Page 29 of A Queen and HER Bad Boy (Spies and Royals #4)
Chapter Fourteen
— Four days later—
T he morning light broke through the mesh of tan curtains, casting bars across Bris’s extended arms. She stretched against the silk sheets as the reality of the day glared over her, making her replay every stupid mistake she’d made over these past few days.
Why oh why had she admitted she had a heart and it was fragile?
Achilles was as mad as a fiery griffin lately, circling her with the relentless vigilance of an ancient temple guardian.
The Earl’s unwanted advances had flipped some primal protective switch in him that she wasn’t sure how to turn off.
Achilles wanted Phoenix gone—that wasn’t happening as long as her father called the shots.
He refused to take the blue suite after she’d inspected it herself and found no signs of flooding.
Instead, the couch in the living room became his domain.
And now he hardly let her out of his sight, making her turn into a hellcat as she desperately tried to prove her independence.
Groaning, she picked at the hem of his navy Cambridge rugby shirt, the soft cotton worn thin from years of wear.
The bruises on her wrist had transformed from angry welts to deep purple fingerprints that matched the Earl’s perfectly, which didn’t help her situation at all.
She’d let Achilles see too much of her vulnerable soul.
As far as she was concerned, she’d given him just enough rope to hang himself with.
Only last night, she’d found him on their private balcony at 2 AM with an empty bottle of the Viscount’s “ceremonial” wine, staring broodingly at the moonlit gardens below. What was he doing drinking alone?
He’d only given her that infuriating smile and said, “Just sampling the gifts, Princess. Don’t worry your pretty head about it.”
Where did he get off using that condescending tone with her? She’d started yelling about him turning into a drunkard, and he’d simply scooped her up and deposited her back in bed like a misbehaving child. “You need your beauty sleep, Prissy.”
Excuse me? She had plenty of beauty to go around, but even more infuriating was that he’d treated her like a toddler having a tantrum, all while she’d wanted him to give her a real taste of that smoldering passion she’d glimpsed in his dark eyes.
Why couldn’t he kiss her until she forgot her own name already?
She’d been so angry at Achilles for touching her when it meant nothing to him, and so jealous of Charisse she could scream. He’d never see Bris as anything more than a moody, self-absorbed teenager!
Playing the protective big brother card at every turn was getting old fast. What she needed was a friend, which he stubbornly refused to be anymore. She’d never felt more alone in her life.
She picked up her phone and stared at its blank screen.
The charity ball was over, for better or worse.
The Earl hadn’t contacted her with any more threats, and she wondered if he was lying low after that PR nightmare while other, more powerful forces took him to task.
Hopefully none of the other members of the High Consortium had access to Deedeelicious’s TalkieTalk channel, or they’d see how pathetically weak their applicant for the throne was…
unless they preferred a trembling shadow for a queen.
She’d find out soon enough. Until then, she’d pretend to rule with no real authority, making hollow appearances with Achilles and empty promises to a war-torn country that wanted nothing to do with them. She’d go insane if she didn’t find something meaningful to occupy herself.
An unbidden image of Achilles’s smoldering grin made her stiffen and roll out of bed.
Padding to the tall windows on her bare feet, she pushed aside the curtains to reveal the breathtaking Tirrojan landscape spread below.
December in the Mediterranean meant cooler mornings and the constant threat of rain—already gray clouds gathered on the horizon.
The helicopter pad gleamed wetly from last night’s downpour, surrounded by olive groves and cypress trees that dotted the rolling hills.
Ancient stone walls wound through the gardens, dividing manicured palace grounds from the wilder countryside beyond. The morning was peaceful for now.
Achilles was sleeping in the next room, and the last thing she wanted was for him to come storming in like yesterday morning with some cutting remark about Phoenix being a lousy jerk for buying new hideous burgundy curtains instead of using the money on their starving citizens.
She’d actually tried to defend the chancellor, only to have Achilles brush her cheek with his thumb and call her “sweet.” Sweet! Her? The man couldn’t help playing with her emotions before crushing them again.
Yeah, forget him!
She pressed the speed dial on her phone. Insanity came in many forms, and if she didn’t give herself something productive to do, she’d do something she’d definitely regret.
