Page 66 of A Queen and HER Bad Boy (Spies and Royals #4)

Chapter Thirty-Three

T he bells in the distance rang out in warning, though the tower in the ancient church had turned eerily silent.

Bris felt Achille’s protective hand against her back as they climbed the winding stone steps.

The chaos from the world around them bounced off the thick walls, a strange mix of the archaic ruins and the modern world of helicopters.

Phoenix! Another threat that O Skia had warned them about!

The rat had worked for Atreus Mnon since before the Myrdons were formed, and now his orders were leading their enemies in a bloody search for them.

They must have discovered Peder’s desperate ruse.

She prayed he hadn’t sacrificed his life for them!

His injuries seemed so serious—the attackers were killing whoever got in their way. And they’d taken Gena?

“Just a few steps more,” Achilles said, his breathing labored from their climb. “We’ll be able to see what the Myrdons are doing once we get to the top of the bell tower.”

But would that leave them more exposed? Bris didn’t dare breathe her reservations. Their whole world was crumbling around them, with only their lives intact—but for how long?

The train of her white wedding dress flowed behind her on the worn steps, making her feel like she’d stepped out of history itself, into an era where monarchs were executed as casually as Manolo Blahnik changed out its winter selection of shoes to fit the new year’s fashions.

They reached the top, and Bris gasped at the view.

The weathered Gothic bell swayed in its ancient cradle above them, while the entire island spread below them in a gray-green tapestry of olive groves.

The sea sparkled like scattered jewels beyond, and ruins dotted the landscape—modern towns literally built atop ancient civilizations.

The dizzying sensation of two time periods layered on top of each other made her feel the crushing weight of centuries pressing down on her shoulders.

She’d almost been crowned queen of this country—was that only two nights ago? Now these same attackers were closing in. Their soldiers crawled through the island like the ants they’d tattooed over their bodies. Helicopters buzzed through the trees to hunt them down.

Catching her breath, she grabbed Achilles’s arm as he ran his protective hand down her back.

If they came for her here, she’d make sure they only took her and left him alive.

Unable to bear looking down at the fighting below any longer, she buried her face against his chest, breathing in the scent of him. “We’ll get Gena back,” she whispered.

“Yes, she’s fine.” He didn’t mean it. She could tell, but he was trying to comfort her, instead. She wanted to scream out in frustration.

The distant bells ended their song, carried forward by other towers across the island.

She realized they were creating the melody of a familiar tune—“Lili Marleen,” that haunting wartime ballad—each bell tower taking its turn to finish the sequence until the enormous bell above them joined the chorus.

Its deep bronze voice resonated through her bones.

The response was almost immediate. Across from them, in the ancient amphitheater ruins, a diagonal line of gold light shone steadily from a window carved into the sun-bleached marble.

“A signal,” she breathed.

The beam cut through the morning air. “The bells must be how the rebels communicate with each other,” Achilles said. “They’re checking in on each other; my guess is to see who’s still standing.”

Brilliant—probably invented to avoid intercepted communications.

She studied the amphitheater’s crumbling arches and wondered what was hiding in their shadows. “Do you think they keep Aggie imprisoned there?”

Achilles tilted his head. “Wait. Aggie Mnon?”

“Who else? I overheard people talking. I think he’s imprisoned on this island.”

His forehead wrinkled. “Wait. Why didn’t you say something?

” The hurt that flashed across his expression killed her.

How must this look through his eyes? First, she’d tricked him with that necklace, and now she was keeping sensitive information back?

This was more than just their first marital disagreement. “You didn’t trust me?” he asked.

She held up her hands to deny it. “No, it’s not like that—the Earl told me that Aggie was here.

” Mentioning him was also the wrong thing to say.

She could see that through his tight-lipped expression.

The only reason she’d gotten the inside scoop was the guy was being a total creep.

“Anyway, the subject didn’t come up again… except, well, your mother…”

His brow went up. “My mother? Out with it. What else aren’t you telling me?”

“Well… I think maybe your father is working with her. And it makes sense, because Atreus Mnon went after their kids.”

Find my heart; seek the cross.

Clysta had seen this coming from the beginning. Her first priority was keeping her children safe. This meant that so far, everything O Skia claimed was true. Achilles’s father hated the Myrdons and would never work with them.

So, then who was funding them?

The helicopters circled closer, and smoke began rising from the olive groves below.

Diesel fumes choked the air as armored personnel carriers ground through the ancient terraces, their treads crushing centuries-old olive roots beneath steel weight.

The Island of Aeaea was officially under attack.

Achilles stood with his back against the stone railing, his white shirt billowing in the brisk tower wind, unnaturally still while the world burned around them.

“Have you cracked the code yet?” he asked, his voice raw.

“Find my heart; seek the cross. Then you will discover the help you need.”

She shook her head. “But we’re in a church. Maybe we’re already there.”

