Chapter 4
Argos
This. Damned. Woman.
He strode through the dark wood with one goal—to stalk and kill something before that something became his apparent wife.
She was in the wrong. She must’ve known that. But it was clear, after knowing her for less than an hour, that she had a strong sense of pride…and a lack of thinking though her plans realistically.
She’d expected a loyal servant rather than a partner.
Well, of course she had…she was the queen. Every queen before her had been no different. Perhaps it was his fault for expecting more.
Although, to be fair…Theora had done more for Warriors than any queen had done in generations.
That wasn’t saying much—she’d made sure they were provided for, increasing the budget significantly so that Boada could provide them with more resources, better food.
It was the bare minimum, honestly, but it was still something to be grateful for, compared to what he’d been raised on.
A good start for a queen who had been at war from the moment she ascended the throne.
And yet her attitude toward him told a different story. A story that made him doubt everything Boada had told him when he first accepted the mission.
But, at the moment, he wasn’t in the headspace to think of how to fix this.
He took to the trees, staying as high within the branches as would hold his weight. The woods were as old as the silk trees, branches stretching to the cavernous sky. Ancient beauty, as the Sovereign intended, and yet Argos gained no peace from it. He wouldn’t…not until he killed something.
Eventually he arrived at the border of Aranea and Vespula, a border that had once been built only of grass and trees and good faith. Now an electric fence stood a couple stories high. It had been built by the enemy after the war began, as if they hadn’t caused it in the first place.
Argos respected boundaries, standards even…but borders? He’d been crossing those since he was a little boy. And this one was the easiest “secured” border he’d ever mastered.
But then, he’d observed the enemy innumerable times in the past year.
He knew the weak parts of the fence, the places to perch where he wouldn’t be seen.
He walked across the branches high above the fence, crossing from his territory to theirs without so much as a whiff of danger.
And then he sat in his regular tree to observe.
To wait on his prey.
The back side of the enemy fortress looked like thousand-year-old stone, with parapets and towers and a stone bridge in the middle. Like Aranea, Vespula had old buildings that mingled with new design, the octagonal open windows of the old fortress now secured with reinforced glass.
He knew it was eight p.m. without checking the sky or his watch—like clockwork, the guards changed shifts and the Vespulan war commander strolled out onto the bridge to check in with the night warden.
Not as large a prize as Pyre, but still substantial.
After all, she and Pyre had most likely planned the attack that began the war together. The attack that killed Izzi.
Still…he was a week away from sitting face-to-face with the prey he was truly after, and killing the war commander now might cause a delay in the peace talks. It seemed silly to squander his opportunity just to collect second best.
He sighed and changed direction in favor of a less controversial target, carefully stepping back into his territory and disappearing into the dark of the woods.
The morning had come far too quickly.
He could practically feel the judgmental stares as he exited his room into the open common area. Well, mainly judgment, with a few hints of mocking and a handful of disdain. They were valid emotions, considering the situation…but that fact didn’t make this any less humiliating.
He’d hunted long into the night after Theora had thrown him out, if only to burn off some of the rage and resentment he’d felt toward her.
All it had done was allow him to enter the barracks while everyone was already in bed and tire him out enough to fall asleep quickly.
Now he was agitated from too little sleep, and though the rage had simmered down to shame, the resentment remained.
How could she have done this to him? Boada had sworn to him that Theora understood what claiming meant, and yet she couldn’t even follow the simplest rule.
How hard was it to keep him with her for the duration of the marriage?
It was clear the ritual meant nothing to her.
To her, he was nothing but the queen’s bodyguard, to be ordered around at her whim.
He would’ve slept on the floor. On the bit of roofing outside the window, even. Anything was better than making him dishonorable before the Sovereign. No…the Sovereign was merciful, forgiving. His peers…not so much.
No one approached or spoke to him. It was an unofficial ritual, one no one spoke of but all performed diligently until the dishonorable act was made right.
Though it was perhaps more effective for the Warriors who were more social, more reliant on others.
