Chapter 25
Theora
Theora awoke with a start, immediately looking for Argos…immediately embarrassed that he was her first thought.
Her next thought was her bra. She sat up, wincing at a small ache in her shoulder and back, and fished it from the foot of the bed.
And, as if this whole thing weren’t humiliating enough, that was the moment Argos emerged from the bathroom.
Shirtless, of course, in sweatpants that left little to the imagination.
“Good morning,” he said, peeling an orange.
“Yes, um—” She quickly hid her bra beneath her hands in her lap. She’d taken it off herself, she remembered, which made it all even worse. In fact, she’d consented to everything he’d done to her last night. Enthusiastically so. “Good morning.”
She felt almost unable to make eye contact with him. He had seen every inch of her last night. A true Aranean queen would never behave in such a…well, she supposed depraved was too strong a word.
Argos was her bodyguard. Solely her bodyguard. Whom she would no longer need after this week…
“You slept in quite a bit,” he said. “It’s after nine.”
“Oh” was all she could manage. He’s so calm about this. How is he so calm?
“So, should we go find some breakfast?”
“No,” she said far too quickly. She tried to comb knots from her hair with her fingers, suddenly realizing she hadn’t wrapped it for bed, and rushed into the bathroom to make sure she didn’t look like a woman who’d just had sex.
“I mean, not now. I think I should call Venita and see what the status is on the talks.”
“Come on, Theora. They’re not happening.”
Theora leaned out of the bathroom to raise her brows at him. “How do you know?”
“Because we haven’t heard from them yet. They’re not happening.”
“Oh,” she said, distracted. There were too many things to focus on. The peace talks. Assassination attempts. Apollo acting strangely. Boada possibly being the mother she didn’t know she had. And now Argos…It was all too much.
“That’s exactly why,” he went on, “this is probably a good time to take Pyre up on her offer.”
Theora hardly understood his words. “Wait, you were serious? Go to her? Now?”
“She wants to negotiate peace with you. Face-to-face. That’s what these talks were for anyway, right?”
“It sounds like a trap to me, Argos.”
“It didn’t smell like a trap. And she sounded sincere.”
“Argos.” Theora took a breath. “I think we can both agree that last night was…” Theora blushed just thinking about what last night was. But it wasn’t what Aranea needed, at the end of the day, so she went with “a mistake.”
Argos paused. She hated the way he was looking at her, his brows slightly lowered, as if he’d never expected those words to leave her mouth. “Why?”
Theora swallowed—a few times, as her mouth seemed to be watering at just the sight of him. “Could you put on a shirt?”
Argos stared at her as if he hadn’t heard, then picked up the shirt he’d worn last night from the floor.
“You have clean shirts in your suitcase—”
“What’s going on, Theora?” He ignored her suggestion, donning the one he held. “You gave the impression you enjoyed yourself last night.”
“I-I did.”
“So?”
“So.” She cleared her throat. “I can enjoy myself and admit it was a mistake.”
Argos stared at her for a moment. “After the first orgasm? Okay, call it a mistake. The next seven?” He raised a sardonic brow and walked out into the common area.
“Well, fine,” she said, her annoyance only increasing at his reaction. Why was he being so unreasonable? He must know she was right? “Fine. I can admit it. We both had a great time. But that doesn’t mean—where do you think you’re going?”
He’d come back into the room, carrying his boots. “For a walk.”
“We can’t go anywhere until we’re told it’s safe.”
He rolled his eyes, sitting on the bed to put on his boots. “Says the woman who’d planned on leaving last night to see her boyfriend.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.” She scowled, a twinge of hurt in her gut. Even so, she couldn’t erase the irritation from her voice when she said, “I feel like I’m being perfectly reasonable.”
“I just don’t see why we’re having this conversation,” he said, a clear rumble in his chest that filled her with guilt. “It’s not as if I fucked you.”
“ ‘Fucked’ me?” And the guilt dissipated, replaced by anger. “What am I, some object—?”
“That’s what you’re worried about, right?” he said, his tone as angry as hers. “We didn’t consummate. You’re not stuck with me beyond this week. So don’t worry about it.”
“Trust me, I’m not,” she snapped, fuming.
Argos looked at her, not fuming but simmering…with so much emotion she wanted to take back every word. I’m cruel to you, she wanted to say, because I’m scared of how you make me feel…
But she was a queen…and a queen didn’t grovel.
Argos suddenly looked toward the door. Paused. “A group of people are headed this way.”
“Is it Venita?” She released a breath, part of her relieved to change the subject. “With news, I hope.”
“I’m not sure,” he said, and left the room.
Theora scrambled into her slippers to rush after him. She ran out past the benches and lampposts, only stopping because Argos forced her to, five feet from the door to their wing.
“Stay here,” he said.
“Who is it?”
He went to the door, opening it slowly, examining it quickly before his head looked downward.
“Dread Sovereign,” he muttered.
“What is it?” Theora asked, stepping closer.
“Back up—”
Argos shoved her just as Theora squeezed her eyes shut, a bright flash and explosive sound assaulting her senses.
She hit the stone ground and grimaced, hands pressed against her ears.
She couldn’t hear anything—or at least, the sound was fuzzy, growing slowly louder and louder.
When she finally opened her eyes and saw Argos on the ground, she panicked.
“Argos!” she cried, barely hearing her own voice as she ran to her husband.
She tripped to a stop, a sob choking her.
Dark smoke rose up just in front of the doorway, a small crater where the stone floor once was.
And kneeling just before it was Argos, shoving himself to his feet with one arm…
the other black and charred, the flesh melting, bone exposed, from his biceps down to his hand.