Chapter 16
Argos
He didn’t understand why they had to keep this particular appointment. Lunch with Theora’s meddling advisor and unexpected ex-boyfriend was the absolute last activity Argos wanted on his schedule. But…at least the sign was entertaining.
“ ‘The Rustic Amphibian’?” Argos read it with equal confusion and amusement. “Don’t tell me we have to catch our own frogs for lunch.”
“Behave yourself,” Theora hissed. “This is an incredibly high-end restaurant, and I won’t have you embarrassing me.”
“Oh yeah, definitely,” he said, deadpan. “With a name like that? No, I see it now.”
He didn’t counter her when she rolled her eyes, didn’t fight it when she grabbed the front of his shirt to drag him inside the restaurant.
He’d never admit to it, but he did have to swallow his words just a bit.
Because there was absolutely nothing rustic about this place—the gold-embellished patterns, intimate half-moon booths, and elegant live music were all modeled on Aranean design.
He swiped one of the menus from the host desk, glancing over it as they were led up a spiral staircase.
A three-hour experience—who needed more than twenty minutes to eat?
And…small plates. Each a chapter of a themed story.
He was going to have to get thirty of those just to keep from starving.
Once upstairs, he stashed the menu on a nearby windowsill and took Theora’s hand, now that there was room to walk beside her.
The hall was carpeted, unlike the dining room below, and it swallowed the sound of their footsteps.
Here there was no longer the bustling of servers and conversations of other diners.
It was relieving, if he was honest, to have a bit of silence before the storm he knew was about to come.
Venita hadn’t had time to ask all her questions, but now they had all the time in the world.
Or the next grueling three hours of lunch, at least.
He smelled Apollo and Venita around the corner, but also something else that was more concerning. The very distinct scent of a Vespulan. He tried not to physically react, but he prepared to turn the corner first, to protect Theora if need be.
When they turned the corner, Apollo was there waiting in the hall, standing in front of a pair of double doors.
That was annoying, but the more immediate problem was it didn’t make sense.
Because the Vespulan scent was coming from him.
Wafting from him, as if he’d spent some time in a contained space with someone.
And Argos could swear he hadn’t smelled like that when he met them at their suite.
“Your Grace,” Apollo greeted Theora warmly, giving her a small bow. And then he looked at the servant with a nod. “Thank you, Evert, I’ll take it from here.”
The man bowed and left them in the hall.
And immediately Theora lost all her senses and walked into Apollo’s embrace.
Argos rolled his eyes. This damned woman.
Still, he couldn’t very well pull them apart, even if they did linger a second too long. He couldn’t make it look like they didn’t get along in public, and dragging her away from her friend wouldn’t help. He would just have to get creative during lunch.
He had three hours to turn this thing around in his favor.
Theora disengaged, dabbing at her eyes carefully, before turning to Argos. “My love,” she said, her voice like music despite how unfamiliar the term of endearment seemed on her tongue, “you remember my best friend, Apollo.”
“That’s an interesting scent you’re wearing,” Argos said instead of bothering with pleasantries. “Milk and honey?”
Apollo paused. “Yes, I like to keep it simple, so it doesn’t compete with the scents around me.”
“Hm.” Argos didn’t say any more, his Aranean stoicism intact.
But the pause that followed, however short, felt full. Tense.
Apollo was definitely hiding something.
“Well,” said Apollo with a welcoming smile, “shall we?”
He led them into a small private room, where there was not only a table made of rich wood, set for four, but also a couch in the corner, with a small coffee table laid out and ready if they should want dessert.
Behind the couch were false bay windows projecting a beautiful sunny afternoon, complete with flowers and a lake in the distance, but without the warmth and fresh air of the outdoors.
How did people ever vacation here, when everything was so clearly fake?
But there were no other suspicious scents, so Argos followed Theora to their side of the table, which was against the wall, with a wooden bench lined with cushions. They would be sitting beside each other, at least.
“Drink this slowly,” Theora whispered to him, picking up the small glass of opaque liquid before her. “And swish it around a bit in your mouth before you swallow. It’s a palate cleanser.”
Argos didn’t question why his palate had to be cleansed before he’d actually eaten anything, just silently lifted his glass and did as he was told.
“Palate cleanser” sounded more intimidating than what this actually was—a concoction of ginger and citrus.
If this was an indication of the rest of the meal, perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad.
“Lunch is my treat,” said Apollo, resuming his seat. “So, please, order as many drinks as you’d like.”
“Nonsense,” said Theora, nearly offended.
“I insist. In celebration of peaceful times.”
Theora nodded. Grinned. “Thank you, Apollo. But, as far as I’m concerned, peaceful times will begin when the treaty is notarized by the judge and we’re all safe and sound back home.”
“We’re perfectly safe here, Your Grace,” Venita said. “With all of their fine telepaths, nothing happens in this colony without all of their security knowing it. Besides, the Vespulans don’t even have access to this market.”
“Let’s keep the conversation light for lunch, shall we?” Apollo said, casually holding his wineglass as a server filled it.
The first course was served. A small bowl—though bowl was generous, it was more like a shot glass—of some sort of soup, topped with seeds. It was accompanied by a tiny spoon. Like something fit for a baby.
Argos looked at Theora, who immediately squeezed his hand—a warning to behave.
Apollo tipped his head at Theora with the slightest grin. “I took the liberty of ordering wine for the table. Do you recognize that bottle?”
I need to redirect this, Argos thought with a sigh as Theora smiled at her so-called-friend from across the table, her eyes brighter than he’d ever seen them.
“How could I ever forget the wine from my last birthday we spent together?” Theora said, holding up her own glass. “That time in the mountains. It had snowed, and it was so cold outside I could barely drink anything but hot chocolate spiked with this wine.”
