Page 46 of A Queen and HER Bad Boy (Spies and Royals #4)

Chapter Twenty-Two

W here had Achilles gone? He’d kissed her with the passion of a man who was in love. Her lips fairly burned with the promise she’d felt behind his touch, and then he’d left her.

Bris was back into her dry clothes—well, her husband’s dry clothes. His sweatpants were soft and warm against her skin, the fabric carrying the faint masculine scent of him, the perfect retreat of comfort after she’d taken her quick shower.

She’d thrown her wet hair into a tangled mass of a ponytail and spent the rest of her time worrying about Polly and Peder and the rest of the survivors from the town of Ilion. Even now, each breath felt like a gift. Never mind her aching head and how her vision danced from pure exhaustion.

Or was that because she’d gotten punched in the face? She sighed, staring through the mirror at the bruise swelling across her cheek in the shape of Aggie’s vicious fist. What a night!

Sophia had gently guided young Yiorgos away to settle him in one of the guest chambers—perhaps the first real bed he’d had to himself ever. When she returned, her lined face creased with concern as she asked about his mother.

“I don’t know!” Bris felt the tears well up in her eyes, hot and immediate. “He was all alone. I pray she is safe… and knows that he is too. She must be out of her mind with worry!”

“My dear!” Sophia’s rough hand found hers, squeezing with surprising strength. “We will find his mother. You get rest. Sleep.”

How? The woman’s eyes were soft on her, like they hadn’t been before—a warmth that seemed to wrap around Bris like a maternal embrace.

Was it just her or was everyone treating her differently than before, with more concern and—and acceptance?

No, more like reverence. It was almost as if they could scarcely believe that the cold princess was actually cradling a dirty child from their village, or had deigned to run to their defense?

Yet, what kind of ruler wouldn’t? Who did they think she was?

She was out of her mind with worry. There had to be a way to do more.

Perhaps seeing her distress, Sophia lowered her voice to barely above a whisper.

“You are heroes—you and the others who volunteered at that wall! You do not know my sister Elena, but she was there when the levee broke. She saw you trying to keep back the waters, risking your own life so the villagers would have time to escape. She thanks you and your good husband—you gave them hope when all seemed lost.”

“Yes,” Dr. Kostas agreed, nodding and adjusting his wire-rimmed spectacles.

“You put yourself in much danger for us.” He patted her arm.

“Too much!” He was the palace physician, who’d inspected her bruises and her stinging wrist with gentle, practiced hands, but her injuries were minor compared to Achilles’s who had done everything to save her.

Oh, Achilles! He was the true hero! She longed to thank him properly, and a shy heat crept up her neck at the thought—to have enough time to savor one kiss, explore these new feelings that made her pulse pause in disbelief.

He loved her! The wonder of it still left her breathless.

Her poor heart was so full of love for her husband that she could hardly contain it.

So where was he? Her eyes drifted to the door, searching. The wind would be easier to catch than her elusive man.

“You were amazing, but now you must listen to Sophia and rest,” Dr. Kostas said, his voice gentle but firm. “You cannot help your people if you do not first take care of yourself.” He bowed with a kindly look and left on silent feet, leaving Bris alone to wait for her husband.

Well, almost alone. They’d beefed up her security outside in the hall.

A loud knock sounded at the door—an official rapping that echoed through the chamber like gunshots.

Before she could answer it, a scuffle could be heard outside, with the loudly complaining intruder being denied entry.

Her security team had become fierce in their protection of her, like loyal hounds guarding their mistress.

It was as if today’s events had cast a magic spell over the palace, so that Bris had been transformed from evil queen to the beloved fairytale princess in an instant.

“How dare you keep me from Her Royal Highness!” a man complained outside her door, his voice shrill with indignation.

“She is resting.”

“And her father has given specific instruction that I must guide her—that right is being threatened by the meddling foreigner, one whose name I will not mention…”

“Me? By me?” A new voice came on the scene, low and dangerous, and she recognized Achilles immediately—that velvet growl that could make her knees weak.

