Page 50 of A Queen and HER Bad Boy
His profound words left her speechless, the weight of responsibility settling on her shoulders.
Polly touched her arm urgently. “Security will send out search parties soon if we don’t return.”
She was absolutely right. Taking pity on her anxious lady-in-waiting, she clasped Nestor’s hand in farewell and hurried back up the lane to retrieve their horses.
Security wouldn’t allow her to slip away so easily in the future, but once she was officially crowned queen, she’d have the authority to make her own decisions. She’d bring her protection detail to inspect the most impoverished areas firsthand. She had to understand the full scope of what she was facing.
Achilles would support her mission—she was certain of it. He’d insist on accompanying her, standing by her side as they worked to rebuild their broken country. The thought sent a powerful jolt through her stomach. What would it feel like to be completely in sync with her husband, united in purpose and passion?
Love your husband. Yeah, she did love him… so desperately it was a physical ache in her chest.
The problem was that he didn’t love her back, and why should he? She was spoiled, temperamental, explosive—even her own family kept their distance. Meanwhile, Achilles was haunted by a past of womanizing. Before Charisse, he’d flirted shamelessly with Deedee and blonde yacht beauties, the Gorgon sisters, and that captivating barista in downtown London… basically anyone except Bris. If she had to watch Achilles being so adorable with these children or standing heroically against powerful political forces like the Earl of Alexopoulos? Ugh, the pain of their loveless marriage would become unbearable.
And I’m not turning away from my people.
She needed Achilles as her partner in this fight, whether he loved her or not. Leaving the lane that led back toward the school, they walked through the thick grove of trees surrounding the ancient church.
It was true that there was a large political faction who would see her husband as their savior—someone who understood their struggles and would fight for their interests when no one else would.
And who was she? The privileged royal who’d chosen to accept him; someone who would listen to his counsel and value his insights as she’d do with her own country? Yes! But first, the crown. She had to turn things around, show the High Consortium that she was exactly what this place needed, even if it meant playing their twisted political games and stomaching another ‘business meeting’ with the Earl.
She was so deep in thought that she didn’t notice the dark figures emerging from the tree line until it was too late. A powerful hand struck her neck like a club, knocking her off her feet. Bris hit the rocky ground hard, her elbow cracking painfully beneath her weight.
Polly’s terrified shriek pierced the air as Bris glimpsed her attacker’s face—features twisted with feral hatred—before brutal hands seized her arm. He dragged her against his unwashed body with a vicious growl: “Look what we caught—our little Queen Bee!”
He shook her violently until her screams died in her constricted throat.
Chapter Fifteen
Achilles’seyessnappedopenlike a man surfacing from drowning.
The last thing he remembered from last night was finding that stash of aged whiskey and drinking himself into oblivion… but an image of Bris had been there too, a foggy vision of her luminous golden eyes dancing in front of him like fireflies. Had he truly picked her up and carried her to bed, feeling the silkof her long hair against his hands? Or was that just another torturous dream?
He groaned, his head pounding in that familiar rhythm of a brutal hangover as he turned against the familiar tan couch cushion pressed against his stubbled cheek. At least he hadn’t fallen asleep beside her, but did he need to apologize for getting out of hand? The memory was frustratingly hazy. He’d been doing a lot of that lately—losing control when the only thing he wanted was to touch her soft skin and tell her… tell her what? That she was driving him slowly insane?
His brain felt wrapped in cotton from last night’s poor decisions. Shoving himself off the unforgiving couch, his bare feet hit the cold marble as he knocked on her bedroom door.
Silence.
“Bris?” He scratched at the heavy oak with his knuckles. “Let me in before I grab another bottle of that whiskey…”
Nothing.
The ancient door complained heavily as he pushed it open. He half expected a pillow to be launched at his head. Instead, he was greeted by an already-made bed that looked like it belonged in a luxury hotel. The silk covers were tucked in with military precision, the feather pillows fluffed to perfection. Great! The Early bird had been up for hours—plenty of time to stew about his drunken antics. He’d have a volcano just waiting to erupt the moment he got within range.
He swiped up his cracked phone from the coffee table, squinting at the spider-webbed screen as he pressed speed dial. A familiar voice answered. “Peder,” he got right to the point, “have you seen my wife?”
Wife? The word felt strange on his tongue—foreign yet somehow right. He hated that he was deriving any pleasure from Bris’s forced captivity in this arrangement.
Peder’s response came slowly, laden with obvious reluctance. “We’re looking for her.”
His vague unease exploded into a fiery pit of dread in his stomach. “What do you mean you’re looking for her? You can’t find her?”
“She went riding with Polly hours ago. Neither has returned, and Polly isn’t answering her phone either.”
Achilles unleashed a string of curses that would make a sailor blush as he hopped around, shoving his legs into yesterday’s jeans. The denim was cold against his skin, still damp from last night’s rain.
“We’ll find her,” Peder said breathlessly through the phone. “She can’t have gone far. Polly wouldn’t let her do anything dangerous.”
