Chapter 14
Argos
Argos was relieved when Venita—even if it was Venita, the headache—led them through the door from which they’d entered and out into the hall to a small tram that was waiting for them.
He put his arm around Theora’s shoulders, feeling her nerves despite her stoic exterior.
His nerves needed a bit of settling as well, and the sooner they were somewhere private, the better.
He had to shake off the emotions from that room. Regroup.
He’d never realized that peace negotiations could be just as tense as war.
If the judge hadn’t ended the session when she did, he was certain he would’ve found a reason to kill Pyre.
Disappointing, but he had the rest of the week.
It was better to observe his prey for a bit, anyway, before diving directly into a kill.
Still, after that long train ride and no opportunity to exercise all morning, he was beginning to get bored.
The very idea that this place was considered something of a resort that tourists enjoyed visiting was…baffling. What was here for them to do? All he saw were endless pleasantly lit tunnels.
Tunnels that hid secrets.
Argos had a way of shifting his eyes subtly without moving his head, of observing while portraying little interest, and he had been studying the halls since they arrived—after all, he needed to know how to get Theora to safety if need be.
But it was the scents that mattered most. With every door they passed, visible or not, he could smell whether it led to a room, a longer passage, or a storage closet—and whether it was connected to the outside.
Sorting the scents into what was important to remember and what wasn’t was the challenging part.
Especially since he didn’t know what he was looking for.
Not yet, anyway.
Finally, the tram dropped them off at the entrance to their private wing, where Apollo—the good-natured complication—was waiting.
He unlocked the door and allowed them to enter.
It was like walking into a small shopping square.
Brilliantly realistic projections created a blue sky on the vaulted ceiling.
There were trees, benches, and even a bike rack scattered throughout.
A brick convenience store, a small library, a gym, an ice cream shop, lampposts.
An occasional soft breeze, the sounds of birds, of traffic…
Dark sentinels, please let those have an off switch, Argos thought.
The only thing stopping this manufactured town from seeming real was the lack of sunlight.
“Welcome to your home for the week,” Apollo said with enough pride in his tone that one would think he’d built the place with his own hands.
“It looks just like uptown,” Venita said, nodding in approval.
“Forty years ago,” Theora muttered, crinkling her nose a bit, as if the distasteful atmosphere had a stench. She took Argos’s hand to lead him to their suite, and he adjusted the grip to make their contact look natural—he was much better at it than she was.
“Why does Apollo have the keys to our wing?” Argos asked.
“He just wanted to be helpful,” said Theora. “Be nice.”
He leaned closer, passing his words off as intimate whispers. “For a woman who preferred to mix her own drink rather than have any staff on the train, you’re awfully trusting all of a sudden.”
Theora gave him a warning look. “I’ve known Apollo since we were children. He’s not going to kill me.”
“Maybe not him,” said Argos, although he was the slightest bit disappointed that he had no valid excuse to dispose of the insect. “But how do we know he’s the only one with access to that key?”
“Cease, Argos.”
Her words were harsh, but Argos could tell he’d been a bit too truthful with her. Her fear from the meeting had died down a bit during the tram ride, and he’d only succeeded in raising it again. From now on, he’d keep the suspicion of danger to himself if he could.
Beyond the quaint square, the hall narrowed, with the door to each suite on either side. Argos opened the door that listed their names, allowing Theora in before him.
There was a living room with a large couch in the middle, a small bar with wine and glasses behind it, a large painting on the back wall. What he thought was an armoire was nothing but a stocked wine fridge. What looked like a closet actually revealed a closet-sized safe.
Dociles certainly had strange priorities.
He could smell that there had been multiple people here recently, and when he opened the door to find an adjoining bedroom, the scent trail increased.
Porters had brought their luggage into the room, which seemed normal enough for the circumstances…
but Argos wasn’t used to people other than Boada handling his things.
And who knew if they had tampered with their luggage or anything in the room.
Worse yet, he smelled a hidden tunnel in the room. He followed the scent until he reached a closet in the bedroom, where what looked like an attic door was clearly the path to elsewhere. He’d have to investigate it while Theora was asleep.
Hearing Apollo’s voice, cheerfully laughing, Argos rolled his eyes.
One problem at a time.