Most Warriors functioned either in pairs or packs of three to five.
It depended on their strength and ability to take down prey on their own, and young Warriors with too much ego quickly learned what size pack was necessary for survival.
But Argos had been used to keeping mostly to himself for the past year, so the shunning itself didn’t bother him as much as the why.
He found his weapons in his designated area and sat down to look them over—a task he would’ve completed last night if he hadn’t been, well…
“Did you reject the queen’s claim, Argos?”
He steadied his nerves before he looked up and saw a lanky boy standing over him. Eighteen, so old enough to be among the Warriors, and yet he still hadn’t managed to dampen the childish eagerness that triggered Argos’s prey drive.
Argos rolled his eyes. It was always the boys. The girls understood that his size and skill meant something and were smart enough not to mess with him. That was the reason male Warriors’ survival rate was much lower than females’, he was sure of it.
“Where’s Reva?” he said, before turning back to his weapon.
“She’s not my keeper,” said the boy indignantly.
Argos crinkled his nose, the only visible effort as he held back the urge to tear out this boy’s throat.
It was hardly the kid’s fault that his voice made Argos want to commit violence, that he had to think of the sultry evenness of Theora’s voice to calm himself down.
It was only after he was sure he was in control of himself that Argos stood, giving the boy a warning growl.
And it worked immediately, the boy stumbling back, the smell of nervous sweat permeating the air.
“Cease, little one,” came a quiet command. The boy quickly looked at the woman who’d commanded him, immediate shame at his actions on his face.
Reva was the most senior of the Warriors, which wasn’t saying much, as she was only about fifteen years older than Argos.
But, as the oldest, she was unofficially second in command to Boada.
The only reason Boada got any days off to leave the barracks once in a while was because Reva was there to keep her fellow Warriors in check if the regular rituals failed.
She did nothing but tip her chin and the boy ran to her, accepting his chastisement without protest as the older Warrior grabbed the back of his neck and pushed him to walk ahead of her, away from the situation.
Not your keeper, huh?
Argos had been claimed young, too, before his intimidating growth spurt had made it unnecessary.
Sometimes it was the only way to survive as a young Warrior, to accept the merciful claim of someone stronger, someone who would keep you from being picked on by the other Warriors, from getting killed.
Someone more experienced, who could teach you how to be an honorable member of Warrior society.
Reva had been married for love at one time, death ending it swiftly, as it did for most Warriors.
Argos had never asked, but from her patterns it seemed she didn’t care to claim a lover ever again—as alpha, she was allowed to claim two or three Warriors at a time, and she always used that privilege honorably, focusing on the ones who needed her guidance the most.
Unfortunately, you couldn’t teach common sense.
When the boy had gotten far enough away, Reva looked at Argos. “You know better than to come back here.”
“No kidding,” Argos said flatly.
“Does Boada know?”
“Not if I can help it.”
Reva sighed with a disapproving shake of her head. “I could have told you that would happen. I really don’t know what you were doing, accepting a claim from a Docile. You can’t possibly be that desperate.”
“She’s the queen,” he said, as if titles meant anything to either of them. But it was the only excuse he could give that made any sense. Warriors didn’t marry Dociles—they were too weak and fragile to ever make viable partners.
But he also couldn’t tell her the truth. That Boada had commanded it. That the entire thing was a disrespectful farce that was meant to end as quickly as it began…That part of why he’d accepted was because Theora’s voice made him feel sane. At home. Whole.
Reva approached, and Argos knew it was only because she was about to say something she didn’t want anyone else to hear. Something he’d rather not hear.
“No matter what the rituals demand,” she said quietly, “I know from experience that the first few months are hard—”
“I’m fine, Reva,” he snapped. He didn’t dare growl at his alpha, but they could both tell he was on the edge.
Reva kept his gaze, unwavering, and Argos did the honorable thing and dropped his gaze.
“I’m fine,” he repeated, his voice more level.
She nodded, stepping back from him. “Then I’ll leave you to it.”