Page 15 of A Queen and HER Bad Boy (Spies and Royals #4)
Chapter Seven
— about five days of the silent treatment—
A chilles still had feelings for Charisse!
Her father was to blame for this marriage, so why take that out on Bris?
She’d caught sight of who he was texting on their wedding night, right before he lurched off the bed to take a call, and then she’d been forced to listen through the door as his voice dropped to that tender, intimate tone he used when he actually cared about someone.
Every gentle murmur felt like a dagger between her ribs. She’d heard him say “I love you” with such warmth, such genuine feeling, that it made her realize with crushing clarity that he’d never spoken to her that way. Not once. Not even when they were kids.
Such an arrogant, smug… player! He’d always been untouchable. Why did she think he would change?
Bris dug her bare toes into the plush rug beneath the mahogany tea table, the silk threads cool against her skin.
Kicking off her fashionable Loubotin heels was the only thing that made her feel at home here.
As much as she loved how stylish they were, her painted toes were rebelling.
Presently, she hid them behind the embroidered tablecloth, fingers digging into the velvet couch cushions
The servants arranged the delicate Wedgwood china with military precision.
The palace’s morning room dripped with old-world elegance—floor-to-ceiling windows.
Fresh white roses from the palace gardens perfumed the air, though their sweetness couldn’t mask the bitter tension crackling between her and her so-called husband.
Achilles had distanced himself from her for days, easy to do with the endless blur of state dinners, servant introductions, grounds tours, and mind-numbing planning sessions—doing nothing and everything all at once.
He cradled the delicate teacup in his large hands like he might crush the bone china to powder.
His broad shoulders filled out his charcoal gray suit jacket to perfection, but it was his dark eyes that held her attention, the passion smoldered with a barely contained storm, though he kept it all hooded under a mocking smirk as Phoenix droned on about the upcoming charity ball.
“Remember to curtsy precisely three seconds to the Countess of Meridian, address the Marquess of Pedasus as ‘My Lord’ without any mention of his coastal properties, and never, under any circumstances, discuss maritime regulations with Aegialus Konstantinos.”
The chancellor was all she feared and more—overbearing, controlling, exactly what her father wanted in a puppet master. Phoenix wore his dress military uniform like armor, gold braiding gleaming across his chest, pale eyes sharp as he watched her prepare an appropriately submissive response.
“Of course, I’ll keep my knowledge of maritime regulations under wraps,” she said.
“Excellent,” he nodded with approval, completely missing her sarcasm.
She caught the amusement racing through Achilles’s expression before he hid that too.
“The Duke of Lyrnessus holds significant sway over our financial institutions,” Phoenix continued without a hitch.
“You must make an impeccable first impression to secure his approval for your upcoming coronation. Should you fail to meet the High Consortium’s expectations, they possess the authority to block your ascension entirely. ”
“Yes, we’ll slay them with our charm,” she said.
And then as if her eyes had a mind of their own, they strayed to Achille again.
Something had distracted him, and he wasn’t listening to a word; instead, he studied his phone with the practiced indifference of a man who’d perfected the art of looking devastatingly handsome while texting another woman who wasn’t his wife.
Could she strangle him, or would that be another improper thing to do?
Bris smoothed the emerald silk of her morning dress, a creation that had arrived yesterday with dozens of others in her impromptu shopping spree.
Since leaving the palace was apparently forbidden at the moment, they’d brought the shopping to her—personal stylists, bolts of fabric in jewel tones, racks of designer gowns all tailored to her measurements.
Heaven forbid she do anything normal in Tirreoy!
But losing herself in fashion and color and beauty had been her one bright spot at the palace.
If she’d thought turning into a fashion plate was the secret to her husband’s heart, she was dead wrong.
If anything, he grew more distant the prettier she felt.
During the day it was easy not to take it personally amid the whirlwind of royal obligations.
But the nights? He’d vanish into that side room with the overstuffed couch, claiming exhaustion.
“Naturally, I trust you’ll both conduct yourselves with the dignity befitting your stations,” Phoenix continued, his voice like fingernails on silk.
