Page 16 of A Queen and HER Bad Boy (Spies and Royals #4)

“He’s an arrogant jerk!” Achilles shifted in his chair, his every move radiating hostility. “The man likes to throw his title around and crashes yacht parties uninvited.” Someone was talking from experience. “He’s known to use his influence to silence anyone who speaks out against his… appetites.”

Bris’s eyes widened in shock, her teacup freezing halfway to her lips. Now that sounded nasty. Why hadn’t Venice mentioned anything about this before?

Phoenix’s expression soured further. “Nevertheless, you lose the Earl’s approval, then you forget about getting the crown. He controls the offshore energy and has half the Tirreoy parliament in his pocket through strategic investments.”

Well, that was disgustingly high stakes. Bris almost wished she didn’t know.

Achilles’s glower wasn’t going anywhere.

The ornate double doors swept open with perfect timing, and Peder appeared like a well-dressed cavalry charge. The chamberlain’s dimpled smile was such a distinct change to the toxic mood that it was almost embarrassing.

He approached Achilles. “Your Royal Highness, The Viscount of Tenedos has sent three cases of his finest vintage as a coronation gift—protocol requires you to sample each and provide formal written appreciation.”

Achilles’s answering laugh was a little too bright, a little too relieved in her opinion. “Is that so? Well, we’d better get on it immediately. Can’t keep the Viscount waiting.”

He tried to stand with the enthusiasm of a man who’d just been thrown a lifeline. Nope! Her party-loving husband wasn’t going anywhere—especially not to drown his problems in expensive wine like he had a habit of doing!

Her hand snapped to his wrist to stop him. And too late, the contact sent an electric shock racing up her arm. Sheesh! What was wrong with her? She snatched her hand away like she’d been burned. Achilles’s brow went up, but she could see the desperate edge lurking behind the casual move.

Feeling uneasy, she turned to Peder. “Please hide that expensive booze… really far from him.”

Peder burst into an explosive laugh—besides his bright grin, it really was uncanny how similar they looked. Same height, same build, same dark hair and olive complexion. If she didn’t know better, she’d suspect they were brothers rather than childhood friends.

“Where did you say you two met again?” she asked. Suspicion crept into her voice, no matter how she tried to stop it. They’d said they’d grown up together, but anyone from Achilles’s past was automatically a Myrdon in her book.

“Our families were close friends back in Ilion,” Peder explained. “We grew up practically as brothers after both our fathers served together in the military.”

Achilles sat back, looking more relaxed now that his friend was there “We were more like twins! My mother yelled at him from across the pasture to come in for dinner… and that idiot went for it.” His lips curved into the first genuine smile she’d seen all week.

“She didn’t know he wasn’t me until she set my dinner in front of him. We always looked a lot alike!”

A young servant girl slipped through the side door, balancing a silver tray of fresh pastries. She set a warm almond croissant glazed with honey and studded with pistachios in front of Achilles.

Bris turned from him to Peder. Seeing them side by side, especially as they laughed like carefree brothers, she did a double take.

Were these two related? “I don’t see it,” she lied.

And she’d do her best to discourage them from picking up that prank again.

“By the way, if you try anything like that with me, I’ll make you both sorry you were born. ”

She might as well have issued a direct challenge, judging by the way Achilles’s expression shifted from fond nostalgia to something dangerously playful.

“Is that so?” His eyes burned her with pure mischief, and she could practically see the gears turning in his head.

“What are you so afraid of? Peder just needs to work on his brooding scowl—maybe up his game with the ladies.”

Were brooding scowls contagious? She had her own now. *As far as she could see, Achilles had perfected his game with only one woman, and it wasn’t his wife.

And Achilles was practically daring to give him a fiery reaction… as if they were still good friends, bantering and teasing like before all this. Gulping, she tried to play it cool with a dismissive wave, “I’m not worried. Peder’s too sweet to get away with playing you.”

A soft gasp sounded near her elbow, followed by a delicate porcelain creamer shattering against the floor with a sharp crack. The poor servant girl stumbled backwards with a quick apology.

“Clumsy fool!” Phoenix’s shout was like a cracking whip making them all flinch. “I’ve enough of servants acting like they are as good or equal to their betters!”

Was this thinly veiled insult a shot at Peder’s possibly common origins? The playful look vanished from Achilles’s face, replaced by something cold and dangerous. His shoulders squared as he fixed Phoenix with a glare.

“I’m sorry,” Bris cut in. “But I didn’t realize that terrorizing staff was part of our training? Shall we get back to the part where we humiliate ourselves with three-second curtseys to gain a nod of approval from our betters?”

Phoenix let out an undecipherable complaint, and with an expressive roll of his eyes, waved dismissively at the trembling girl. “Go! Before you break something else.”

The girl bobbed and ran gratefully away.

Only then did Achilles break his intimidating stare with the man.

He gave Peder an apologetic look, then moved closer to Bris, his hand settling protectively on her lower back as he murmured, “Prissy?” She turned to face him, acutely aware of the warmth of his palm burning through the silk of her dress.

She’d die before she let him know how out of breath he’d made her. “You don’t think I’m sweet?”

That was unexpected. He was back to that?

“Sweet?” Like when he’d carried her over the threshold, his fingers bunching up against the satin of her wedding dress?

Or when his warm gaze lingered on her lips while she sipped chocolate milk from a wine glass?

She scoffed to cover up the ache in her heart.

“Oh yes, you’re very sweet to wake me up so early in the morning to make sure I wasn’t late to my floral arrangement approvals.

” Unmentioned was how he’d brushed her hair back from her face until their eyes met, then he’d nearly sprinted out the door to get away.

