Page 39 of A Queen and HER Bad Boy (Spies and Royals #4)
Chapter Nineteen
— Early morning—
T he sandbags felt like lead in Achilles’s arms as he heaved another one against the ancient stone retaining wall, rain lashing his face with stinging force.
The barrier had held back floodwaters for generations, but tonight it groaned under the relentless assault of the swollen river. Would reinforcing the wall buy them enough time to evacuate Ilion? They might avoid the worst of the flooding if they worked fast enough.
“These things happen! There’s nothing you can do!
” His father-in-law’s dismissive warnings had tried to keep them back, serving as a stumbling block when they’d tried to call in military help…
until they’d been forced to work behind Chises Mnon’s back, rallying their security teams and whatever volunteers they could find from the palace.
Below them, the bright tenements—those cheerful houses painted in mint green, powder blue, and happy oranges—looked like children’s toys scattered in the path of destruction. The little red schoolhouse sat perilously close to the wall, its makeshift classrooms now dark and empty.
Bris was beautiful, even drenched to the bone, his stolen brown work trousers clinging to her legs, black shirt plastered against her as rain pounded relentlessly against her determined form.
Nothing he said would keep her away from here.
Mud smeared her rosy cheeks, her golden eyes never far from tears at the disaster facing her people.
He’d do anything to take that pain from her. After she’d found that Myrdon ring, he still wasn’t sure how much of her trust he’d shattered. All of that was put on pause now.
They’d worked through the night at relief efforts, making frantic calls to her father, emergency contacts, anyone with deep pockets who might fund rescue operations.
They’d made deals and promises to devils in exchange for political favors that would cost them their souls, while other potential helpers just laughed in their faces at the thought of lending aid.
They hadn’t even bothered with Alexopoulos.
Despite the threat of their communications being monitored, Charisse had answered Achilles’s call on the first ring, purring sympathetically about “those poor children” and promising her father’s help, but when would it actually arrive?
He’d never felt so helpless in his life.
Strangely, he felt more useful here with the people working knee-deep in muddy ditches, where he was probably most useless.
Why couldn’t he have secured more help for them?
The wealthy elite were apparently running to their own mansions, packing up their valuables while the poor drowned.
There was nothing like a disaster to expose the flaws in their government. And now as he moved in steady rhythm, passing sandbags hand over hand with the desperate volunteers and members of their security team, he thought about what had been said… and unsaid.
If his father was still alive, what did that mean for everything he’d believed?
He heaved another bag onto the growing barrier, his muscles screaming in protest. Bris had confided in him about wanting their marriage to be real…
the admission had sent a wave of soaring hope through him that was almost as strong as the prickly wariness consuming his overworked system.
What about love? Was this just duty driving her confession? He knew what he wanted, but did she? How could he be sure when her father had taught her everything she knew? Did she even know what love was?
Did he? Flings, one-night stands, women whose names he’d forgotten by morning… his heart sank at his pathetic romantic history. Of course, he wasn’t worthy of her. Her earlier words about him punishing himself echoed through his mind.
So what! He thoroughly deserved it. And he’d perfected the art—blaming himself for his mother’s captivity, for failing to preserve his father’s memory, for every mistake that had led them to this point.
Either way, staying away from Bris seemed like appropriate penance…
but he couldn’t bring himself to do that anymore. She was becoming a part of him.
For not the first time since the flood started, he was muttering curses under his breath and feeling like his heart was being pulled in a million different directions.
“The wall’s springing leaks to the west,” Peder called out, his uniform now as muddy and disheveled as everyone else’s. He moved around the burly security team working in perfect synchronization, his closer-cropped hair plastered to his head. “We need to get these people to higher ground soon.”
Peder’s eyes drifted to Polly, who never left Bris’s side—the beautiful Tirrojan woman looked like a guardian angel despite her mud-stained work clothes, her dark hair tied back in a wet ponytail.
The woman had kept a low profile around Achilles ever since the attack had happened on her watch, but she hovered like a sentinel near her queen.
