Chapter 11
Theora
Theora stood in the hall, rubbing her neck where his hand had been. His large, capable hand—
She shook her head, trying to steady her breath. If anyone could’ve heard the undignified thoughts that had gone through her mind…What was this man doing to her? She was a queen, for Sovereign’s sake. And he was a Warrior, with no rank, no title, and no decorum.
And wide shoulders, and sexy lips, and—
“Shut up, Theora,” she muttered to herself.
She took a breath, turned on her heel, and strode away.
The carpet beneath her square heels was lush, swallowing the sound of her footfalls.
A narrow hall ran past their cabin so passengers and staff could travel between train cars without having to go through their room—but of course, she didn’t trust anyone and had requested there be no attendants on her side of the train.
The remainder of the car opened into a wider hall with gloriously large windows on both sides.
Beneath each window was a long silk-cushioned bench with rounded arm rests.
Theora wanted so badly to sit on one of those benches and cry.
But that was ridiculous. She was a queen, and above all she had to remain calm.
She had technically—foolishly—encouraged this dynamic of petty revenge.
If she had just done what Boada had said from the beginning and treated him less like a servant in her employ, perhaps they wouldn’t have this issue. They would be equals.
Theora scowled at this idea and shoved open the door to the next car.
The dining car was dimly lit, with intimate round tables encircled by dark green cushioned couches.
The dark wood bar ran the length of the wall, a mirror behind the shelves of bottles.
Brass detailing embellished each piece of furniture.
Lovely. And yet, a tinge of dread slipped through Theora’s veins at the empty room.
It wasn’t purely the emptiness—or perhaps it was, and Theora couldn’t stand the thought of being alone for a moment until this whole ordeal was over.
But there was something about a room that should be occupied, filled with bustling diners, bartenders mixing drinks, laughter, conversation…
It was unnerving in all its silence. Ghostly.
“I can’t believe this petty Warrior is trying to regulate how I spend my time,” she said aloud to fill the silence, to shove the dread from her mind.
“And he’s timing me,” she continued, pacing. “The audacity is astounding.”
She had expected to work with someone who respected the authority of royalty—respected that her word was law, and that he was simply there to go along for the ride.
But both of them were too strong-willed, and adjustments needed to be made if this plan was going to succeed.
Not only did they need to stop bickering, but she needed to get used to touching him and…
Sovereign. Being near him was overwhelming enough, but his touch?
She was sure to make a fool of herself before the week was out, with the way his hands against her made her feel.
Theora huffed, walking over to the window, even if all she could see was her reflection, due to the darkness of early morning. No river below, no forest beyond. Just her very tired, borderline-teary visage.
“He’s not even good-looking enough to warrant this much effort,” she muttered, as if that were a rational thing to think at a time like this.
He had no right to order her around the way he did. At the same time, he was the one thing standing between her and potential death. Was this truly how Warrior marriages worked, or was he…blackmailing her?
What made it all worse was that Venita was clearly and justifiably opposed to it.
Theora wasn’t sure how she could ever keep up the charade without the support of her advisor.
Especially since…there had been a time when she saw Venita as practically an older sister.
When she would tell her everything. But Venita was far too conservative now, far too much of a rule follower to ever have gotten on board with this plan, had she known.
Theora took up a cloth napkin from a nearby table and pressed it to her eyes, trying to stop the tears before they could affect her—there was nothing so unbecoming as a sniveling queen.
Instead, she mixed herself a gin and tonic.
Only when she was nearly finished with it did she realize that she probably shouldn’t have drunk it so quickly, and on an empty stomach.
But she had forgotten all about crying, and that was the point.
Venita would get over it, especially since the marriage wasn’t lasting beyond the week.
And blackmail was perhaps a drastic summation—Argos was challenging her, that was all…
which, in a way, felt worse. In politics, blackmail was a semi-normal occurrence.
But challenging her dominance in this relationship was just pure insubordination.
It was as if he didn’t remember who she was.
