Page 4 of The Queen’s Bodyguard

“Poor thing,” her much kinder tutor would say when she thought Theora couldn’t overhear. “She’ll never be a great weaver, but at least she has something going for her, being second in line to the throne.”

“Poor thing, indeed,” her other tutor scoffed. “With the queen and little Leveya both the picture of health, she’ll never achieve that, either.”

Well…they’d been right about one thing. She was still a terrible weaver.

“If it makes you feel better,” said Boada, “he’s very diligent in fighting against his magic without my help. He won’t deliberately hurt you, the dear boy.”

“ ‘Dear boy,’ ” Theora scoffed. “How sentimental. Do you tuck your violent war machine into bed, as well?”

The handler pursed her lips and sat on the desk again, facing Theora. “You know, perhaps this is a bad idea.”

Theora gave the woman a wide-eyed glare. “Excuse me?”

“I just don’t think you have the right…temperament to handle a Warrior.”

“I need him, Boada,” Theora said, unable to keep a slightly desperate edge from her voice.

Need was an understatement.

No armor. No weapons. No pointed accessories of any kind. Those were the three main rules of the peace talks. Because, according to common sense, if you were there to make peace, why would you need to be prepared for a fight?

But bringing family along was allowed. In fact, family members were welcome to view the peace talks from the comfort of cushioned bleachers on either side of the room—to encourage good behavior from all parties and foster a spirit of unity. Theora needed someone to bring along as a subtle bodyguard—someone who counted as “family” and who could also fight without need of weapons. And if the only way to control said bodyguard was to make him her husband with a charmed piece of rope, well…when she returned, no one in her colony would be the wiser.

Besides, it had been a few generations since a queen had had a strong connection to her Warriors, which seemed silly to Theora—they were, after all, the colony’s sole protectors. Showing a united front, as a queen and her Warrior, could do nothing but solidify Theora’s image as a ruler not to be underestimated.

“The Vespulans are not noble creatures,” Theora amended. “I’m going to need all the protection I can get.”

The older woman sighed and folded her hands in her lap. “It’s just that sometimes you have a way of speaking to people that isn’t always, shall we say, the most respectful.”

“My people love me. Other colonies happily ally with us, trade with us. I don’t see how the way I speak makes a difference.”

“But Warriors thrive on respect,” said Boada. “Respect for traditions, for rituals, for their handler. And especially for their mate. They won’t marry anyone who doesn’t share that mutual respect.”

Theora sighed, shifting a bit to get more comfortable on the hard wooden chair. “Am I missing something here, Boada? He knows this isn’t a true relationship, doesn’t he? It’s just a temporary arrangement so I can bring him to the peace talks unchallenged.”

Boada frowned. “Leveya really did you a disservice by fearing her Warriors. You’ve been visiting the barracks twice a week for a year, and somehow you still don’t seem to understand much about them.”

“I understand they’re supposed to obey your commands.”

The handler rubbed her temples with a sigh. “You do realize Warrior magic is one of the hardest types to control, let alone command? Why do you think I have to drill the command charms into them when they’re young and their minds are more malleable? So that they’ll respect and obey my voice, even without the command words.”

“Oh, wonderful,” Theora said, barely keeping a sarcastic bite from her voice. “And the Warrior I’m claiming has heard me speak a total of how many times? Zero? Reassuring.”

“He knows your voice—he’s heard your speeches.” She shrugged at Theora’s mild glare. “Need I remind you, Your Grace, that this was your idea?”

“Yes, well,” Theora fumbled, “your family has been doing this for generations. I’ve got nothing but a charmed rope to help me convince a Warrior and his unpredictable magic not to kill me.”

Boada smirked, but Theora looked far less amused. “Well, then you’re lucky I found you a sweet Warrior to balance it all out.”

“ ‘Sweet’?” Theora scoffed.

“Argos is gentle, by Warrior standards.” Boada paused. “Even so, Warriors physically challenge each other all the time, so I had to command him to be gentle with you. Listen to what I’m telling you,” she said, snatching up a pencil and tapping the younger woman’s leg with it. “Those are contrasting orders that break tradition. Already he’s going to feel shame at having to obey them. Already he’s going to see these provisions made for you as weakness on your part. He’s going to see you as—”

“Prey,” Theora finished, her quick pulse throbbing in her temple. She gripped her knee, her manicured nails threatening to leave permanent marks in the skin around it.

“You are more than capable of handling him, Theora. But it has to be in a way that shows you respect him. Are you afraid?”

“No.”