Page 31 of A Queen and HER Bad Boy (Spies and Royals #4)
About twenty children ran barefoot through the cobbled streets, their clothes mismatched and patched, ranging in age from toddlers to teenagers. Their parents were nowhere in sight, likely working whatever jobs they could find.
Maggie ducked into the cramped red building on the corner, gesturing for them to follow.
Bris stepped inside, unsure what to expect in the tiny space.
Despite the building’s ramshackle exterior, the single room was meticulously organized—makeshift desks arranged in neat rows, a chalkboard made from painted plywood, and shelves constructed from concrete blocks and salvaged boards.
This was a school? In a space barely larger than Bris’s walk-in closet?
Maggie answered her unspoken question by grasping the rickety door frame and calling out to the children playing in the street. “Recess is over! Come see what just came!”
The children scurried inside, their bare feet slapping against the hard-packed dirt floor.
They stared up at the newcomers with enormous dark eyes full of curiosity.
One of the smallest—a girl with light brown hair escaping from a drooping ponytail—pushed her fingers into her mouth and whispered: “Eisai omorfo.”
Bris was still struggling with her Tirrojan. “What did she say?”
Maggie leaned down to the shy child. “In English, sweetheart,” she prompted gently.
“She… girl pretty.”
Bris’s heart melted as she set down the box and knelt in the dust beside the little girl. “That’s so sweet of you to say. Thank you!”
A boy in an oversized tank top that hung to his knees danced forward, his cheerful face streaked with mud but glowing with excitement. He tugged on Bris’s sleeve with grimy fingers. “Ti periechei to kuti?”
“English,” Maggie repeated patiently. “Try again, Yiorgos.”
“What in box?” the boy asked hopefully.
Strangely, Bris had no idea what they were delivering. “Do you want to find out?” she asked.
He nodded enthusiastically, and she lowered the heavy box. The children had tracked in more dust with their bare feet, and it billowed up in golden clouds as she set the cardboard down firmly against the packed earth. They gathered around her in a tight circle, their faces bright with anticipation.
The “oohs” and “ahhs” that erupted reminded her of the enchanted sounds children made unwrapping Christmas presents.
That had never been Bris’s reaction to gifts, of course.
She’d always viewed holidays as disappointing reminders that her father wasn’t really listening—just spending obligatory money to keep his children occupied and out of his way.
But this moment felt far more magical.
As soon as Bris peeled away the tape, she pulled out a battered textbook, its pages warped from long use and love.
She ran her fingers over the torn cover, noting how these books resembled a few of the buildings outside—once new and promising, now damaged but still treasured.
This was really the best they could provide for these bright young minds?
Yiorgos let out an enthusiastic whoop and claimed the book with reverent hands, as if she’d handed him a precious artifact. The other children were equally thrilled, hugging their new textbooks to their thin chests like beloved toys.
“Just a slice of life in Tirreoy,” Maggie told her with quiet pride. “We make do with what we have, considering.”
Bris realized she was still kneeling in the dirt, her expensive riding pants probably ruined, but she didn’t care. This felt more real than anything she’d experienced in the palace.
An older girl swayed gracefully on her feet, her patched skirt fluttering around her calves as she reverently flipped through yellowed pages. She glanced up at Bris with solemn dark eyes. “Are you… from Tirreoy?”
“I am,” Bris whispered, though it felt like a lie. The hardships her people had endured had never touched her privileged existence. Her family had escaped to London’s luxury while these children grew up in poverty.
Polly pressed her shoulder meaningfully. “We really should return soon.”
Yes, the palace staff would panic when they discovered her absence. She stood reluctantly as Maggie opened the remaining boxes, revealing more shabby textbooks that the children fawned over.
Their joyful voices followed her as she made her way back outside into the crisp air.
Nestor walked with them, his expression grave.
“In modern Tirreoy, we have the extremely wealthy and the desperately poor. There’s not much in between—too much corruption and not enough opportunities to better themselves… unless they emigrate elsewhere.”
Her heart broke. She’d failed her people. “What can I do to help?” she whispered.
“Our resources are in our people, but they are uneducated, demoralized; many lose themselves in drugs and other vices.”
There were no easy fixes. Offshore drilling was blocked by Aeaea, fractured loyalty and instability spread through their lands caused by constant civil war. Meanwhile wealthy oligarchs that made up the High Consortium seemed more interested in padding their own pockets.
