. “As long as there’s no intercourse involved. And it is a marriage.”
“Trust me,” Theora said, the once-over she gave him dripping with disdain, “that won’t be a problem. Absolutely not a marriage.”
“Whatever you say, wife.”
Theora fought the urge to argue—she wasn’t prepared to go back and forth with her bodyguard, of all people, all night.
“Do you have anything to sleep in other than armor?” She froze at her own question, looking away so he wouldn’t see her blush.
There was only one bed. Oh, Sovereign. What would they do about it?
Sleep…beside each other, like in one of Boada’s silly romance novels?
After what had just happened with the towel, she didn’t want to risk that sort of intimacy again.
“Actually, sleep in whatever you’re used to.
I think it’s better you go back to the barracks tonight, anyway. ”
He stared at her for a moment in a way she didn’t understand. “Are you serious?”
“Yes,” she said firmly. “I’d prefer to get used to you in daylight before we start rooming together.”
“It breaks ritual to sleep away from my wife during the first week.”
Theora felt herself waver beneath his gaze—she wished Boada had warned her that Argos would be as intimidating as he was difficult.
But then, she had signed up for a bodyguard, hadn’t she?
This was exactly what she’d wanted. A man who wouldn’t leave her side, who would watch over her as she slept, protect her from things she couldn’t see coming.
Still, it was all very sudden…and all a bit too intimate. “I’m sure the Sovereign will understand and forgive you.”
He did not look pleased by her words. “You do realize you disgrace us both by even suggesting it.”
“Well, I don’t want you in my room,” she said sharply, “disgraceful or not. What am I supposed to do if your magic flares up while we’re sleeping?”
He looked at her sideways. “Magic requires consciousness, so that literally can’t happen.”
“Even so. We’ll deal with this tomorrow.”
“So, you’re divorcing me,” he assessed without hesitation.
“As I said. We’ll deal with this tomorrow.”
“No.”
The abruptness of his response nearly made her swallow her tongue with shock. No one had ever spoken to her that way…ever. No one had ever refused her so coldly. Especially not someone so clearly beneath her rank. She felt rage bubbling up in her gut. “Excuse me?”
“No,” he repeated. “You’re not breaking ritual just because you’re not used to me.”
“I can bend the rules if I require,” she said, dripping authority despite her pounding pulse. “I am your queen.”
“You think a political title means anything to me?”
For a moment, Theora was at a loss for words. What have you gotten me into, Boada? Were there no obedient, cooperative Warriors she could trade him in for? She took a breath, regaining a bit of her nerve. “Then, as your wife, I’m asking you to leave.”
“My wife,” he said angrily, stepping toward her so quickly she stumbled into the wall behind her, “would’ve never claimed me in the first place if she had no intention of following through.”
Theora panted against the wall, glaring up at him. “You are the one not following through. I claimed you. You’re mine.”
“And?” He leaned closer, his forearm slamming into the wall above her head. “That doesn’t make me your mindless servant.”
He was far too close, far too volatile. Not a shred of a care for boundaries or decency.
A massive presence, hot blood warming his skin, muscles twitching as if from an urge to use them.
She felt deeply offended, and yet she found herself trembling not from fear or shame but from an emotion she could hardly bring herself to fess up to.
Has it been so long, Theora, since a man has swallowed you up with his very presence?
Theora found herself thinking of that more than of her angry Warrior’s statement.
Has a man ever tasted and swallowed you—?
“Fine, yes,” she said quickly, if only to move on from that thought. “You’re right.”
Ugh, he was right. And she hated it. More than that, she hated that remnant fantasies of her new husband tasting her kept interrupting her annoyance. Still, she was lucky he was only angry about sleeping arrangements. It could have been far worse—he could’ve asked to go hunting.
She might not have been clear on all the dozens of Warrior rituals, but Boada had made sure to hammer this particular one home—she was not, under any circumstances, to accept anything he brought back from a hunt.
Accepting his trophy meant they had to consummate the union, turning this business arrangement into a permanent Warrior marriage.
Seeing as Warriors mated for life and she planned on ending the marriage after the peace talks, that wasn’t a ritual she was interested in.
And yet, as his gaze shifted over her face, Theora had an irrational urge to suggest a hunt to cool his anger. To kiss the lips that still hovered so close to hers…to use his body for more than just protection.
Are you insane?
“I’ll sleep in the bathroom,” Argos said, “if a door between us would give you more peace of mind.”
His suggestion was reasonable…but dominance wasn’t won by agreeing to what was reasonable.
Where he slept wasn’t the point—it was that he refused to sleep where he was told.
She had to get him to obey her, and after all the difficulty he’d caused her this evening, she knew he wasn’t going to concede without a fight.
And besides…she wasn’t quite ready to confront these strange feelings he elicited in her. Not yet.
“We will reconvene with Boada tomorrow evening, after all my scheduled meetings,” she said evenly. “In the meantime, go get some sleep.”
Argos stepped back from her, his expression not quite blank. A growl rolled in his chest that Theora was positive wouldn’t end well if left to continue.
But he didn’t argue, didn’t fight. Instead, he went to the window and opened it, slipping out into the night before she could chastise him for not using the door.