Argos glanced at Venita, who was sitting on their couch, and went up to his wife, who stood in the doorway talking to Apollo. They were talking…fine. But Apollo was standing entirely too close, and Theora wasn’t doing a thing about it.
Argos wrapped an arm around Theora’s shoulders from behind and pulled her close to him, creating more space between her and the nuisance.
Perhaps he should have announced himself, as her pulse elevated to an alarming rate.
She grabbed his arm, and for a moment he thought she might pry him off—this wasn’t a form of physical contact they’d discussed.
She didn’t…but he was certain he was going to get an earful about it as soon as they were alone.
“Your Grace.” Apollo bowed. Ending the interaction, as Argos had planned. “If you should need anything, please don’t hesitate to call and I’ll send someone immediately.”
Argos didn’t like what he’d smelled in that other room, and he needed time to look it over more closely. Theora was tired. And, anyway, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could be in Apollo’s presence without tearing out his throat, no matter how nice he was.
“My wife requires oranges,” said Argos, before Theora could reply.
Apollo raised a brow. “Oranges?”
“You said you’ll send someone with whatever she needs.”
“I…did say that.”
Argos forced himself not to smirk. Perhaps his royal highness didn’t expect to actually have to work. “Oranges. And lollipops.”
Theora quickly looked up at him, her eyes begging him to behave. “You don’t have to do that, Apollo.”
“No, it’s all right,” said Apollo, smiling. “I haven’t been on a candy errand since we were children.”
Argos rested his chin on the top of Theora’s head and hugged her even closer, feeling the warmth of her blush all the way up to her scalp. “Make sure they taste like my wife.”
Apollo’s look was a satisfying combination of alarmed, mortified, and confused.
“Argos,” Theora chastised quickly, giving Apollo an apologetic look. “He’s joking. He means butterscotch.”
“I meant what I said,” said Argos, shifting Theora farther inside and grabbing the door. “You may go,” he said, and he shut Apollo out, locking the door behind him.
Theora shoved away from him instantly, scowling up at him. “Well. You’ve sufficiently offended my best friend on your first day. Bravo.”
“Oh, no,” Argos said without enthusiasm. “I was leaning toward tearing out his throat, maybe I’ll do that instead next time and spare him the humiliation.”
She grabbed his chin, pulling his face down to hers. “Don’t even joke like that,” she said.
He met her with a quiet growl, his hand on her lower back gripping to match that intensity…Sovereign. He heard and felt her breath go shallow, watched her close her eyes briefly to gather her wits.
Those instinctive actions matched with the scent he loved so much, when she was fighting so hard not to be aroused and her body couldn’t lie anymore…It gave him a throbbing desire to kiss her soft lips. Taste her mouth with his tongue. Make her forget that silly gardener ever existed.
There was a sound like someone clearing their throat, and when they turned they found Venita sitting on the couch, her face sour and displeased.
Theora took a few steps away from him, and he took the opportunity to do what he’d intended as soon as he entered—truly examine the room for hidden dangers. Still, he kept his ears open to their conversation—he needed to know everything if he was to do his job effectively.
Theora joined her advisor on the couch, kicking off her shoes. “Go on. I know you have plenty to say.”
Venita raised her eyebrows. “Where would you like me to begin?”
“At your point.”
“You should’ve left your pet at home.”
Argos felt heat crawling up the back of his neck at the insult, nearly crushing the painting he’d just removed from the wall, but Theora quickly said, “Don’t call him that, Venita. Have some class.”
Venita sounded offended and weary. “He nearly sabotaged the peace talks.”
“What exactly did he do?” Theora growled. “He was far more civil than that honeyfluff.”
Venita paused. “What…is a honeyfluff—?”
“Pyre was practically accusing us of murder.”
“And the judge saw right through it. We did nothing wrong.”
Argos held in a scoff. They’d done nothing wrong, though, admittedly, they’d most definitely done something. Boada had been right—the less Venita knew, the better they were positioned for success.
“But you know,” the advisor continued, “you can’t just insult the people we’re trying to make peace with. Specifically their fallen, the day after the tragedy.”
“I-I—” Theora paused. She took a breath, and Argos felt an odd instinct to rush over and throw Venita out. “That was tasteless, I’ll admit. But I was terrified, Venita. Every single moment I was on edge, anticipating an attack.”
