Page 6 of A Queen and HER Bad Boy (Spies and Royals #4)

“Time?” His voice had turned businesslike, brisk, which was even worse than when he showed he was in a temper.

It meant that he was absolutely certain he’d get his way.

“We’ve run out of time. Try telling the ambassadors, the benefactors, the leaders of Tirreoy trying to hold things together until we get there?

What will the presidents of neighboring countries believe about our stability when my own son openly defies me in public?

Circumstances have changed… our security is compromised.

Only minutes ago, I was informed by the High Consortium that we are out of time. And Venice is unacceptable.”

The High Consortium—twelve unelected power brokers who decided who ruled and who died. Her father bent to their will, and now she would too.

“Then you should rule,” Bris said hurriedly. “You were bred for it.”

His leather-bound ledger slammed into the wall with a thunderous crack. His face had gone crimson—she’d never quite seen him so out of control. “Is this a game to you? Your brother is going to die because of his little tantrum tonight, and you’re worried about wedding dresses?”

The words slammed into her like ice water.

“Don’t you get it? There’s a target on Venice’s back right now.

He’ll get a bullet in his head before he even reaches that pathetic little island you gave him.

” His voice turned vicious. “So, we’re going to go through with your wedding today and legitimize your claim as queen, or I’ll be planning his funeral instead.

Any other move you make seals your brother’s death. Do you understand me?”

Her heart felt like it was being crushed in her chest. Venice. Her kind, generous brother who’d just found love, who’d finally stood up for himself.

She crushed the bouquet against her stomach, the stems cutting into her palms. “Achilles won’t have me. You know that.” Her voice cracked. “I’ll go alone. How hard can it be to rule a kingdom?”

“Oh no, dear girl, you’re not going to do that without his help.”

The door exploded open like a gunshot, and she twisted around to see Achilles appearing like the very devil.

His tuxedo jacket was gone, his shirt partially unbuttoned, and fury radiated from every line of his powerful frame.

He was a tempest unleashed as he stormed into the room, his black eyes blazing as they found her.

Tears that she didn’t know she was holding back fell at the sight of him. He’d tell her father exactly what to do with his plans!

And then what would happen to Venice?

She scrambled to her bare feet, only now remembering how she’d lost her shoes as Achilles’s dark eyes traced every inch of her—from the defiant blue polish on her toes, the golden fabric that couldn’t hide her trembling before he met her eyes.

She knew the instant he saw the tears because something broke in his expression before he shoved between her and her father like a human barricade. “We’re not getting married,” he said.

Her father held up his hands. “The treaty has already been made.”

“Then unmake it—no one answers for me.”

Bris could only breathe, in and out, expecting to hear the same arguments to keep Venice safe, except this time, her father’s sinister words froze her in place: “All traitors of our country will be put to death… that includes your mother.”

Achilles stiffened.

“There is only one way to spare her life,” her father said. “Marry Bris and stand beside her as prince consort. She will be queen, you will be her strength, and together your marriage will unite the warring factions in Tirreoy.”

Prince consort? That meant he’d have no real power. Achilles made a sound of disdain. “Are you for real? The Myrdon’s want your brother’s son on the throne, not Bris.”

“Aggie Mnon is… unacceptable.” Not to mention that he was in prison. “As I’m certain you remember, my brother himself proposed this union as a diplomatic solution.” Achilles and Bris were merely goldfish standing in the way of the current.

Achilles glared. “Since when did you start doing what the Myrdons want, huh?”

“Don’t question me—we all know that my brother sees you as their bridge to legitimacy, and this is the only pathway to peace.”

“By controlling me?”

“Precisely. Of course, that’s not the half of it. You see, you love my daughter, and you don’t want anything bad to happen to her.”

Bris made a sound of disbelief—half laugh, half sob. “He does not lo—…”

“Silence!” Her father cut her off with a motion. “If you don’t marry her, then I’ll marry her off to some other simpleton tonight and send her to the wilds of Tirreoy to fend for herself. Is that what you want?”

Achilles didn’t answer.

