Page 10 of A Queen and HER Bad Boy (Spies and Royals #4)

Chapter Five

—A little past midnight—

“ H urry!” His father’s hands were on her back as he ushered her toward the helicopter.

The wind cut through her thin wedding dress like ice, whipping her loose curls across her face and making her shiver violently.

They’d just left the private plane, and Bris realized that no one was packing her luggage into their new transportation.

They’d left so fast that they brought no help. “My things are in the cargo hold!”

“No time! You’re being followed!”

Panic—much of it stemming from memories she could barely remember, of her mother gasping in pain, crying out for her had served as warnings to stay in line. Safety was only a mirage when Atreus Mnon was at large.

Her eyes shifted to Achilles behind them, who was leaving the plane with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder, his hair flying back in the harsh wind. “I thought the Myrdons wanted this marriage,” she hissed. “What are we running from?”

“There’s a credible threat on your life… Your friend’s video went viral!”

Already?

Achilles was catching up to them. The wind blowing through his jacket and partially unbuttoned shirt, making him look less like a groom and more like a pirate ready to steal away with his prize.

Bris twisted back to her father. “Who wants us dead?”

“Everyone, Brissy.” Her father’s rigid expression never broke, but it did now, and the stark terror she saw there shocked her even more. He’d lost her mother the last time they’d run from trouble. “We’re untangling the specifics now.”

She hated being in the dark. “Where’s our security?”

“No time to properly vet anyone. I barely trust our pilot… just another reason to send Achilles with you.” He glanced over at him, watching as the man in question approached with that familiar determined stride.

Achilles had spent months training with the Myrdons, learning their brutal methods—how to handle their firearms, how to think like them—for better or worse, he’d become exactly the kind of weapon they needed.

Her father tugged her closer with a sharp hiss: “Put Achilles under your thumb, my girl. You know how it’s done. ”

She’d strangled back her gasp as the shock rushed through her. She felt cold, very cold. Her father then pulled back, his eyes going to Achilles as he closed in on them. “I’m leaving you both in good hands,” he said. “I trust my advisors to prepare the palace for your arrival.”

Put Achilles under her thumb?

What did that even mean? How was that even possible? She’d never met a more independent, rebellious soul.

“One more thing,” her father shouted over the whirring helicopter blades. His hand clamped down on Achilles’s shoulder as he reached them. “If anything happens to my daughter—anything at all—I’ll hold you personally responsible. Do I make myself clear?”

Achilles met the older man’s stare without flinching. “I’m not doing this for you.” He leaned closer to Bris. “I’m doing it for her.”

The two men held each other’s gaze for a long moment before her father nodded curtly.

Bris felt Achilles’s warm palm press against the silk of her dress as he slipped his arm around her waist to guide her toward the helicopter.

The contact sent an unexpected jolt through her, making her breath catch.

His touch was gentle but protective in a way that made her feel both safer and more confused than ever.

She let out a shaky breath. All she wanted was for Achilles to hold her like he’d done after they’d given their vows, to feel that security again.

Why would he do that?

Achilles turned to her, his hand steady on her back as he helped her into the helicopter. His gaze was distant—not like a husband at all. After that, he refused to touch her.

She got it! She got it—this wasn’t the usual marriage. Their wings had been cut, and they weren’t free to live their own lives anymore, but all the heaviness brimming below the surface of their usually easygoing conversation was driving her crazy!

The helicopter’s engines roared to life as they lifted off the ground. The pilot—a hardened man with steel-gray hair and suspicious eyes that kept glancing back through the side window—said nothing as they ascended into the darkening sky.

Bris folded her arms around her waist, trying to stay warm. The citrus sunset melted from the sky to plunge them into a pitch blackness that made her feel disoriented and out of sorts.

Her knee kept brushing up against Achilles. The guy was doing his best to impersonate a statue. The helicopter was too loud to talk about anything going on between them anyway. Normally, she’d use it as an excuse to get close. Maybe then he’d hear her shouts, but things were too weird.

They were husband and wife. How were they supposed to act towards each other now? Even she felt uncomfortable.

Put Achilles under her thumb? Ha! She prayed she could at least hold on to their friendship.