Did he detect some romantic interest in Peder’s lingering gaze? How fitting—both men mooning over women who didn’t seem to need them. And what could Achilles possibly offer Bris? A big fat nothing! Her brother was right to warn her off. And her father? He cared nothing for her.
“Maggie got most of the children evacuated,” Bris shouted over the storm, her voice tight with emotion.
She’d worked tirelessly to find enough boats to get them all to safety.
“But some of the families…” She gestured helplessly toward the submerged section where some of the poorest families lived, crammed next to that pathetic excuse for a school.
That’s where her heart lay, and he’d do everything in his power to keep that building intact. The makeshift dam they were constructing seemed pitiful against the relentless surge of muddy water carrying debris—broken furniture, tree branches, pieces of people’s lives swept away by the current.
No matter how many sandbags they stacked, no matter how they reinforced the ancient stones, the water kept rising.
They were powerless against the punishing torrent hammering down from the black sky.
He couldn’t stop the storm, like he was powerless against the relentless flood of affection growing for his wife.
“You have to leave now!” Phoenix appeared through the driving rain like an angry water sprite, his usually immaculate uniform now wrinkled and water-stained. He approached Peder, his arms flailing. “This is madness—putting Her Royal Highness in such danger!”
Had he truly mistaken Peder for Achilles in the chaos?
Achilles felt a flash of dark amusement at the error.
“Over here,” he called, waving the flustered chancellor over and sparing poor Peder a lecture that Achilles richly deserved.
He’d tried reasoning with Bris earlier, knowing it was a losing battle from the start.
Now she sidestepped Phoenix completely, unaffected by his lectures in the least. “Your Royal Highness, you must return to the palace immediately!” Phoenix commanded with growing desperation.
Her face was set with that familiar stubborn expression, accompanied by that defiant bounce in her step that he’d always noticed when she purposely danced around her father’s angry barks.
“Give it up,” Achilles told the chancellor. What could the man do? Order the guards to drag away their queen, kicking and screaming? That wouldn’t end well for anyone.
“This is completely unacceptable! A lady of your station in life has no business being out here in these floods!”
Phoenix knew nothing about the woman his country would elevate to the throne. Bris wouldn’t abandon her people—she was like Achilles in that way. It hurt her more to sit idly by, wringing her hands in worry, than knowing firsthand what their people faced, even if it meant being in that same danger.
Achilles set a steady hand on the chancellor’s trembling shoulder. “I’ll take her away when it gets truly dangerous.”
Phoenix brushed him away with a violent hiss. “That time is now! You foreigners know nothing about these floods!”
Achilles stiffened at the deliberate insult.
Foreigners? Turning from the outraged man, he grabbed another sandbag and hurled it against the wall with more force than necessary.
Was this why the chancellor treated them with such obvious disdain?
Did he have more suitable candidates for the throne than these uppity outsiders?
“It’s better than knowing the danger exists and doing nothing to stop it,” he growled.
Letting out a howl of frustrated anger, Phoenix actually grabbed a sandbag from a nearby Tirrojan worker and, surprisingly, joined the desperate effort.
His pale eyes glittered with contempt as he worked.
“You completely disregarded my authority again,” he lectured, the rhythm of his movements matching Achilles’s frenzied pace.
“You violated all established protocols.”
Achilles’s lip curled, partly from exertion, partly from scorn as he positioned another sandbag.
There was no protocol for this—no emergency preparation for a common flood, and now they had to jump into action before it grew into something too massive to control.
He leaned closer to Phoenix, close enough to be heard over the driving rain.
“When are you going to learn? Foreigners aren’t great at following rules. ”
“No, you aren’t!” The reminder seemed to outrage the older man even more, though his scowls didn’t slow his work.
“And it will get you killed!” The muscles under his soaked coat strained as he heaved another sandbag against the wall.
“Everything you do is reckless! Even talking to that terrorist! I hope you’re not fool enough to believe a word from his lying mouth! ”