Page 76 of A Queen and HER Bad Boy (Spies and Royals #4)

Epilogue

—About six months of wedded bliss, give or take—

T he rhythmic pounding of hammer against nails echoed across the hillside as Achilles secured another beam to the tin roof of the new schoolhouse.

He couldn’t stop peering down at his wife as she painted the door frame a cheerful sunshine yellow below.

Her dark hair escaped from its ponytail to curl around her flushed cheeks.

The crisp Tirrojan breeze carried the salt-sweet scent of the sea up from the harbor, mingling with the earthy smell of fresh lumber and paint.

Nothing could distract him from the sight of her.

Below them, children’s laughter rang out like music as they played in the courtyard of their brand-new school—the first of many projects funded by Tirreoy’s newfound prosperity.

At the center of the chaos, a familiar mop of light brown hair caught Achilles’s attention.

Yiorgos was chasing a group of older children around the olive tree, brandishing his precious textbook like a sword—though this one was filled with real history instead of government propaganda.

“Yiorgos!” Bris called down with mock sternness. “That book is for reading, not for whacking people!”

The boy looked up with that same impish grin they remembered from all their adventures together, completely unrepentant. “But it’s more fun this way!” he shouted back in the English he was quickly adopting.

Maggie appeared from the doorway of the school, wiping her hands on her apron, her sun-kissed face creased with fond exasperation.

“That boy,” she said, shaking her head. “He’s been carrying that book everywhere since the day you gave it to him.

Won’t let anyone else touch it.” Her eyes softened as she watched him play.

“His mother says he sleeps with it under his pillow.”

“Some things never change,” Achilles said, remembering how the child had clutched that first waterlogged textbook even in the face of death.

“Some things shouldn’t,” Bris replied. Her hand moved to her belly as she watched the boy who’d become a symbol of hope for her.

Their country was finally thriving as they harnessed their resources to enrich the common people, instead of feeding the fat cats. Schools, hospitals, roads—everything they’d dreamed of building was becoming reality, one hammer stroke at a time.

Bris lifted her chin, her eyes locking with Achilles’s before she broke into a smile. She’d caught him watching her again. Her paintbrush paused mid-stroke. “Are you actually working up there or just admiring the view?” She gave him that sassy grin that still made his heart skip.

He grinned back and promptly hammered his thumb instead of the nail. “Ow!” The curse that followed would’ve made a sailor blush.

“Oh!” she let out a concerned cry, already setting down her brush. “Achilles!”

Now he was caught between hamming it up to get attention and playing the tough guy who could shrug off the pain. The choice was easy—he’d do anything to get some love from his soft-hearted wife.

He climbed down from the roof with exaggerated care, cradling his injured thumb like he’d never done with his arm after getting shot… twice. “I think I need medical attention.” It was hard to say without rolling his eyes at himself.

She did it instead, but took his hand anyway, lifting his thumb to her lips to blow gently on the reddened skin.

The warm tickle of her breath sent heat racing up his arm, and finally he could stand no more.

The supposedly injured hand found her waist, drawing her closer for a sweet kiss that tasted of laughter and sunny Tirrojan days.

His palm settled protectively over the gentle swell of her belly, possibly his favorite new development about his wife.

“You’re such a baby,” she murmured against his lips.

“Poor thing, now you’re stuck with me.” He pressed another kiss to the corner of her mouth. “I better ham it up before this little guy steals all the attention.” His thumb traced gentle circles over her baby bump.

“How do you know our baby’s not a girl?”

His heart swelled at the idea. “Well, if she’s anything like her mother, she still won’t give us a moment’s peace with all that spirit and fire she’s inherited!”

Bris laughed, the sound brighter than it had ever been under her father’s care “And if it’s a boy, I can’t imagine the trouble the two of you will get into!”

Touche! He kissed those sassy lips. Bris was his match in every way—wit, fire, a heart of gold! He blessed the day that his manipulative father-in-law had forced him to marry her—though he’d never get alone with Chises Mnon to have the heart-to-heart to admit it.

“Your Royal Highness!” Polly approached with her ever-present clipboard, her professional demeanor softening as her eyes found Peder working nearby.