“Absolutely—three second curtseys, got it,” Achilles replied without looking up from his phone, his tone carrying just enough sarcasm to make Phoenix’s left eye twitch.
Ugh! Her hopes of ever building a real marriage with Achilles was evaporating like morning mist, replaced by a simmering pot of anger and rejection.
It was hard to remember he was even her husband when he barely looked at her, let alone touched her.
She didn’t know what she’d expected from marriage to him—certainly not this arctic politeness, this constant ache in her chest where her heart should be.
“The evening will commence with cocktails and meet and greet at seven, followed by the formal presentation at eight-thirty, then dinner service—”
And Bris’s attention was the one drifting now… back to her husband. He shoved his phone into his pocket, his lip curling in frustration. Oh… was there trouble in paradise with his little side dish?
No, don’t give him the satisfaction of thinking you care!
She’d had plenty of practice with learning how to be cold with her distant father. What was another inattentive man in her life? Achilles was being Achilles, and she wasn’t meant for walks on the beach and passionate declarations and stolen kisses—time to get over silly dreams of love already!
Achilles’s eyes closed, and he nodded over his teacup.
Was he actually falling asleep? Her irritation spiked like a fever.
So much for all those nights he turned in early for the past week!
Of course, she knew better! Polly had talked.
Achilles was so used to partying the night away that his only outlets were working out at the gym, swimming endless laps, and pounding the heavy bag until his knuckles bled.
As if to prove the rumors true, he hid a yawn behind a hand decked out in Band-Aids.
She straightened in annoyance. There was no way she was keeping back her uncivil tongue a second longer. “Oh, I’m sorry, Killiefish. You tired? But I thought that couch was so comfortable?”
He nearly choked on his Earl Grey, setting the cup down with a sharp clink against the saucer. He slanted a pointed glance at the Chancellor.
She wasn’t about to pretend their marriage was blissful for Phoenix’s benefit.
The smug man probably already knew everything anyway—he resembled the mystical creature he was named after, craning his neck forward like a predatory bird.
She’d never seen a more obvious spy. He’d be better served having surveillance equipment stitched into his sleeves.
She fixed a fake smile on Achilles. “If you’d like I can take the couch sometimes.”
“The couch suits me just fine, thanks for your concern,” he replied smoothly, though she noticed his tightened jaw.
“You know, I hear that sleeping is more restful when you actually sleep instead of… what was it that you were doing last night—attempting to drown yourself in the pool, or were you trying to punch that heavy bag into the next century?”
His eyes narrowed on her. Yeah, she had tattletalers watching his every move, so what? “I prefer to exercise at night without spies present,” he said.
“And I prefer not to be stuck with a narcoleptic zombie for a husband, but we can’t all get what we want, now can we?”
The words hung in the perfumed air like a thrown gauntlet.
Phoenix’s pale eyes glittered with barely contained irritation.
“Pay attention,” his voice cut through their bickering like a blade.
“The High Consortium controls not merely the purse strings, but the very foundation upon which your reign shall stand. Cross them at your peril.”
“What about the people of Tirreoy?” she asked, her heart dancing in her chest as she felt herself asking the question that seemed forbidden in the palace. “When do we get to actually meet them?”
Phoenix looked blank. “What? You mean like make appearances for photoshoots?”
“Yes! I mean… no, like visit hospitals, cut ribbons, do those walkabouts where you shake hands and talk to regular people? Isn’t that what royals are supposed to do?
” The words tumbled out before she could stop them, making her cheeks flush.
She’d seen it in Hallmarks and documentaries—princesses visiting schools, hugging children, being. .. well, actually useful.
And Achilles was watching her, his dark eyes focusing on her with an intensity she hadn't seen directed her way since their wedding night. For the first time in days, he was actually seeing her. And it made her feel far too exposed. “Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do?” she barely got out.
“In due time,” Phoenix muttered. Did that mean never? That’s what her father said when he meant never. “I haven’t told you about your greatest obstacle. The Earl of Alexopoulos.”
Achilles’s jaw turned rigid. “Dimitri?”
“I’m sorry, do you know another Earl of Alexopoulos?” Bris asked, though his suddenly raw fury shot a bolt of alarm through her. He really needed to spit out what his objections were!