Page 33 of A Queen and HER Bad Boy (Spies and Royals #4)

“Achilles!” Bris’s voice cut through his murderous haze.

Her small hand pressed against his back, warm and real.

Letting out a growl of possessive fury, he scooped her into his arms, lifting her completely off the ground as he stood.

His burning gaze swept over the assassin he’d brutalized—the hardened criminal lay groaning in the dirt, his face a bloody mess.

Bris let out a soft cry, and Achilles dragged her away from the violent scene, his arms trembling with rage.

He’d grown careless, allowed himself to get drunk last night and lose focus. Never again.

Peder rushed toward them, shouting into his radio transmitter: “Requesting immediate backup at the Pappa’s church to apprehend hostile forces.

Attempted kidnapping of the princess.” He approached the fallen men warily—one glaring up at him with hatred, the other completely unconscious.

His head tilted as he examined something. “Possible Myrdon connection.”

Myrdons? Achilles stiffened, following Peder’s gaze to the distinctive ant tattoos covering one attacker’s muscular forearm.

Would Atreus Mnon betray him like this after arranging the marriage himself?

It made no sense. These men had to be following someone else’s orders, and he’d bet everything he owned it was that aristocratic predator with his sights set on Bris.

“Take them both,” he told Peder grimly. “I don’t buy that it’s Myrdons. Find out who’s paying them.”

Polly stumbled toward them on unsteady legs, tears streaming down her bruised face. “Is she all right?”

Bris’s cheeks were flushed crimson, her fingers digging into his arms with desperate strength.

“Yes, of course!” she cried, but her voice cracked with barely contained emotion.

No, she definitely wasn’t all right. Achilles recognized all the signs—she was in shock and fighting back tears with every ounce of her stubborn pride.

Achilles fixed Polly with a withering glare. “What possessed you to leave palace grounds without security? Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

“I forgot it at the stables!” Polly’s voice shook with fear and guilt. “And I couldn’t just let her go alone!”

“Don’t blame her!” Bris shouted fiercely. “This was entirely my fault!”

Achilles studied the tearful lady-in-waiting who hung her head in shame, no longer daring to meet his eyes.

Bris needed a companion with unwavering nerves, yet few people could successfully oppose her iron will.

He knew from personal experience how impossible it was to make her back down from anything.

He filed that problem away for later when he noticed Bris shivering.

Achilles recognized all the warning signs of her emotional dam about to burst. “Call ahead for medical attention,” he instructed Peder. “I’m taking her home.”

Polly’s shoulders sagged with visible relief—probably because she hadn’t been fired on the spot, though Achilles knew there would be consequences when the palace staff got their hands on her. He didn’t envy her that interrogation.

He settled Bris on the ATV in front of him, her back pressed against his chest as he climbed on behind her. His hands found the handlebars on either side of her trembling form, effectively caging her in his protective embrace. Her face had turned to stone as she battled to control her emotions.

If there was one thing Bris hated, it was being vulnerable or out of control.

For now, he let her wrestle with the harsh reality of being human in a cruel, unforgiving world.

Ruling a kingdom didn’t grant them freedom—it was the opposite.

They had to take more precautions, follow more protocols, hide behind more barriers.

They were prisoners of their own positions, slaves to the people.

Her hands clenched into white-knuckled fists, the only visible sign of her internal struggle. He’d find a way to reach her once they were alone—he always had before. But now he was more than her childhood friend; he was her husband. Somehow that made gaining her trust more crucial.

The storm clouds finally opened up, releasing the rain that had been threatening all morning.

It started as scattered droplets, then quickly became a downpour that soaked through their clothes within minutes.

He glanced down at her profile as water streamed from her dark lashes and sharp cheekbones.

She’d never looked more beautiful, and that was saying something since the sight of her always stole his breath away.

A surge of helplessness overwhelmed him—he’d do anything to chip away at this statue that her father had tried to carve out of her.

Unable to keep back from her any longer, he touched her clenched fist with his fingertips.

It was absolutely forbidden and probably stupid, but this time she didn’t pull away.

He found her cold fingers next, wrapping his free arm around her waist to steady her through the bumpy terrain.

She clutched at his arm, trembling against him.

A wave of fierce tenderness crashed through the murderous anger he still harbored for those kidnappers, emotions he’d never experienced before were now guiding him to pull her closer.

Somehow, she was letting her guard down enough to lean back against his chest, rest her head on his shoulder as he brought her back to the palace… to their home.

The lavish Tirrojan architecture was nothing like what he’d ever imagined for his future, and this complicated woman was far from who he’d pictured filling the role of his wife.

He parked in the circular driveway, allowing hovering servants to take charge of the ATV as he slipped his arm around her waist and helped her up the marble steps.

As soon as they entered the opulent foyer with its soaring ceilings and priceless artwork, they were surrounded by concerned security personnel, anxious servants, and high-ranking advisors all talking at once.

“What happened?” Phoenix demanded, pushing through the crowd.

Achilles stiffened at the sight of the man who’d delivered Bris to that predator like a sacrificial virgin to some bloodthirsty god.

“Why don’t you make yourself useful and figure out who’s behind this attack?

Peder is bringing in the prisoners. Make them talk!

Freeze their assets, trace their fundings—I want names, and I want them now. ”

He didn’t need to ask Phoenix twice. The chancellor rushed away with military efficiency—he might be a spy for Bris’s father, but at least he got results.

Other servants pressed forward with towels and blankets, but Achilles refused to let anyone else touch her. “Where’s the doctor?”

“On his way, Your Royal Highness!”

“I’m perfectly fine,” Bris whispered, but her voice was barely audible.

No, she absolutely wasn’t. He guided her through the maze of concerned staff and into their private suites, shutting the heavy door firmly behind them. The sudden quiet was almost jarring after the chaos outside.