Polly’s cheerful voice came through the receiver. “Your Royal Highness, how can I assist you?”
“I need to get out.”
Polly turned silent, and Bris wondered exactly what sort of restrictions her father had placed on her movements.
“I want to see the grounds.” They could start with that…
before she begged to explore the city of Ilion just west of here.
What were they protecting her from? Shouldn’t she see her country for what it truly was?
It took a moment, but Polly finally agreed. “Yes, of course. There are many gardens, walking trails, aviaries, butterfly conservatories, greenhouses, pools, stables.”
“Horses?”
“Yes, would you like to go riding?”
That might be perfect for working out her aggressions. “Yes.”
Before she knew it, Bris was in the palace stables, wearing form-fitting riding pants that hugged her like a second skin. She tucked in her cream-colored blouse and pulled on the tall riding boots that reached her knees.
Polly buckled on her own safety helmet before handing Bris hers, her movements practiced and efficient. “Your Royal Highness, I should mention that I’m only casually acquainted with the outer grounds. Are you certain you don’t want an experienced guide?”
“No, I’m perfectly capable of finding my way around.
” And perhaps discovering an escape route to explore the countryside beyond these suffocating palace walls.
No one knew Bris’s face yet—at least not the provincial Tirrojan villages unfamiliar with Deedeelicious’s TalkieTalk channel.
It was the perfect opportunity to blend in before she became a public figure.
Where were the centers of local life? Restaurants, markets, shops? She knew practically nothing about Tirreoy or the people she was meant to rule. The possibilities for real discovery were endless.
Bris approached the speckled Appaloosa, her coat gleaming like polished stones. “That’s Spot,” Polly told her, though she seemed to hesitate slightly. “She’s the sweetest mare. I’m sure you’ll enjoy riding her.”
Bris mounted with practiced ease, the horse barely whinnying beneath her. “Where’s yours?”
Polly fidgeted with her reins, her dark eyes flickering with something unreadable. “Are you certain you wish my company today, Your Royal Highness?”
“I wouldn’t have asked otherwise!” Bris smiled warmly. She knew hardly anything about her fourth cousin, but she intended to remedy that before the day was through. “You do enjoy riding, don’t you?”
That made Polly’s face light up with genuine joy, her charming dimples creating those loveable craters in her cheeks. “Very much so, thank you! I just don’t want to overstep my bounds.”
“Well…” Bris studied her fourth cousin over her horse’s alert ears. “I’m not entirely sure what Ladies-in-Waiting are supposed to do exactly, but I do know they’re meant to be my companions… which in my language means friends.”
Polly seemed overjoyed by the declaration.
Nodding eagerly, she disappeared into a nearby stall and emerged leading a graceful chestnut mare with an elegant white blaze.
With one hand on the stirrup and the other on the cantle, she swung up onto the animal with the fluid grace of someone born to the saddle.
Her cousin moved like royalty herself, Bris realized with a pang.
Polly had grown up on a modest estate in the nearby countryside, helping her family manage vineyards and olive groves.
Once again, Bris wondered why her father hadn’t looked beyond his own daughter to find a proper monarch for this struggling country.
He probably couldn’t control Polly the way he could Bris.
A lowering thought that only strengthened her resolve.
Bris was determined to prove her independence today.
This was where she was comfortable rebelling, in smaller increments…
like riding outside the palace grounds to experience the shopping spree of a lifetime.
Shopping was exactly what she needed today.
They rode through the elegant palace grounds, their horses’ hooves clattering against ancient cobblestones.
Startled ducks scattered in different directions, their wings beating frantically as they fled toward ornamental ponds.
The valleys rolled into distant hills, sparkling with the silver-green of olive trees as far as Bris could see.
When did the palace grounds end and the real country begin?
After a leisurely ride, they reached a weathered stone wall topped with iron spikes.
The manicured lawns ended there, giving way to uncultivated lands that looked wilder, less controlled.
Church steeples and red-tiled roofs emerged through the treetops at the bottom of the hill, while a river swollen from recent rains rushed through the crush of buildings in the distance—the water level looked dangerously high.
Polly rode up beside her, pulling back on her reins as she gazed down at the view with practiced familiarity. “It’s storm season.”