Chapter 6 #2
Leveya’s had been painted five years before, her eyes smiling despite her neutral lips.
Sunlight haloed her brown skin and dozens of braids.
Blissfully unaware that, only a few years later, she would be killed in a Vespulan ambush.
It didn’t seem precisely accurate, though—she looked too intelligent.
Argos had listened to the recordings of her official addresses, and the woman didn’t have an eloquent bone in her body.
Theora’s had been done a few days after her own coronation.
It was much more accurate, for though she was strikingly beautiful, clear hate radiated through those cold violet eyes—the artist hadn’t thought to soften her expression for the sake of making her look like a benevolent leader.
Argos loved it, honestly. Because he could relate.
“I like it” was all he said.
“I look like I’m ready to murder someone.”
Argos smirked. “That’s just your face.”
Theora let out a breath of a laugh, then frowned at the painting again. “I used to be happy, you know. And the moment I finally have my portrait painted by a legend, I look like I hate the world.”
Her melancholy expression and somber, almost heartbroken tone combined with that voice…
Argos felt an odd, sudden compulsion to protect her.
To comfort her as best he could. To destroy anything that might make her unhappy, including that stupid painting.
Instead, he said, “Leveya never had to rule through a war. All I see is the face of a strong, capable monarch.”
Theora’s jaw dropped, and he could sense her blush, catching the beginnings of a smile, before she turned away to hide it.
“She wasn’t that great, you know,” he added, and he tried not to laugh as she turned to him to glare, even through her lingering blush.
“Not that great at what?”
“Ruling. She didn’t care about Warriors at all—she never checked in on us, our budget was minuscule because we were ‘living in peaceful times,’ the quality of our food was awful. No one liked her.”
“ ‘No one’?” Theora scoffed. “You mean in the barracks.”
“I mean no one.”
“She was the talk of every party. The nobility adored her.”
“The public didn’t.”
Theora paused, her eyes sharp and glistening as if she were on the border of tears. “Everyone keeps bringing up her flaws. She wasn’t a perfect queen, I know. But she was my friend, and it’s cruel to talk that way about the dead.”
“Spoken like someone who didn’t have to suffer the consequences of those ‘flaws.’ ”
Theora gaped at him, her offense palpable. “I’m done with you for today,” she said, and turned on her heel to head back up the hall to where they’d come from.
“Why exactly do you think she was killed?” Argos growled, following her. “Because she ignored her responsibilities to her people and abroad. Vespula is tyrannical and has a habit of antagonizing other colonies, but they never dared mess with us. Not until she showed up, neglecting her duties.”
Theora was clearly deliberately ignoring him. He grabbed her wrist, tugging her back toward him. She stumbled, colliding with him, a look of utter shock on her face as she fought to catch her breath.
“Look, Warriors don’t mourn our dead,” Argos said, leaning closer.
“Not the way Dociles do, anyway. So, I’m sorry you lost your friend, Theora.
But you can still acknowledge that you’ve been cleaning up her mess for the past year.
You can admit that you’re rebuilding what she so thoughtlessly helped destroy…
It’s okay to admit you’re a good queen without making excuses for those who came before you. ”
“When you put it that way…I appreciate you saying that.”
For a moment, Argos wasn’t sure she was going to respond any more. Finally, she cleared her throat.
“That’s it for today,” she said, a bit out of sorts.
And she quickly turned and stormed back up the hall.
The next few days went by uneventfully. Theora no longer seemed to have the need to control his movements, dictate where he could or couldn’t go.
In fact, she sometimes ignored him completely as she went about her morning and evening routines.
And though they’d never discussed his hunting schedule, she understood that he needed exercise and didn’t ask questions when he was heading out the window as she was readying for bed.
The only time she really talked to him was when she was instructing him on Docile things that he apparently needed to know.
Argos had to remind himself that it was a good thing. Her generally calm pulse around him meant that she had gotten used to his presence. The lessons meant that they would be comfortable with each other when it came time for the peace talks.
The first evening they covered protocols for the actual negotiations.
The next, table manners and the order of cutlery use.
It seemed an unspoken understanding between them—they would both practice each other’s cultures for as long as they were working together.
And it seemed a fair enough trade to him.
“This is our last night before the talks,” she said, standing in front of where he sat on the sofa. “And I think we should know a few things about each other before we get to Lasius and have to…perform.”
Argos raised his brows slightly. “Perform?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I know what a married couple looks like,” he said, sliding down to a more relaxed position. “ ‘Performing’ won’t be an issue.”
“Yes, but you’ve never been among these types of people. You have to know what to expect, and what they’ll expect of us.”
He nodded, for once without an air of annoyance or defiance. “Okay.”
Theora sat on the edge of the bed to face him. “Since we’re not letting Venita in on the plan until the day of, I think we should have some responses prepared if she asks what we love about each other.”
“Okay…” Argos said, waiting for the point.
Theora huffed when he didn’t say any more. “For example, my answer will be: You’re funny, disciplined, and we make good conversation.”
Argos raised a brow. “ ‘We make good conversation’?”
“Our answers don’t have to be deep, or even true. Just be ready in case she asks.”
“Okay.”
“So, what are your answers?”
He tilted his head as if thinking about it. “You’re pushy, your voice isn’t that annoying, and…we make good conversation.”
She rolled her eyes. “Take this seriously, Argos. We can’t give any impression that you’re only there to protect me.”
“Fair—I’ll think of better answers. What else should we know?”
“Which one of us is pushy?” she asked, raising her brows. “Basic things about each other. What’s your favorite color?”
“Blood,” he said, and it was obvious Theora was having trouble deciding whether that was sarcasm.
“Sovereign,” she huffed, shaking her head. “Do you have to make everything difficult? We’re going to say red, although I wish you’d come up with something else. All it does is make me think of war.”
“Fine. White.”
“That’s not a color.”
Argos’s brows lowered, confused. “Yes, it is.”
“I’ve never in my life heard anyone say they like the color white,” Theora said, her patience clearly thinning. “Pick a real color, Argos.”
Argos stared at her, for a moment trying to decide whether or not she was of sound mind. “Black.”
“Dread Sovereign—” She took a calming breath. “No.”
He sensed Theora’s pulse increase as he looked at her, realizing too late that perhaps his gaze was too steady and she thought she was being hunted. He…sort of loved making her blush like that. Still, he looked away. “Okay, what’s your favorite?”
“Gold and teal.”
“Favorite color: gold and teal,” he murmured, counting them up on his fingers.
Theora scowled and shoved his hand down, too late to stop him from proving his point. “Focus.”
“Just want to make sure I remember both of your favorite color.”
“Stop.”
“This is so tedious,” he said, the beginnings of a growl in his voice. “We haven’t known each other long, and they’ll obviously be aware of that. I think it’s more realistic to base our relationship on passion than anything else.”
Theora felt herself blush violently. “What, exactly, is your definition of ‘passion’ concerning our situation?”
“What I mean is that when people are madly in love, logic goes by the wayside. So we don’t actually need to know anything about each other.
” He folded his arms and gave a bitter shrug.
“Besides, Dociles are concerned by such strange things. Colors and things they like about each other. Why would anyone want to sit around talking about that?”
“Because that’s what friends do—get to know each other intimately.” Theora brought her legs up on the bed, lying on her side. “What? Warriors don’t make friends?”