Her country was broken while she’d lived in pampered luxury… and continued to do so! But, couldn’t she change that? The money in her bank account could make a real difference. What if she could fund proper buildings, qualified teachers, modern textbooks and supplies?
Now that would be the ultimate shopping spree—investing in her people’s future!
But accessing those funds would be complicated. Her personal trust fund came with her father’s restrictions—fifty thousand euros monthly that she could spend freely. Enough to transform this school, but spread across an entire nation? It would barely scratch the surface.
What else? What else could she do?
Nestor patted her hand gently. “There is much good to do here, but first, my dear, you must heal the soul of this nation. Love your husband. That is the key to everything.”
The priest had completely derailed her train of thought with this unexpected advice. “What do you mean?”
“Achilles’s mother has always been a dear friend of mine.”
“You knew Clysta?”
“She is a remarkable woman—a heart of gold wrapped in a will of steel.”
That sounded like Achilles in many ways, yet Clysta had fallen from grace when she’d married that creep Atreus Mnon, the rebel leader behind so much of Tirreoy’s suffering.
Nestor’s kind blue eyes unsettled her with their penetrating warmth.
He must have sensed her doubts because he took her hand between his leathery palms. “Nothing is simple in this wounded country—there’s too much pain, too many unhealed rivalries.
You see, I also knew your mother before she was taken from us…
” His eyes clouded with memories that seemed almost too painful to bear.
“I was with her the day she died… killed by Myrdon forces when they followed us to our planes. We’ve all lost so much.
” Bris’s throat tightened as she thought of everything Achilles had sacrificed—his mother stolen away, his father murdered in cold blood.
Nestor met her gaze with eyes that watered with pain.
“This land will only heal its ancient wounds when you heal yours. You must lead this country toward forgiveness and reconciliation.”
His profound words left her speechless, the weight of responsibility settling on her shoulders.
Polly touched her arm urgently. “Security will send out search parties soon if we don’t return.”
She was absolutely right. Taking pity on her anxious lady-in-waiting, she clasped Nestor’s hand in farewell and hurried back up the lane to retrieve their horses.
Security wouldn’t allow her to slip away so easily in the future, but once she was officially crowned queen, she’d have the authority to make her own decisions.
She’d bring her protection detail to inspect the most impoverished areas firsthand.
She had to understand the full scope of what she was facing.
Achilles would support her mission—she was certain of it.
He’d insist on accompanying her, standing by her side as they worked to rebuild their broken country.
The thought sent a powerful jolt through her stomach.
What would it feel like to be completely in sync with her husband, united in purpose and passion?
Love your husband. Yeah, she did love him… so desperately it was a physical ache in her chest.
The problem was that he didn’t love her back, and why should he?
She was spoiled, temperamental, explosive—even her own family kept their distance.
Meanwhile, Achilles was haunted by a past of womanizing.
Before Charisse, he’d flirted shamelessly with Deedee and blonde yacht beauties, the Gorgon sisters, and that captivating barista in downtown London…
basically anyone except Bris. If she had to watch Achilles being so adorable with these children or standing heroically against powerful political forces like the Earl of Alexopoulos?
Ugh, the pain of their loveless marriage would become unbearable.
And I’m not turning away from my people.
She needed Achilles as her partner in this fight, whether he loved her or not. Leaving the lane that led back toward the school, they walked through the thick grove of trees surrounding the ancient church.
It was true that there was a large political faction who would see her husband as their savior—someone who understood their struggles and would fight for their interests when no one else would.
And who was she? The privileged royal who’d chosen to accept him; someone who would listen to his counsel and value his insights as she’d do with her own country?
Yes! But first, the crown. She had to turn things around, show the High Consortium that she was exactly what this place needed, even if it meant playing their twisted political games and stomaching another ‘business meeting’ with the Earl.
She was so deep in thought that she didn’t notice the dark figures emerging from the tree line until it was too late. A powerful hand struck her neck like a club, knocking her off her feet. Bris hit the rocky ground hard, her elbow cracking painfully beneath her weight.
Polly’s terrified shriek pierced the air as Bris glimpsed her attacker’s face—features twisted with feral hatred—before brutal hands seized her arm. He dragged her against his unwashed body with a vicious growl: “Look what we caught—our little Queen Bee!”
He shook her violently until her screams died in her constricted throat.