Her mind kept going back to that mind-blowing kiss from earlier—the way his lips had claimed hers with such unexpected passion.

What had possessed Achilles to do that? If he wanted to keep her at a distance, that was the last thing he should’ve done.

Now she only wanted him to brush her hair from her face and continue where he’d left off.

Their only witness was the pilot. Tender kisses between newlyweds would probably look less odd than their tense silence.

“Warning,” she said, raising her voice slightly over the helicopter’s steady thrum, and without another word, she kicked off her shoes and started pulling at her hair, feeling it topple down around her shoulders as soon as she got out the pins. Ahh, she should’ve done this hours ago.

She worked on her jewelry next… though not the ring. The way that Achilles had slipped it on over her finger had felt oddly sweet. No, she might never take that off.

Silly girl. He meant nothing by it.

She began to work on her silk stockings, rolling them down. She leaned against Achilles as she did so, like she would’ve done only a few days ago. See? What was she so worried about? Nothing had changed between them really, and he made a convenient wall to steady herself with.

His hands clapped over hers, stopping her from taking off anymore.

She swung around, her eyes meeting his for any sign of teasing, but it wasn’t there.

Her eyes narrowed. He wasn’t being all stodgy now, was he?

“Don’t be annoying,” she mouthed at him.

Even with this noise, he’d have to understand that.

Her attention caught on his jacket. Now she could use that!

“Are you cold?” she shouted. It was only fair to ask before she stole the only warmth to be had in this helicopter.

“No.” He sounded testy now. “It’s an oven!”

At least, she think he said that, and she took that as permission to reach around him to peel off his jacket.

He blocked her. “What are you doing?”

“I’m freezing!”

She could use his arms too, but that clearly wasn’t going to happen in his present mood.

He grunted out in irritation and began shrugging out of his jacket himself.

There was the Achilles she knew, not the stiff mannequin he’d become.

He slid his arm around her to help her get into his sleeves.

They were still warm from him. Oh, he was right—he had been roasting like an oven…

the guy had always been a heater, and his hands were on her.

Now it was her turn to become a rigid doll. Something definitely felt different here. It was his eyes maybe. They were darker; he watched her closer. His touch wasn’t the same either—it felt heavy with intention.

Wow! Yeah, he was burning her up. She couldn’t tear her gaze from his. He took his time helping her, like she actually was the doll she’d turned into, and he was afraid of breaking off one of her fragile china arms.

The darkness of his eyes had completely captured hers with the storm she saw in them and then he leaned against her ear. “Warm?”

She nodded wordlessly. That was one way of putting it. If anyone was putting somebody under their thumb, it certainly wasn’t her.

Leaning back against the seat, he hooked his arm around her and brought her into his chest, almost like he needed the comfort as much as she did, and now she couldn’t move.

His heart hammered against her back. After a moment of wrestling with her emotions, she relaxed against him, not sure what he was doing…

or what she was doing either. Every part of her felt like it belonged to someone else—to him.

Strange thought! And still, his heart’s comforting pound felt entirely familiar. They were still just good friends.

“Did you learn how to fly one of these things with the Myrdons…?” she asked.

“Huh?”

The helicopter dipped. It was impossible to see where they were in these clouds; Achilles’s hands tightened over her, and he leaned over her, his breath tickling her ear.

“Yes, I can pilot it.” What else had he learned with the Myrdons?

His jaw clenched, the muscle ticking with barely controlled tension as he reached for something at his side.

Her eyes widened at the weapon no longer concealed beneath his jacket.

Oh that. He’d learned that!

The helicopter continued through the clouds. She caught occasional glimpses of moonlit water far below shining like scattered diamonds until they reached the dense lights of a village sparkling against the coastline.

Was this Tirreoy? She’d never been to the land of her birth before, not even for a visit, and yet, this was home now.

As they descended, a glowing palace came into view—a sprawling complex that looked like something from a fairy tale, with soaring towers and graceful arches that glowed in the darkness.

She would be queen of this country. Achilles was her husband. So many changes were hitting her all at once that she felt dizzy with them. The way things were going, she’d discover a forgotten twin sister or a pet dragon!