“My mother couldn’t just give us a burner phone to contact her with?

That would’ve been more practical.” He still sounded unlike himself, too much emotion fracturing his usual composure.

She immediately reached for him, her fingers finding his arm.

He took her hand unconsciously, seeking solace, for what, she wasn’t quite sure of yet.

“There are a lot of crosses in here,” he said.

“She could’ve been married in this church—it’s the only one around. Her heart’s here? I don’t know!”

“Or her homeland’s her heart,” Bris said. “She was born on this island, found love here!”

Armed figures moved through the grove below.

They disappeared in and out of buildings, coming closer.

The church would also be searched. Where could they hide?

His hands tightened on hers as he pulled her away from the panoramic view of destruction to the shelter of the bell hiding her from any onlookers. “I need you to stay here, Prissy.”

“Where are you going?”

He didn’t immediately answer, his dark eyes drinking her in like he was memorizing every detail.

“I’ve been trying to think of every way out of this, but they’re getting closer and…

listen to me. I need you alive. Your father was right.

Everyone was right—if they capture you, they can make me do anything. ”

Panic clawed at her throat. “What are you planning?”

“I’m going to surrender myself, make it so they stop hunting you. It’s the only way.”

“No! If they take you, they take me!”

“They want you dead.” His voice turned harsh.

She’d never seen such stark fear painted across his features before.

“Your people need you alive… Bris, you can help them! You know how to use the resources hidden on this island for our people, and you’re a fighter—I’ve never seen such a fierce fighter.

” He swallowed hard, steadying himself while devouring her with his gaze like it might be the last time in this life.

The thought made her claw desperately at his shirt.

“Don’t leave me!”

“You’re stubborn, I know that! And underneath that fire, your heart is pure gold—that’s exactly what these people need. If you care for them at all, you’ll let me go and protect our country, protect everything we fought for, and protect…” his voice cracked, “protect you.”

He kissed her then, full of desperation and longing for the world they might’ve had, but behind that despair flickered a spark of hope that this wasn’t truly the end.

His lips tasted of salt and sorrow and unbreakable love.

When he finally pulled away, his cheek brushed against hers like he couldn’t bear to leave her.

“No more secrets between us,” he murmured.

She caught her breath as he stepped back, unable to believe she was letting him go, but what choice did she have? He was just as stubborn as she was, perhaps more.

Her world walked away with him, leaving behind only the acrid smell of smoke and burning dreams. Could he stop this destruction? Her heart ached with the consuming need to see him again, to hold him safe in her arms.

And she would! She’d make sure of it, even if it killed her. But what could she do from here?

She scrambled to the railing, her white dress whipping around her legs as she peered out at the soldiers moving through the olive groves like a dark wall.

Then she spotted Achilles sprinting toward a military jeep abandoned near the chapel’s weathered stone steps.

Her breath caught as Achilles vaulted into the driver’s seat.

The engine roared to life, and he peeled away from the chapel in a spray of gravel and dust, disappearing over the ridge only to reappear moments later—racing directly toward the Myrdon patrol like a man possessed.

The jeep bucked and swerved as he yanked the wheel hard left, then right, creating the perfect illusion of panic.

From her perch high above, she could see his calculated desperation, the way he made every movement look like flight rather than a suicide mission. He was making it seem like he’d only come upon them by accident.

Oh, Achilles!

Harsh voices erupted from below—“Halt! Stámatá to óchima!” Achilles brought the jeep to a skidding stop, dust clouds billowing around him.

Her heart shattered as he stepped out slowly, his hands rising above his head.

Even from this distance, she could see the tilt of his chin that showed his defiance.

Rough hands seized his arms, zip-tying his wrists behind his back.

They didn’t want him dead. Thank God for that small mercy.

She pressed her palm against her mouth to stifle a sob as they marched him toward one of their armored vehicles.

A second squad peeled away from the group, jogging back along Achilles’s tire tracks with weapons drawn, their boots pounding the earth as they searched for her—they moved away from the bell tower, away from her, their figures growing smaller.

His trick had worked! And she was all alone. What would they do to him?

The ancient bell tolled again above her, its bronze voice so loud it seemed to rattle her teeth.

More coded messages she couldn’t decipher.

Find my heart; seek the cross? The answer seemed so close, and all at once too far away.

It hadn’t saved Achilles. Tears of frustration burned her eyes.

How could she be the brave queen her husband believed her to be when he wasn’t here beside her?

Across the way over the marble of the amphitheater ruins, the thin line of light suddenly intersected with a new beam to form a distinct pattern. A cross.

Below, as if answering that call, a figure walked across the grassy hillside with halted steps. She knew that walk! Nestor—he was on the island of Aeaea, and he was answering the signal.

Find my heart; seek the cross. Could it be that simple?

Those were directions to O Skia’s rebel headquarters.