Page 58 of A Queen and HER Bad Boy (Spies and Royals #4)

The door exploded inward behind them, the tactical officer filling the frame with muscle.

Achilles’s survival instincts and revolutionary training kicked in as he lunged for the weapon, his hands closing around the barrel as they wrestled.

The man was built like a tank, but Achilles had the rage of a man protecting everything he loved.

He slammed his attacker against the ornate mirror behind the vanity, their reflections shattering into a thousand silver fragments.

Something cracked over the man’s head, and crystal splinters scattered across his body as he fell limply to the floor.

Achilles whipped around to see Bris holding the handle of a broken crystal vase with shaking fingers. Those gaudy decorations were good for something!

“That’s my amazon warrior princess!”

And he realized that she was crying. This was PTSD from the last time they’d faced down assassins. He wrapped her in his arms, feeling her fragile strength beneath the silk and gold thread of her coronation gown.

“You can’t die on me, Achilles. Please! Just promise me you won’t go charging into danger like—like Braveheart or something! I can’t lose you!”

He nodded, his throat tight with emotion.

So far, he was failing spectacularly at keeping her safe.

They were cornered in a powder room with nowhere to run—if more attackers found them here, she’d be a sitting duck in silk and satin.

He had to be smarter if he wanted to get her out alive.

Gently, he worked the broken crystal handle from her white-knuckled fingers. “You’re safe, honey. I’ve got you.”

“She’s never getting out of here in that dress,” a dry voice observed from across the room.

They spun to see Deedee at the cracked marble sink, calmly moving around the unconscious body to wash her hands as casually as touching up her lipstick.

Her emerald dress sparkled at her every move as she waved away the drifting smoke like it was nothing more than stage fog from a nightclub. “Take that dress off.”

Bris’s eyes went wide with shock and indignation. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, the camera’s off! Stop being such a prissy.” Deedee rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Come on, you can wear mine. That white number screams, ‘Hey, look at me! I’m the princess!’ Might as well paint a target on your back.”

Switching dresses—that was brilliant and also suicidal for Deedee if anyone thought she was Bris instead. “What are you going to do?” he asked her.

“A little camera magic…” Deedee disappeared into the marble stall. “I’ll find Peder and make him be your body-double, Achilles. Everyone will think you’re headed to the east wing… unless that’s where you’re going then we’ll escape through the service quarters.”

Bris stood there looking flustered, her hands hovering over the intricate gold lacework of her gown. “Oh, you’ll just find Peder…?”

“What do you think? Not bad, right?” Deedee emerged from the stall wearing black athletic gear that had been hidden beneath her dress.

“This is what happens when you fly on BudgetSkies—they nickel and dime you for bringing extra baggage, so you’ve got to layer.

” She tossed the emerald silk over Bris’s raven curls, the fabric draping like a green waterfall. “I have Peder’s number.”

Bris tore the dress from her head, glaring. “His number?”

Deedee’s grin was pure mischief. “What? He’s cute! Of course, I got it.”

Well, she works fast. Goodbye Polly. Hello Deedee!

“You can’t do that—it’s just too weird. He looks like Achilles!” Bris protested, disappearing into the stall to change, her voice muffled by marble walls.

“Right? That’s exactly why switching places is going to work!”

“That’s not what I meant,” Bris grumbled from behind the door.

When she emerged, Achilles was staring like an idiot.

The way the emerald silk moved with her body transformed her into a goddess of war, bringing out the gold flecks in her hazel Tyndarian eyes.

Amazingly, she was still self-conscious, tugging at the neckline and avoiding his gaze.

“Cute…” Deedee observed, grinning at them both. “You guys… you still haven’t worked through this arranged marriage thing, have you?”

“Arranged? What? Why do you say that’s us?” Bris asked, still not meeting Achilles’s eyes.

“Oh, I don’t know; you’re all shy and adorable… but I can tell you’re falling hard for her, Achilles. It’s written all over your face.”

He laughed, a darkly amused sound, unable to hide a thing from anyone nowadays. “Is that so? What about Bris?”

“Oh, she’s always loved you. Everyone knows that. Look at her—she’s blushing!” Bris was scarlet, which only made her more beautiful. “Now, get out of here while I work my magic,” Deedee announced.

Bris made a sound that was part shocked gasp, part disapproval. “Whatever you’re thinking of doing, you’d better not do it, Deedee. You’ll get hurt!”

“Not planning on it. No one’s un-aliving me today. I’ll let my camera take all the chances.”

Deedee moved to the door, pressing her ear against the wood before peering through the crack.

“Coast is clear.” She pushed them toward the exit, practically shoving them into the dim corridor.

She split ways with them, Bris’s dress over her arm, just as more shots rang out in the distance, spurring them to move faster down the shadowed hallway.

Achilles and Bris burst through the garden doors into the cool night, breathing in the scent of jasmine and olive trees. Crickets chirped in the darkness as they ran across the manicured lawns toward the helicopter pad, their footsteps muffled by the soft grass.

And there it sat—a sleek Airbus H145, military-grade but with civilian markings.

Against the backdrop of ancient cypress trees and Tirrojan vegetation, it looked like the Oshear family’s taste for luxury extended to their aircrafts too.

Achilles hadn’t piloted one of these since his training at the Myrdon military compound.

Dark figures emerged from the palace, sprinting across the grounds toward them.

Friend or foe? He didn’t have time to find out.

He threw Bris into the passenger seat, every instinct screaming at the danger.

Unlike their arrival in Tirreoy, this time her eyes gleamed with raw, unfiltered emotion—fear, yes, but also trust and something that looked crazy enough to be hope.

That girl carried his world in her hands.

Slamming the door, he rushed around the aircraft, his heart aching for what she’d endured—the threats, the manipulation, the fear. They couldn’t leave here fast enough.

The H145’s ignition system was thankfully straightforward—no keys required, just the startup sequence he remembered from his military training. The engines whined to life, rotors beginning their familiar thrum, just in time as their pursuers closed the distance.

“Hold on, Prissy,” he said, pulling on the headset and adjusting hers so they could communicate over the engine noise. “No one is coming between us ever again.”

A smile trembled over her lips as she strapped on her seatbelt. She’d given him tonight. Here was to many more nights to come!

The helicopter lurched as it lifted off the ground, its blades beating rhythmically, churning the air as they climbed toward the stars.

The eastern wing of the palace was engulfed in flames, the orange glow reflected in the flooded city below, and somehow, unaccountably, they were leaving it all behind and starting over.

His palm slammed against the reinforced panel and an arsenal tumbled out—Glocks, spare magazines, and combat blades clattering against the metal floor.

So, this was married life? That sounded about right.