The man was arranging supplies with nervous precision, and Achilles had noticed the way his hands shook whenever he touched his jacket pocket.

The poor fool had been carrying that engagement ring around for weeks, hoping to find the perfect moment to propose.

“I need you to approve these community outreach programs,” Polly continued, though her stolen glances at Peder showed she was also distracted from her duties. “We have funding approved for three new medical clinics, a technical college, and an arts center for the coastal villages.”

Achilles scanned the papers, his chest swelling with pride at what they’d accomplished. “Perfect. What about the clean water initiative?”

“Ahead of schedule and under budget,” Bris added, wiping paint from her hands. “And the farming cooperative is already turning a profit on their olive oil exports.”

“My wife, the economist,” Achilles murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple as he signed the approvals next to her name.

Their new life felt like a dream sometimes.

His parents had settled into a cottage on the Island of Aeaea, finally free to live the quiet life they’d been denied for so long.

Atreus Mnon had slunk away like the coward he was when the man he’d tried to assassinate returned to reclaim his mistreated wife.

Good riddance! Of course, the Myrdons were likely scheming their downfall in another country. There were rumors Atreus Mnon was eyeing the Island of Ithaca next!

But the teeth would be taken out of his plans.

Tonight would mark their official coronation as the new King and Queen of Tirreoy, becoming heads of the constitutional monarchy they were fighting to establish. But first…

Achilles turned to his wife, letting his gaze drift appreciatively over her paint-splattered work clothes and glowing skin. “You know, Your Royal Highness, we have about three hours before we need to get ready for tonight’s festivities.”

“Three whole hours?” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “However, will we pass the time?”

“I have a few ideas.” His voice dropped to that husky whisper that never failed to make her blush. “Though they might require you to get out of those clothes… you’re covered in paint and sawdust.”

Her cheeks turned pink. “That’s exactly why I’m taking a bath as soon as I get home.”

His grin turned wicked. “You know, I should probably help you with that—can’t have the future queen looking anything less than perfect.”

She gently swatted his arm with a laugh. “You’re terrible.”

“Admit it. That’s why you married me.”

“Maybe.” She winked and kissed his cheek.

“So… is that a ‘yes’ on my help?” he asked.

She trailed her finger down his back. “Maybe.” She moved away, and he hurriedly gathered up his tools and headed for the Jeep.

They raced up the hill, past Nestor’s cathedral where the old priest waved from his garden. The palace came into view as they crested the rise—golden stone gleaming in the afternoon sun, its windows catching the light like jewels. No longer did it feel like a prison; now it was home.

A compact Audi sat in the circular driveway, and Achilles felt his heart lift as Venice emerged from the driver’s side.

His best friend looked healthier than he had in years—the weight of unwanted responsibility lifted from his shoulders, leaving him free to be the man that he was always meant to be.

Though Achilles wasn’t letting him slip away that easily.

Venice moved around the car to help Livvy out with the tender care of a devoted husband, his hand lingering protectively on her back. When he spotted Achilles approaching, his face split into a grin.

“Brother,” Venice said, and they embraced with the easy affection of men who’d been through a shared nightmare and had emerged stronger.

“Keep your hands off my sister,” Venice added with mock sternness as they pulled apart.

“Too late for that,” Achilles replied with a grin.

He lifted his chin at his wife, and Venice’s eyes widened when he followed the direction of his gaze.

His face filled with joy, and not before Achilles caught the secret, pleased look he exchanged with his own wife.

Achilles guessed that they had their own happy news to share.

Bris immediately swooped in to steal Livvy away. “Excuse me,” she said. “We’ve got things to talk about.” They moved to the side garden, already caught in excited whispered conversation.

“Look at this place,” Venice said, gazing up at their golden palace with genuine admiration. “I always knew you had it in you to settle down, and I want to be honest—you have steel in you, man! I didn’t believe it before, but you were meant to rule Tirreoy with my sister.”

Achilles shrugged off the compliment, though warmth spread through his chest. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something.” He lowered his voice, knowing that what he was about to say would shake his friend’s world.

“We’re planning to establish a parliament—a proper constitutional government with elected representatives.

It would mean the world to have you head the transition. ”