Page 52 of A Queen and HER Bad Boy (Spies and Royals #4)
Chapter Twenty-Six
— CHRISTMAS EVE—
A chilles stood in the cold hallway, his fingers fumbling with his bow tie—the silk slipping through his hands like his control over everything else.
He could really use Bris’s help at a time like this, but she hadn’t touched him since that night she’d declared him and Charisse a perfect match.
Stubborn little brat He knew she was protecting herself, but from what? Him? Maybe.
The crystal chandeliers above cast splintered light across the marble floor, the peaceful prismed colors mocking the chaos churning in his chest. Security flanked him on either side, their presence a constant reminder that he was a prisoner.
Peder, on the other hand, kept his distance from him.
Just as well, Achilles was like a tiger close to snapping.
The polished brass elevator doors loomed before him like the mouth of a cage, and he was every inch the wild animal about to be forced inside.
Whether he liked it or not, the coronation was happening, and there was no going back. Bris would become the Queen of Tirreoy, and then what? Would she become a walking target?
Achilles’s hand went to the chain of the cross, the one reminder that Bris had wanted this marriage to work. Only a week ago, she’d confessed her feelings for him, and with such sincerity that it had stolen his breath away.
“I don’t remember a time when I didn’t love you.”
She’d said it herself—but had that been her father’s doing? Was he the one manipulating her behind the scenes to bare her soul to him, to throw herself into his arms, to share a bed with him?
His jaw clenched at the sickening feeling digging its way through his stomach.
The gold walls of the hallway closed in on him on all sides.
Her marching orders had changed, it seemed—take the blue suite when he refused to leave her, avoid him at every function.
And when that wasn’t possible? Burn him with some cruel taunt about Charisse or working with the Myrdons.
And yet, no one had commanded her to lock eyes with him like she had this morning at breakfast and then turn so quickly that he almost hadn’t caught the tears glittering on her lashes.
He’d free her… but how? He was going in blind, especially since he had no idea the full extent of what Chises Mnon had told her in that library.
Something nightmarish; something worse than him supposedly running away with Charisse…
Feeling the delicate links dig into his palm, he yanked the necklace from his neck, the clasp giving way with a snap.
The sound echoed through the narrow foyer as he shoved the chain deep into the pocket of his midnight blue dress uniform.
They’d decked him out in a military-style jacket and the gold braiding meant to make him out like a regular Prince Charming.
Nothing was further from the truth. He had no intention of accepting the title as her future consort.
“We’ve got great plans for you. Yes, a very special mission for a very special boy…”
Aggie Mnon’s taunts could only mean that the Myrdons would try to use him against Bris if he got too much power. How could Chises Mnon think that he could control the Myrdons through Achilles? What game was he playing?
Surely, he’d heard the warning about Bris’s life being in danger tonight.
Why hadn’t he listened? He didn’t care about his daughter at all.
Achilles forced himself to take a deep breath, grounding himself by cataloguing the ornate molding that lined the vaulted ceiling, the way the marble veining caught the light, anything to control a vision blurred with rage.
His ex would be at the coronation tonight.
Despite the difficulties presented by getting Charisse alone to talk, she was their last lifeline.
He felt it. Nothing he did could shrug off the feeling that the secrets behind what had happened to his father were directly related to the Myrdons making trouble.
“You can blame your father for this!”
“My father? What does he have to do with it?”
“Everything!”
The elevator chimed with a soft ding, the polished brass doors sliding open like jaws. Achilles tensed, every muscle coiled as the security detail moved into formation around him—zoo workers herding a dangerous predator.
Peder stepped beside him, looking every inch the Chancellor in a deep burgundy uniform, gold braiding catching the overhead light.
The formal regalia was a stark contrast to his usual casual demeanor, and Achilles was still surprised Chises Mnon had let that appointment stand after the chaos caused by letting Phoenix go.
That must’ve been a good spy. Well, he had his too.
Of course, the second Achilles got close to Charisse, his wife would set off a firework show that would light up the sky with him. And if that meant stopping this coronation tonight? Well… let the entertainment begin!
The doors sealed behind them with a definitive click.
