Chapter 11 #3
Twice? Theora shuddered to think that there was a time she hadn’t been aware of.
“Yes,” she said with a grimace of a smile, if only to conceal that the fact of it made her insides quake. “You should work on that.”
Argos’s chest began to vibrate. “You can’t just hope I’ll be able to stop my magic every time you fail to handle yours.”
“Well, excuse me for having never used magic,” she snapped back.
Argos paused, his brows lowering slightly, as if the woman standing before him had just gone mad.
“Forget it,” Theora said quickly, before he could ask the question—the question she knew was at the tip of his tongue, the one everyone had asked while she was growing up and constantly failing her charm exams.
His expression asked it for him. What do you mean you’ve never used magic?
Because every woman in Aranea had magic…everyone but their queen.
She rubbed her forehead, closing her eyes briefly. “I’m going to get some rest before we arrive. I suggest you do the same.”
And she stormed out of the dining car without looking back.
By the time the train pulled into the station, Theora had, for the most part, convinced herself she was ready. For the peace talks? Perhaps. If she went through the motions without thinking about it too hard. To be seen by the public? Absolutely.
Her gown was black and translucent, with thousands upon thousands of elaborately arrayed beads keeping it from revealing too much.
The beading was reminiscent of Aranean architecture—repetitive, symmetrical patterns, like an ornate spiderweb.
Her cape matched her dress, and though she wasn’t allowed a crown or tiara due to potentially sharp ends, that didn’t stop her from wearing a gold circlet to represent her status.
If she was going to have to walk through this hell, at least she could maintain her comfort zone in every way she could possibly control.
“Welcome to Lasius, Queen Theora,” said a guard as soon as Theora stepped down from the train. Others immediately went to see about her party’s luggage. “I trust you had a restful journey.”
Theora fought back a heavy sigh—not that she was ever in the mood for small talk, but not now especially. “Tolerable.”
“Only tolerable, Your Grace?” said a gentle tenor. “Well, that’s simply unacceptable.”
Theora wanted to simultaneously scream in excitement and swallow her tongue. She spun around and found herself a mere five feet from the first and last person she wanted to see on this trip.
“Apollo,” she greeted, unable to shove back the genuine warmth in her voice.
If Apollo had been born in a colony where succession was traced through lineage rather than through individuals blessed by the Sovereign, he would’ve been called a prince.
But he carried himself in that fashion, regardless—he was tall and dark-skinned, slender and elegant, his storm-gray twists a little longer than the last time she’d seen him in person.
He was unique, as he also possessed the violet eyes that might have marked him as a ruler, if kings had still existed in Aranea’s modern monarchy.
He looked so handsome standing there, his smile warming her to her core. Theora’s first instinct was to leap into his arms—the beloved friend she hadn’t seen in a year, whose scent reminded her of peace and comfort and affection…when Leveya was alive and their lives were simpler.
But she quickly remembered where she was, whom she was with. She had not warned Apollo that she was currently married to another man—there hadn’t been a need, or so she’d thought. She hadn’t expected to see him until after this was all over, after the marriage to Argos was already annulled.
He was never supposed to be here.
“You look well, angel,” said Apollo, pulling her from her panic. “I take it you slept well after our last phone call.”
She prepared herself to receive the traditional Aranean friendly greeting of Apollo touching his forehead, then touching hers.
He brushed his fingers along her hair as he took his hand back—she must have had a mislaid piece somewhere.
He’d always been good about fixing her outfits if anything was off, and she appreciated the gesture.
“You didn’t mention you’d be here on our call…” The urge to hug him after all this time apart was hard to tamp down, though being in public helped. Still, her arms ached to hold him. To cry with relief in his arms.
But she couldn’t. Not with her husband standing beside her.
“I thought a little surprise might ease your stress a little,” he said, then looked to a servant, who stepped forward…with three dozen white roses. “They’re from my garden…I hope you’ll accept.”
Theora’s stomach dropped. Flawless white roses, not to mention three dozen of them? He’d never done anything like this before, and after Venita’s talk about proposing to him…Did he have feelings for her?
No. Apollo was her best friend. He’d agreed to the eventual marriage as she had, knowing it would be best for the colony.
But he didn’t love her, not in that way…
at least, he had never mentioned any feelings of the sort to her.
So why had he traveled all the way from Ampulex, when he knew she had peace talks to deal with, just to… woo her?
Sovereign. This was the last thing she needed.
She tried to look at Venita, to check for signs that she might have had something to do with this premature reunion—this near marriage proposal—but the advisor was too busy greeting her brother, her eyes bright and dancing despite their formal public Aranean greeting.
An endearing exchange, while Theora inwardly panicked.
She ventured a look up at Argos, who was quietly assessing the situation from his spot beside her. She told herself he was still because he was waiting for her to move, not because he suddenly saw something worth killing. Don’t do anything, her eyes begged. Not here.
As if sensing her gaze, he silently hung his arm across her shoulders.
She felt her muscles tighten with a pent-up urge to touch him in return, her body moving close to his as if by some spell.
Just for that irrational, involuntary reaction, she wanted to shove him off.
She hated how much she enjoyed his touch.
And Argos touching her gave her no other choice but to address the very thing she’d wanted to avoid.
“Apollo,” she said quickly, “this is my husband, Argos.”
Apollo paused to look at the giant man before him, but didn’t seem particularly rattled—from a combination of his proper Aranean stoicism and an ability to stay cool under pressure that Theora had always admired. “Well, welcome to the party, Argos.”
His reaction was a relief—it was almost as if he hadn’t heard her say the word husband, as if those roses hadn’t been a romantic gesture at all. As if everything was as it should be. But then Argos held her closer, kissing the top of her head, and she had to stop herself from reacting.
“If you’ll follow me, Your Grace,” said the guard, just in time to interrupt anything else unexpected—or, worse, unfortunate—from happening.
“I’ll see you later?” said Apollo with a small bow.
“Yes, of course,” she said as he stepped aside for her to pass. “We have so much to catch up on.”
She tried to hurry away, while Argos kept their pace casual—a good thing for their image, a horrid thing for her nerves.
“Too much,” she muttered, when they’d gotten far enough out of earshot. “We’re in public.”
“We clearly need all the help we can get.” He pressed her closer. “Should I be worried about Mr. Portable Flower Garden?”
“We’re just friends.”
“Do you make doe eyes at all your friends?”
“Are you jealous?” Theora countered, breaking away from his grasp to pass through a door the guard held open for her.