“You do hate the cold,” said Argos—a fact he could deduce from the thickness of the duvet on her bed, even in this warm weather.
He stroked Theora’s chin once, a gesture that he could feel immediately sent heat through her.
Face caresses hadn’t been on the designated physical contact list. He kept breaking the rules.
But desperate measures were clearly called for.
“Now, how would you even know something like that about her?” Venita asked, her tone not betraying what her words implied. “You never knew her in cold weather—”
“My dear Theora,” said Apollo, good-naturedly, “I have to say, I wish you’d told me you were getting married. I would’ve found a way to attend the wedding.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Venita with a disapproving scoff—most likely at the mere thought of attending any sort of event including a Warrior. “You were safer where you were. Anyway,” she added, slightly annoyed, “it was last week.”
“Last week?” Apollo raised a brow at his sister. “The war was over last week. It would’ve been perfectly safe.”
“No, dear brother, I mean the two of them met last week.”
“Venita,” Theora warned, too late.
Apollo nodded, not quite as bothered as Argos was sure Venita had hoped. “Then it’s a political marriage. That isn’t so strange for a queen.”
His words, however, did bother Argos. Queens didn’t marry Warriors, for convenience or otherwise.
Apollo must have known that, but was keeping his cards close to his chest, taking the wiser route by remaining in his queen’s good graces.
And there was something about that method that felt far more dangerous—not to mention insulting—than Venita’s accusations.
Because Theora trusted him, and he was making sure she continued to do so. In that trust, she was bound to drop her guard, spill secrets. And the last person who needed to know any of their secrets was a man who smelled like a spy for the Vespulans.
He had to think of something to fix this.
“I’d say it’s controversial, to some,” said Argos with a shrug. “Nontraditional. I wouldn’t call it political.” He looked at Theora, who seemed to be gathering his meaning as he spoke, remembering where she was. “Love can’t be political, I don’t think.”
Either Theora was getting better at this pretense or he’d flustered her again—he could practically feel the warmth of her blush from where he sat.
“There now,” said Apollo, nodding his finger at Argos, “that sounds like a debate I can get behind: Can love be political? Is it political, regardless of intention? Let’s discuss.”
“Marriage,” said Venita, “is always political for people in our station. It’s a union that benefits the greater good, rather than both parties.
It’s been that way for hundreds of years, and will continue to be that way, because it’s the only method that benefits the colony.
Love has nothing to do with a strong alliance. ”
Apollo raised a brow at Argos. “Have you met my sister, the biggest cynic in Aranea?”
“It’s called being a realist, dear brother.”
“A realist would’ve stopped at the third child instead of the seventh.” Apollo laughed, managing to finally pull a grin out of Venita. “Are you trying to fully staff a new business I don’t know about?”
Despite his jab, he helped Venita readjust the cushion at her low back, because of course he did. This guy was good. It was no wonder Theora seemed to worship him. If Argos hadn’t smelled the traitor all over him, he might’ve believed he was worth getting to know.
But for the moment, he was just glad Apollo had shut Venita up for him so he could seamlessly change the subject.
“You look uncomfortable, my love,” he said to Theora, patting his leg as casually as he could, despite the urge to laugh at the absurdity of the situation.
The look in her eye said she clearly wanted to strangle him.
“Thank you, darling. You’re always so attentive.
” She placed her hand on his shoulder to balance herself as she stepped around his leg and sat on his thigh.
She even leaned close, her breath brushing his skin as if she would kiss his ear.
Instead she whispered, “I’m going to kill you for this. ”
Argos didn’t bother to hold in his chuckle—it would make them look all the more convincing. He grabbed Theora by the hip, feeling her blood pump hot as he pulled her closer. Despite her threat, she leaned against him more comfortably than she ever had, resting her hand against his chest.
“Good girl,” he purred in her ear, feeling her shiver at his praise. “You’re learning.”
“Don’t annoy me, Argos. This is not an invitation to go overboard.”
“I think we’re already there…”
He could practically feel fire and brimstone from Venita’s direction.
“Argos,” Apollo cut in, and Argos wasn’t sure if he was grateful or about to be annoyed, “tell us. What drew you to Theora in the first place?”
Argos had completely forgotten to get around to thinking of something they had in common.
Although, he really didn’t have to think too hard now that he knew her better.
“It was the care she showed for her people. All her people.” He found Theora looking at him, a bit of shock in her eyes mixed with thankfulness and…
admiration. He trailed his fingers over the edge of her ear, grinning as he felt her lean into his touch. “Warriors included.”
A shudder of pleasure ran through his spine as Theora began playing with his hair. Running her manicured nails against his scalp, tugging gently at the strands.
Fuck. Don’t get hard with her on your lap. This was a mission, not an excuse for unsolicited harassment. Still, she was far better at this than she’d led him to believe—leaning against him, one hand against his chest, the other playing in his hair.
It felt so good he almost forgot he was supposed to be paying attention to Apollo, who had rung the bell to resume service.
“Forgiveness, Your Grace,” said Venita, “but I must speak my mind—”
“Cease,” Theora whispered, for her husband’s ears only, pressing her hand against his chest.
Argos hadn’t even moved yet, the small ripple near his temple the only alert that his magic was acting on its own.
The violent urge within him muted. Settled.
He took a breath and looked at Theora, whose heart was pounding so hard he thought she might be panicked.
But in her eyes was nothing but shock and relief.
And all the while, Venita continued her tirade, completely unaware of what had just transpired.
“You’re going to love the next course,” Apollo interrupted his sister, taking hold of her hand.
Argos settled back on the bench, and his wife huddled closer to him, as if drained from the very experience. There was no way to tell her how proud he was of her except to rub her back.
She had commanded his magic like a true handler.