Chapter 5 #2
Theora had to admit there was something about the whole exchange that…excited her.
This was why Boada had recommended Argos to protect her, even if he was a pain in the ass to deal with.
Theora caught her breath, trying not to make it seem obvious. Trying not to seem vulnerable. She looked over to where Boada was observing. The handler nodded her approval and, as if Theora weren’t already nervous enough, walked back toward her office.
Argos held a bit of silk—he’d obviously been weaving. The weave was tight. Even. He was well in control of his magic. He halted in front of her, looking her over. “So?”
Theora had been more than ready to do what she needed to, but that greeting annoyed her to no end. “What do you mean, ‘so’?”
“What do you want, Theora?”
Theora bit her tongue against a retort. Arguing in the middle of a horde of Warriors was the last thing she wanted to engage in. But she also didn’t want to have to walk through them all over again…especially empty-handed. “Perhaps we could go out in the hall to talk.”
“What about?”
She huffed. “Don’t make this difficult.”
“You mean the way you did last night when you threw me out?”
“Dread Sovereign—” Theora grabbed the front of his shirt as if to drag him out of the barracks, at the last second realizing that there was no way she could ever move this giant hulk of a man.
But, to her surprise and eternal gratitude, Argos walked in the direction she led him.
The other Warriors didn’t bother them again—perhaps because she was finally behaving like one of them.
Still, she was relieved to be away from prying eyes, leading her husband halfway down the dusty, dim hall before turning back to him.
He was still focused on his weaving project. Perhaps he had been the entire time they were walking. Unbothered. It would’ve annoyed her, if she weren’t suddenly enraptured by the movements of his hands.
Aranean magic didn’t look like much of anything but manual labor—it emitted no spark, no rush of wind, nothing to prove it was any sort of charm.
The only proof of magic was that the silk continued to expand without the use of needles or a loom.
His strong fingers alone tugged at the threads, looping them expertly.
“So?” he asked again.
That response still annoyed her. And yet, she suddenly felt vulnerable, ashamed, for what she knew she had to do. But, instead of addressing it, she demanded, “Did you follow me to work today?”
“Did I follow you? No. Your scent…?” He shrugged and left it at that.
Theora didn’t share his amusement. “Well, next time you stalk me, make sure your giant body isn’t blocking the light in the middle of parliament.”
“I didn’t realize my shadow was powerful enough to throw off the royal concentration. Won’t happen again.”
She thought about throwing her shoe at him. “You’d better thank the Sovereign I was the only one who noticed. No one is supposed to know you exist, remember? At least not in connection to me.”
“Well, mercy me,” he said, deadpan. “Thank the Sovereign you were the only one who saw me.”
Theora scowled. “Your sarcasm is not appreciated.”
Argos shrugged again, a bit of frustration in his voice. “Did you have something important to say or can I go?”
Theora swallowed. Cleared her throat. “I’d like for you to come back.”
“Why should I?”
She held back the urge the scream. He was trying to rile her, clearly, and she’d give him no satisfaction. “Boada seemed to think you were more reasonable than this. You are my husband, and I’d like for you to return to my side, where you belong.”
She tried to offer their salute, but Argos easily moved her hand out of the way with nothing but his index finger. It was a flat-out rejection, but also a small show of dominance that worried her. Perhaps…was he truly not going to accept her apology?
“I need your word,” he said, “that as long as I’m with you under Warrior ritual, what’s yours is mine. That includes the bedroom—which you are not to throw me out of again. Is that understood?”
Theora took a few seconds, blinking as if warding off a dream. “Excuse me?”
“You heard what I said.”
Theora felt her chest growing hot with anger. “You listen to me, you petty, insufferable man. I claimed you. You are Honor bound to obey me.”
“Honor works both ways, and I could simply not go with you next week and save you the trouble of having to disrespect our marriage.” He shrugged yet again, and his casual disregard for her made her wish she’d choked him with that rope instead of using it to claim him.
“Anyway, how would a dishonorable marriage benefit me? You need me, not the other way around.”
Theora’s face was so hot she could almost feel the back of her neck sweating. But she could not deny his words—she did need him. There was no way in hell she was going to face the enemy without him. She really had no choice but to do things his way.
“You’re far more clever than I’ve given you credit for,” she muttered.
“You clearly haven’t met enough Warriors.”
Her pulse only elevated further. “Fine,” she said, her voice tight. “Let’s negotiate.”
Argos put his weaving project in his pocket before folding his arms across his chest. “I just want you to respect the ritual.”
“You and I both know this is not a true union. We’re under no contract, no obligation, to stay together.”
“You’re confusing contract and covenant. Just because you aren’t emotionally invested doesn’t make it any less real. It is a true union.”
“Which will be dissolved in two weeks’ time. Two weeks in which I have no intention of behaving like a Warrior’s wife, despite your ritual. For that reason, I’m willing to offer you something in exchange, of equal value. Name your terms.”
“You still don’t get it.” A small rumble in his chest emphasized his words. “I want you to respect the ritual,” he said, speaking slower, as if that would help her understand.
“There must be something else you want. You’re mortal, aren’t you?” she asked, though she gave him a dubious look, as if she wasn’t quite sure. “Not everything in your life can be based on rituals.”
He paused. “Not everything.”
“Well, then?” She paused, her eyes lighting a bit. “What about a watch?”
He scoffed and looked at the hard ground for a long moment. “Not unless you plan on keeping me.”
Theora grimaced. “It’s not a trophy, it’s a bribe. A transaction.”
“As much as I wouldn’t mind a new watch, I’m going to have to maintain my dignity this time around.”
Theora took a deep breath, stretching her back as if this whole affair was causing tension. “But I claimed you. Surely that counts for something.”
“It does…within the confines of the ritual.”
Theora scowled for a long moment, glaring up at him. He was right, but she would rather choke than admit it.
“Where will you sleep?” she asked, a slight edge in her voice.
Argos paused. “The floor is fine,” he said, and she was just grateful his words weren’t petty, weren’t ornamented by argument or sarcasm.
“Fine,” Theora snapped, despite his gracious reply, stepping closer as if that would amplify her glare, intimidate him somehow.
“Fine,” he agreed, with far less venom but just enough satisfaction to annoy her.
“And by the way,” she added, only because she couldn’t stand the idea of him having the last word, “trophies are out of the question. I’ll allow you to hunt, but don’t go bringing me anything.”
“Trust me, that won’t be a problem.”
Despite her feelings on the topic, it did hurt that he could reject her so immediately. “Well, good.”
“Okay then.”
“Fine.”
She lingered for a moment, glaring up at him, as if waiting to see if he’d speak again, defy her.
But the warmth of his presence was a bit of a distraction from her pettiness.
His face was close over hers, and she found herself glancing at his lips, craving to taste them.
It was only then that she truly realized how close she’d gotten to him.
And with that, she turned away from him quickly, accidently brushing against his warm clothing, rushing a few steps to put space between herself and irrational temptation.