“How was that last croissant you stole by the way? Yeah, I know that’s why you came in so early.

I see right through you. You need to work on that poker face, honey. ”

Achilles laughed, the sound rich and warm. “Trust me, you’d be happy for it if we ever play a hand of cards. Peder, on the other hand, will fleece you of everything you’ve got.”

Now that sounded like something they’d done when they were older… after Achilles had returned to Tirreoy to join the Myrdons.

Peder’s cheeks flushed, and tearing desperately from his friend, he stepped closer to Phoenix, clearly preferring his irritable temper to his friend outing him.

“Chancellor, I wanted to discuss a new arrangement… where we relocate His Royal Highness’s personal effects to the Blue Suite… uh… for easier management?”

All her earlier warmth disintegrated as her breath caught on her disappointment. Achilles was already taking a different room? It made sense, of course, since he wasn’t staying in theirs, but… she had hoped…

For what? To catch her husband’s eye? With her vicious tongue? Not likely.

Her stomach knotted as Peder steered the chancellor for the door, talking in low voices.

Now that they were alone, the temperature in the room seemed to raise a hundred degrees.

Achilles’s focus was aimed on her. What?

Did he want to see her reaction for abandoning her like she was nothing more than a flat mate?

His eyes were saying something different.

Her fingers dug further into the couch while she tried to pull herself together, control her emotions, make them invisible. “You’re not getting a different room,” she said.

“Excuse me…?”

“Why would you?” She moved from him, her legs untangling from the tablecloth. “You already live in the gym. It’s not like you sleep anyway.”

“Are you telling me no because you can’t keep an eye on me or you just don’t like to see me have a bed?”

“I—” None of the above. She was trying to salvage what was left of her hopes of a happy marriage… for just a few days more maybe. “People will talk.”

“You didn’t care about that when Phoenix was around.”

“He’s loyal to us…”

“To us ?” His brow went up again.

“Well…” Maybe to her father, but that meant he’d keep his mouth shut to the world.

She noticed Achilles’s eyes drifting to her bare feet peeking out from beneath the tablecloth, and something flickered in his expression—she couldn’t read him lately, but the stark tenderness in those eyes held her in place.

His shoulders had relaxed from their earlier rigid tension, and he was leaning slightly forward now, like he was drawn to her despite himself.

Well, she wanted no part of his mixed signals and smoldering looks—the same way he probably watched Charisse. Bris straightened defiantly. “What?”

“Blue? Why that color again?” he asked under his breath, his voice softer than it had been moments before.

She shrugged, wiggling her toes rebelliously. The nail polish had seemed to match her stormy mood when she’d applied it this morning, but in all reality? “It was all I had in my purse.”

He made a strangled sound that might have been a laugh or something else entirely, his lips quirking up at one corner in a way that always made her stomach flutter.

“You’re going to be a queen. How about you ring a bell and ask for some proper footwear to go with your new wardrobe?

You don’t have to go without your designer shoes. ”

Her mouth flew open. Did he really think that’s all being a queen meant to her—pretty dresses and expensive shoes? “Yeah, I’ll be sure to bankrupt the royal treasury on Pradas and Roger Viviers, just so you don’t have to see my nail polish.”

“Hmm.” He took her hand, inspecting the pink polish there—it was distinctly conservative in comparison.

“I never thought I’d see the day when my little Prissy gave a second thought about where the money came from?

” His tone had turned almost flirtatious, intimate in a way that reminded her of the old Achilles—the one who used to make her heart race with just a smile.

She swallowed back her sudden panic at the thought. She snatched her hand away. “It’s not like I’m impoverishing our people with my clothes.”

“Exactly. You have plenty of ways of making money…” His eyes drifted thoughtfully down to his phone, but there was something different in his expression now—a calculating gleam that wasn’t entirely business-like.

“Just invite Deedeelicious to come steal our most private moments like before. She’ll come running before her jet touches the ground in Tirreoy. ”

“Deedee? Why are you bringing her up?” Her gaze went to his phone with new suspicion, and she snatched at it.

“Hey, not so fast.” He held it from her reach.

“What are you talking about, private moments?” she challenged. “I hate to break it to you, but we’ve got nothing for her.”

“Nothing?”

Almost nothing. At least not anymore. He could be a wild bird for how fast and how far he flew from her. Her eyes locked with his, and she couldn’t look away.

“I guess it’s hard getting insider information when there’s nothing left to reveal to the world.” His voice had dropped to that dangerous, velvety tone that made her pulse skip. “Should we improvise like last time?”

She froze at the memory of that mind-blowing kiss he’d given her over the altar—passionate but achingly sweet, so much raw feeling that for one shining moment she’d felt the full force of his soul entangling with hers. Where had that man gone?

No wonder her heart was such a mess.

He set the phone on the tea table, sliding it closer with deliberate slowness.

His fingers lingered near hers as he tapped the screen—their kiss was playing out on his TalkieTalk app.

Twenty-one-million views. This is what had his full attention earlier!

Her heart sank at the disaster, even as his eyes sought hers with that same intensity that made her breath catch.

They’d officially gone viral. His lips curled into what should have been a sneer but looked suspiciously like suppressed satisfaction.

“We’re never kissing again,” she assured him, though her voice came out breathier than she intended.

That same dangerous passion flared in his eyes, the kind that made her think of lightning storms and midnight confessions.

His gaze dropped to her lips for just a heartbeat too long before meeting her eyes again.

“No,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper, rough with something that sounded like regret. “Definitely not.”

But the way he watched her—like he was remembering every second of that kiss in vivid detail—made her feel like he was kissing her all over again.