Well, then she would just have to make sure to remind him who was boss.
She poured herself a sparkling water and sat at one of the small tables by the window. She would speak his language, play his little game. Challenge him right back.
Make him wait.
But the longer she sat there, sipping on her fancy water, the more impatient she felt. How long had it been, exactly? Enough time to have proved her point?
She looked out the window but only saw her reflection against the still-dark morning.
And suddenly, with nothing to distract her, all she could think about was her bodyguard’s hands.
It was better than the alternative—what she had to face in the next few hours.
And anyway, it wasn’t as if he were here to judge her—though, part of her was already judging herself.
Because…what would he do to her when she arrived back to their suite, late?
How would he punish her with those big, strong—
She cleared her throat, squirming in her seat. She found herself gripping the fabric at her pelvis, and she quickly released it.
This is insane, Theora.
But…how would he punish her? It wasn’t as if he was allowed to hurt her, not truly, anyway. She attempted to look out the window again, only coming face-to-face with her own blush. No. Of course not. He was bluffing, that was all. He wouldn’t really…
He wouldn’t really…
Theora’s hand was down in the warmth of her underwear before she could think.
She let out the smallest pleasured sigh at the discovery that she was wet, her finger easily slipping along her clit.
She opened her legs a bit, leaned back in her chair to gain a better angle.
She imagined Argos’s hand against her, his strong fingers pressing against the delicate skin of her—
The shift of a train door jolted her back to reality, and she yanked her hand from her skirts, snatching up a napkin from the table to wipe it off.
Her heart was thundering as the door of the dining car eased open.
She continued to wipe her fingers, as if there were food on them, instead of something she’d rather not reveal.
Trying to keep her expression indifferent despite her startled nerves…
despite her chest heaving with unfulfilled desire.
She looked up at the giant form standing in the doorway to the dining car, his arm resting on the top of the too-small doorframe. He watched silently as she crossed her legs, and then his gaze shifted over her slowly until their eyes met. Theora forced her breath to steady.
“There she is,” he murmured, and Theora felt her thighs tighten against each other, far too aware of her damp panties.
Remember how he killed the enemy war commander and nearly ruined peace negotiations for you? Think of that instead.
She broke their gaze quickly, lifting her glass. “Would you like something to drink?”
“You’re two minutes late” was all he said.
Theora felt a vein in her temple thrum with her agitated pulse, but she kept her composure. “I was thirsty.”
Argos let out a breath of a laugh. “You were thirsty, alright.”
“And anyway,” she continued quickly, “we have plenty of time before we—”
“Do you think you can escape punishment, Theora, just because you’re a queen?”
His voice was calm. Not threatening, but gently implying something not so gentle. His hands were loose and relaxed, but she knew how strong they were, and it was disturbing how much she suddenly wanted them to take hold of her.
He was getting under her skin on purpose. Challenging her again.
Terrifying her.
…Exciting her.
She shook every emotion from her head and stood, if only to keep herself from squirming. She needed to get some rest. Refocus. Change her damn panties.
“And how do you plan on punishing me? I suppose you believe my walking into the talks with bruises will convince everyone that we’re madly in love?” She left her glass on the table and walked up to him, but he wouldn’t remove himself from the doorway. “Let me pass. I’m tired.”
Argos stood silent for a moment, then stepped fully inside the dining car, shutting the door quietly behind him.
“Gin before breakfast?” he asked, but she couldn’t gauge his tone. Not…concerned?
“Oh, don’t be a prude,” she said, waving him off. She would never get used to his unusually powerful sense of smell—but then, alcohol wasn’t really a hard scent to miss, even with an average nose. “It was mostly tonic.”
“So you’re sober?”
“Unfortunately.”
She tried to walk around him, but he stopped her with his arm, her heart faltering with her body. She took hold of his arm but didn’t push him away. His skin was warm…welcoming, despite his threat.
“If you were intoxicated, you’d be free to go.” His voice no longer resembled anything close to concern. “How long this takes is up to you.”