As soon as they were truly alone, she made a heartbreaking whimper of exhaustion and collapsed against him. Her wet hair slid across his neck like cold silk, and he could feel her whole body shaking.

He held her as tightly as he dared, afraid she might shatter.

“I know I shouldn’t have gone,” she said, her voice muffled against his chest, “but the things I saw today… their schools, their living conditions? They’re surviving in absolute poverty. No wonder they hate me…” Her voice dissolved into broken sobs that tore at his heart.

Achilles had been expecting this breakdown—Bris could only contain her emotions for so long before they erupted like a volcano.

He made soothing sounds and ran his hands down her back in gentle strokes, feeling her spine through the damp fabric of her riding shirt.

The rain continued pounding against the tall windows, and the thick forest planted around their rooms for privacy swayed violently in the wind, revealing glimpses of the helicopter pad beyond.

She shivered in reaction to another crash of thunder.

“The doctor needs to examine you for injuries,” he said softly.

She shook her head against his chest. “No, Achilles, I just want to be with you.”

His heart nearly stopped at her admission. He’d experienced playful Bris, teasing Bris, furious Bris, and lately even duty-bound Bris, but never had he heard her actually say she wanted him near her.

“I don’t want you to ever let me go again. Please, just hold me.”

She didn’t have to ask him twice. He led her into the sitting room and lowered her down with him onto the same couch that had been his lonely bed these past torturous nights.

They were both soaking wet from the storm, but they could warm each other up.

The thought sent dangerous heat coursing through his veins as he realized how fast and far he was falling under her spell—and she had no idea, only that she wanted him to comfort her.

Would his kisses do that? Tingles of alarm raced through his nervous system as forbidden thoughts invaded his mind.

He’d been obsessing over the memory of her lips against his, the way she’d melted into him the last time he’d dared touch her.

And why was he such an ogre for thinking about loving her when assassins were hunting her down?

She lifted her chin to study his face with those luminous golden eyes, and he wondered if she could see even half of what he was considering. “We have to figure out how to access my trust fund,” she whispered urgently.

“What?” No, her mind was clearly on something else. “Why?” His mind raced through terrible possibilities. “Are you being blackmailed?”

“Those children I met today! They’re wearing rags—they’re so skinny and hungry!”

His chest constricted as realization hit him—she wasn’t crying for herself at all.

She was crying for these people’s suffering.

His breath turned ragged for an entirely different reason— something raw and overwhelming that felt too big for his chest. “That’s what you’re thinking about right now? ” He could barely choke out the words.

“Do you think we can actually help them? Our people?”

Not even sure what he was agreeing to, he nodded wordlessly. He’d always glimpsed her tender heart beneath that fiery exterior—no one else had seen it, not even Venice knew the depths of compassion that Achilles knew was there.

“But I have to find a way around my father’s restrictions on my accounts. He’ll use my money as leverage, but if we can work around him somehow, get the crown first… of course, that means making deals with the High Consortium.”

More chains, more manipulation. “We don’t need their dirty money!

” He pulled back to meet her eyes. There was another way.

“We liquidate what assets of yours that we can. And don’t forget my dowry from your marriage contract.

That’ll make a good start. Two million euros, plus the villa in Crete and my annual stipend. It’s not everything, but it’s a start.”

She gave him a watery smile that lit up her whole face and hugged him. “Oh, thank you! Thank you so much! I don’t want people thinking I’m helpless just because I got attacked today. You know? It could happen to anyone!”

Part of her fierce courage came from shock—he’d been through enough street fights to recognize the signs. The real impact of danger often didn’t hit until days later. But her bravery was also purely, authentically Bris. She had a spine forged from steel.

But of all the times for her to launch a humanitarian mission, she’d chosen the moment when shadows lurked around every corner. And yet, what would be more damaging—hiding out in this palace and cowering from every threat, or facing those fears head-on?

He ran his fingers through her damp hair, marveling at its silky texture. “Babe, this won’t be easy.”

“I know the risks, but I’m not the spoiled princess everyone thinks I am.” She studied his face with a suddenly vulnerable look before asking, “Do you—do you think I’m spoiled?”

“No!” The word exploded from him with more force than he’d intended.

Headstrong, absolutely! Impossible sometimes, definitely…

but he liked her the way she was. It was why he was having such a hard time keeping his distance.

Her father knew exactly what he was doing when he’d thrown them together, and even Venice had suspected Achilles’s feelings.

It seemed like everyone knew except Bris.

And whose fault was that? He took a steadying breath. This was no longer a game. “If we’re going to reach out to our people,” he said carefully, “we’re not going anywhere without serious security. You understand? It’s dangerous out there.”

Her fingers squeezed his arms with desperate intensity.

“Yeah, well… they’d better watch out for you.

You almost killed that man today.” The reminder wasn’t welcome—he could still feel the violence in his scraped and bloody knuckles.

Her eyes drifted to his damaged hands, and her gaze turned watery with sympathy.

“I’ll take every precaution, Achilles. Just breathe…

the world isn’t going to swallow me whole, okay? ”

She might be less cooperative with his next announcement. He was done tiptoeing around the boundaries of their arrangement. He was ready to be the husband she needed. “I’m not sleeping on that couch anymore, either,” he said firmly. “I’ll be in the bed with you from now on.”

Bris went completely still against him. “You want to keep a closer eye on me?”

Yes, but she wouldn’t appreciate that level of honesty. He had to make this sound reasonable. “That couch is torture… it’s destroying my back.”

She laughed—the first genuine sound of mirth he’d heard from her all day—and his shoulders relaxed with relief. She’d bought his flimsy excuse. His real reasons were safely hidden away, though parts of them remained unclear, even to himself.