There was a stretching silence between them before Venita said, “Forgive me, Your Grace. It’s not fair for me to blame anyone.
Pyre did seem particularly hell-bent on accusing us.
” They were quiet again for a moment. “But I know the Judge Imperium will make this right. In the meantime, we should try to relax and enjoy the rest of the day. Have fun. I’ll bring Boada up to speed later. ”
Argos peeked from behind the wall just in time to see Theora remove her glasses and rub her eyes, remembering too late she was wearing eye makeup.
She frowned at the black smudge on her fingers.
He grinned. There was something strangely satisfying about seeing this stubbornly buttoned-up queen undone.
“Your husband took the train in, I presume,” she said, walking to a mirror to check her face.
“No, he’s with the kids,” Venita replied. “I’m staying with Apollo, but I’m happy to stay here instead if you need me.”
Theora sighed. “No, it’s fine. I’ll see you in a few hours.”
Argos sat on the floor to face the wall. Maybe if Theora thought he’d been praying, she wouldn’t know he’d been suspicious of their room. Or listening in on their conversation, for that matter. He heard Venita leave, and then Theora sigh as she approached.
“What was with the request for oranges?” she asked.
“There’s no sunlight down here,” he said. “You need your vitamins.”
They also happened to be a ritualistic marriage fruit, but there was no sense in telling her that. It wasn’t as if they’d actually speak to each other beyond this week.
“I suppose that’s a good idea.” She was quiet for a moment. “You didn’t have to lay it on so thick, you know.”
Argos lay on his back, tipping his head back to see, from his upside-down view, that she was watching him from the doorway instead of entering the room. As if the floor were ice and she were hesitant to step on it. “What?”
“The intimacy. We don’t have to touch so much.”
“We fooled everyone we were supposed to, didn’t we?”
“True.” Theora still hesitated, leaning her hands on either side of the doorway. “But I don’t want to hurt Apollo.”
“Eh, roses have thorns, I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
“You ass.” Theora finally walked into the room just to plant her bare foot on his stomach without warning.
Argos smirked. “I thought you only wanted to touch in public.”
He braced his muscles and she stepped up with both feet, a grin finally breaking free from her at her own ridiculous action. “You know what I mean by not touching—Stop breathing, I’m going to lose my balance.”
Argos snickered, and it didn’t help that Theora yelped at his movement. “Who told you to stand on me?”
“I’m a queen,” she replied, her tone edgy, as if she’d taken offense. “I can do whatever I want.”
Argos sighed. And here he thought they’d been having fun.
He sat up, standing quickly enough that he could catch Theora by her waist before she fell over. She shrieked as they collided with the wall, clinging to Argos as if he’d just caught her from a great height. He laughed, taking her heated, blushing face in his hands.
“Hey, hey, sorry, Theora,” he said, trying to recover from his laughter for her sake—he was so used to Warriors with better reflexes, who didn’t make a lot of noise, that her reaction to it all had been unexpectedly adorable. “I would never drop you, I promise. You’re okay.”
“See? That’s what I’m talking about. That.” She slapped and shoved his hands until he let go, then stormed over to her suitcase. “Watch where you put your hands from now on.”
“Great. Next time I’ll let you fall and break your face.”
She was blushing so hot he could practically feel it from across the room. “Not funny.”
Argos sighed. He’d never met someone so stubbornly determined to not let herself have a good time.
He let Theora attempt to pick up her suitcase for only half a second before taking it from her hands and putting it on the desk.
“Moving on.” She opened it, taking a deep breath. “I feel as if we have a lot of things to talk about. I’m not even sure where to start.”
“At your point,” said Argos, sitting on the bed.
Theora threw a pair of rolled-up socks at him, the laugh she was so diligently fighting making her voice shake when she said, “Stop.”
He whistled. “What a line.”
“Sovereign, you’re annoying.” She removed her jewelry and placed it in a decorative box. “I’m certain Boada will handle the hunting log situation for us. In the meantime, let’s go to the gym. You need some exercise to burn off your magic. I don’t need you killing anyone during our excursion.”
And she gave him a pointed look before shutting herself in the bathroom to change.