No going back. The elevator descended like a smooth bullet to the ballroom, each floor marked by a soft chime that brought him closer to this trainwreck.
The polished brass walls reflected Achilles’s grim expression back at him in fractured pieces—here his clenched jaw, there his dark eyes burning with helpless rage.
He met eyes with Peder across the small elevator space.
His friend looked haggard, the usual spark of mischief in his eyes extinguished since returning from the flood-ravaged village where they’d rescued him.
Polly and he had barely spoken one word to each other on the trip home.
Could it be that his newly appointed chancellor was also nursing a broken heart?
Achilles cleared his throat. “Want to talk about it?”
Peder let out a bitter laugh that held no humor whatsoever. “Only that the palace isn’t the place for love.”
He’d said a mouthful, but where could they go? Where could they be free of this web of political intrigue?
“It isn’t just that…” Peder’s voice dropped to barely above a whisper, his eyes darting toward their security detail standing at attention by the doors. His hand slipped into his jacket pocket, fingers working across his phone screen.
Achilles felt his own phone vibrate against his chest. He shifted back against the mirrored wall, angling his body to shield from their onlookers as he read: Polly acting weird rn.
Achilles’s attention snapped to his friend, whose face looked especially pale beneath the elevator’s harsh lighting. Peder’s fingers moved again, more urgently this time.
Another soft chime from his phone. Achilles glanced down: Maybe nothing. Could be bf or idk. She keeps sneaking off for calls. Secret ones. Caught her burning papers last night - said old letters from ex. Why the secrecy tho?
The elevator doors whispered open with a soft chime, the sound signaling their transformation to public figures.
Instantly, both men straightened, masking their faces into authority and composure.
Camera flashes exploded like lightning, and the cacophony of reporters’ shouted questions shattered the fragile sanctuary they’d found in that small metal box.
Achilles’s mind reeled as he tried to process Peder’s texts.
Nodding at his friend as a sign that he’d taken his warning into consideration, Achilles stepped across the threshold with the measured stride of a man born to power, even as his thoughts churned like a storm-tossed sea—what was Polly doing?
Another spy working for Bris’s father, or something far more sinister?
The security detail fanned out around him, their black suits melting seamlessly into the crowd of evening wear like watchful shadows.
He sighed. Polly Vasiliou was just another name to add to his growing list of suspects working against the crown.
Paranoia had become his constant companion lately—he found himself analyzing every face in the crowd, every gesture, every glance.
The ballroom stretched before him in a river of polished marble and Christmas tinsel—crystal chandeliers caught the light on the silks and jewels of Tirreoy’s elite, casting everything in a warm golden glow that felt more like a cage than Christmas Eve magic.
His eyes swept the crowd, searching for his sister Gena among the sea of designer gowns and military dress uniforms. During the past few days, he’d tried desperately to get her alone, to extract more details about their mother’s cryptic message, but Chises Mnon had made that impossible, surrounding his sister with an impenetrable wall of handlers and guards. Gena was as much a hostage as he was.
“Your Royal Highness!” A portly man with an impressive mustache intercepted him, champagne glass in hand, swaying the crystal flute to the rhythm of the string quartet’s haunting rendition of “Silent Night.” The familiar melody felt like a mockery, translating the past few days of chaos into something that was more like a fever dream.
“Magnificent evening, isn’t it?”
Was it? The contrast between this obscene wealth and the poverty of their flood-ravaged people made his blood simmer with barely contained fury.
These guests had stood by while families lost everything—Lady Konstantinos’s diamond earrings could rebuild an entire school; Ambassador Reeves’s platinum watch could feed Ilion and Colone for months.
A tall, distinguished man with silver hair approached them, his smile as fake as his botoxed face.
The Lord of Coloneas—Achilles recognized him from the financial papers, a man who controlled shares in half the country’s hospitals and pharmaceutical companies.
“I must say, the weather has been dreadful. Still, one mustn’t let these little setbacks dampen such a momentous occasion! ”
Little setbacks? People’s lives destroyed, reduced to a footnote in evening small talk, when a man like Coloneas could deploy medical supplies and emergency aid with a single phone call.