Desperation clawed at her throat. Bris didn’t know how she found the strength or courage to do so, but she touched his arm. “You don’t have to do this. I can go on my own.”

He shook her hand away.

The rejection hit harder than her father’s laughter, which rang through the room like a whip crack. She felt Achilles’s jaw clench at the sound. Both of them shrank under that satisfied sound that had controlled them for years.

Of course, Achilles wanted nothing to do with her—he’d made his feelings crystal clear tonight, hadn’t he?

Parading that blonde around, making it obvious how little Bris meant to him.

The bitter truth crushed down on her: he already despised her, and now she was trapping him in the nightmare of a loveless marriage.

She knew he’d sacrifice anything to save his mother—he’d proved that before, nearly getting them all killed in the process.

And yes, his twisted sense of honor would compel him to protect her too.

Not because he wanted her, not in this lifetime, but because she was like a sister to him.

A burden. A responsibility he couldn’t shake.

Her stomach churned with self-loathing. How could she let him destroy his life for Prissy, the spoiled princess, now ice queen? But what choice did either of them have? Venice would die. Achilles’s mother would die.

Her tears fell again—hot, bitter, shameful—and he took one look at them and turned away.

She recognized that familiar sign in the rigid line of his shoulders, the way his neck corded with barely contained fury.

He was trying not to explode, trying to be the honorable man who would sacrifice everything, even his happiness, for duty.

His shoulders were stiff as he advanced on her father. “If I agree to this,” his voice was deadly quiet, “you’ll keep my sister safe.”

Bris let out a breath.

Her father hurriedly began making plans. “Of course! Without question.” Now that Achilles was giving in, he was all graciousness. “We’ll hire her a bodyguard immediately.”

Oh, that wouldn’t go over well! Gena would put up a fight, better than what they were doing for themselves, strangely. Achilles’s sister cherished her normal life, and a bodyguard would be impossible to explain during her charity work with impoverished families.

“We’ll take care of this business tonight. Your marriage will proceed as scheduled—priest, paperwork, witnesses all confirmed.”

Achilles’s fingers pressed into the desk, turning the knuckles white before he looked back at Bris. His face was a mixture of emotions, but she saw what stood out most—agony mixed with raw fury. Was that directed at her or her father?

Her father shuffled papers on his desk before handing him a formal contract. “Achilles, I’m prepared to offer you a substantial dowry for my daughter’s hand. Two million euros, a villa in Crete with a generous annual stipend of 200,000 euros.”

Bris stifled a gasp at the insult. That was pocket change considering Bris’s true worth. Their positions in life would be overwhelmingly lopsided.

“How generous.” Achilles gave him a sarcastic grin. “And I suppose you’ll throw in some shares of Tyndarian Offshore Holdings as well? Those must be worth… what, exactly nothing these days?”

“Actually, son, if you do the job I set out for you—if you help us reclaim our sovereignty and drive out the Guerrillas taking over the Island of Aeaea—those drilling rights will be worth approximately twelve billion euros. So, let’s throw those in too…

that’ll be good incentive to do what must be done. ”

A dark expression shifted through his eyes. “Are you suggesting another civil war?”

“I’m suggesting you actually do something in that palace besides drink away your annual stipend and party on the shores of Alexopoulos. Let’s make one thing clear—this isn’t going to be another one of Venice’s yacht parties.”

No one was under that impression. Bris felt numb, unable to offer any more arguments.

Achilles had already brutally rejected her offer to step away from the deal that grew more insulting by the minute.

She studied him—the storm brewing in those midnight eyes, the shoulders that seemed carved from marble, the stubborn set of his jaw, even now, rigid with barely contained fury.

He possessed in him a wildness that always made her feel alive, even when he was breaking her heart.

Was he really going to be her husband? He was more like a beautiful stranger than ever.

He couldn’t even look at her anymore! No, this was all wrong!

Her fantasy had been to make him fall in love with her, to somehow listen to his whispers against her ear of how much he couldn’t live without her, not to trap them both in a union where he’d resent her for the rest of their days.

What kind of happily ever after was that?

Some princesses weren’t meant for those.