“I am giving you one more chance to redeem yourself.” That sneering tone belonged to Phoenix; even in her tired state she should’ve recognized that oily voice in an instant. “If this is not resolved satisfactorily, Chises Mnon will be most displeased.”

Groaning, she moved for the door, her bare feet sliding over the soft Persian carpet like the massage she so badly needed.

Her father had planted the worst, sniveling tattletale from Tirreoy…

which was exactly what he wanted, but of course, that wouldn’t rub well with Achilles.

How could she resolve this without starting another revolution outside her bedroom?

She ripped open the door, seeing Achilles fuming like a caged panther on the other side, and even with his arm trapped uselessly in the sling, he looked ready to destroy every enemy in his path.

His dark hair fell across his cheek. The next thing she noticed was the thinly veiled resentment on her security teams’ faces as they blocked the fuming Phoenix from “seeing” her.

“I fired him.” Achilles’s voice was deadly calm.

A stone dropped to the pit of her stomach when she thought of her father’s reaction. “You fired him?”

He nodded evenly, his jaw set in that stubborn line she knew too well.

Phoenix sniffed, turning to her with triumph gleaming in his beady eyes. “As you know, he doesn’t have the authority.”

He’d just spoken the unspoken… and if they couldn’t speak it?

Then it wasn’t right. “He does,” Bris said, her decision made in about three-seconds flat, courage flooding through her veins like liquid fire.

Whatever Phoenix did, he deserved what he got.

“He is my right hand and speaks for the crown. We both employ the staff of this household. I’m sorry that wasn’t understood from the beginning. ”

She closed the door on their astonished faces and began getting ready for bed.

Her hand shook on her brush as she stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom, the silver handle catching the soft light.

Elevating Achilles to a station far above Prince Consort was the first time she’d disobeyed her father, and the punishment would be swift and uncomfortable.

Why should she care? If her father meant for her to rule, then he’d better trust her, give her the power to govern herself or this whole kingdom would crumble like ancient stone, swept away by forces as devastating as the flood that had nearly claimed them all.

Whatever makeup that hadn’t been washed away from the storm and her shower was the next to go.

She dabbed at her face furiously, out of habit now, so worried about her father’s reaction that her movements were sharp and frantic.

The bruise on her cheek protested, sending shooting pain across her face, and she drew back her fingers with a soft intake of breath.

The door flew open again, this time Achilles was alone. He watched her with an expression of complete shock. “He had a prisoner executed without permission,” he said as way of explanation.

That was horrific, and yet the fact that he felt he had to justify to her what he’d done made her face flush. “I meant what I said—you don’t have to convince me. I know you—it wasn’t some petty argument over… the color of curtains.”

“No… but…” He pushed his good elbow against the doorframe, his eyes never leaving hers, dark and intense as midnight. “Those curtains were hideous.”

A smile ran to her trembling lips at his attempt to normalize their lives.

Despite her terror of her father’s reaction, he made the rebellion worth it.

He moved closer, and the space between them seemed to crackle with electricity.

The hand not caught up by his sling found hers, his fingers warm and calloused, strong.

“You’re worried about what your father will say, aren’t you? ”

She buried her head into his chest, breathing him in. “I’m absolutely stressed out.”

“I know.” He ran a circle against her back, the movement sending shivers of comfort through her tired muscles. “Thank you for backing me up anyway.”

“We’re a team, aren’t we?”

“Yes… we do pretty well together—really well. And I just want to say before I get all silent and nervous…”

“Nervous?” A smile tugged at her lips. Now she knew he was teasing her. When was he ever nervous?

“Yeah, nervous…” His black hair fell back across his eyes in that endearing way that made him look younger, more vulnerable, and her heart did a little flip.

“What do you think I’m a robot?” he asked.

“Everything about you makes me nervous… especially when you’re all dressed up and looking… like you do.”

She burst out in laughter. Like what? A pale ghost who resembled a drowned rat more than a future queen. “And you can talk to me now that my makeup is off?”

“It is?” He looked genuinely surprised, his head tilting slightly as he studied her face.

She laughed again, warmth spreading through her veins as she batted him away. Trust him not to notice that. “Sorry! I keep interrupting.”