Page 98 of A Queen and HER Bad Boy
Achilles wrestled with this new version of history, watching Bris’s passionate eyes shimmer like gold pools in the lamplight.
“Atreus Mnon lost no time framing me for everything he’d done. Phoenix was his messenger, a trusted advisor to Chises Mnon and his older brother, Darius Mnon—a master of courtly poison, spinning lies to ensure his place in this new world order!” His father turned to Bris, his eyes narrowing. “He poured those lies into your father’s ear like poison, and the man who should’ve trusted his oldest friend, swallowed every word—hook, line, and sinker. Your father paid dearly for his stupidity—lost his older brother as well as his brother’s every heir. After that, your mother was next to fall, Bris.” She flinched as he spat the words, her chest heaving under her ragged breaths. “In the end, it didn’t matter what he believed, because the damage was done. Atreus Mnon pretended to champion the very people he’d crushed; he created the Myrdons and used them to eliminate all threats to his power.”
Some of this was true, but was it all, or was his father trying to make him swallow the lies with their sad history? Achilles tried to sift through these claims, watching his wife’s stiff shoulders. Anger and grief mottled O Skia’s expression, settling into the deep creases and lines of his face like a second skin.
“Chises Mnon sent assassins after me, but none of those traitors made it through this island alive—these people are fierce, they’re the survivors of power-hungry tyrants bleeding them dry. So here I stayed, a shadow of myself, O Skia, they called me. I did what I could—defended our people from cannibalistic Myrdons trying to drag us down with them.” His father turned to Achilles, his eyes piercing him through. “Andso you answer me this, young wolf—will you continue allowing Atreus Mnon to destroy what’s left of our people, or will we join forces and save them?”
Achilles felt something shift inside his chest—not full acceptance, not yet, but a shared resentment and burning desire to help those who couldn’t help themselves. He’d felt so useless during that flood, watching their people lose everything while oligarchs counted profits. Now here was a chance to seize that control back, to actually make a difference.
But was this just another false hope? Like the Myrdons? Would he be pulled into another rebellion built on lies, manipulation, and empty promises? He couldn’t rush headlong into danger like before; he had Bris to think about, a country depending on them. How could he know the truth? “Aggie Mnon said you were to blame for all this,” he said.
O Skia snorted, drawing himself up with a proud smirk that made him look every inch the guerrilla leader Achilles suspected he was. “That red-headed baby demon? Yes, all this chaos is my fault—we backed Atreus Mnon into a corner with no escape routes and no allies… until another rich parasite came scuttling in, willing to fund the Myrdons for a price… us. Turns out they want Aeaea conquered once and for all, our riches theirs and our people wiped out, and they think they can use you to do that!”
“Who is it?” Achilles blurted. If this was actually true, then this backer would be the ones behind Bris’s assassins. “Who are the Myrdons working with?”
“I was hoping you could tell me that,” his father said. The lamplight carved deep shadows under his eyes as he leaned across the scarred table.
The Earl of Alexopoulos. It had to be. The man had everything to gain by stripping the island bare. Achilles met his father’s expectant eyes; they were dark with hatred, and something else—a lust for revenge. Could he trust O Skia? The man was afirecracker ready to go off and destroy what was left of this country!
What choice did he have? He studied Bris’s pale face, her hair tumbling loose from its pins, the emerald silk torn and stained with olive oil and dust. She looked like she’d been dragged through a battle, but despite all that, her skin glowed with the beauty that none of these monsters could take away, her chin still raised in dangerous defiance.
But they could do more and worse. The years had hardened his father into something unrecognizable. Achilles read it in his eyes—O Skia wouldn’t hesitate to use Bris to make Achilles do whatever he wanted.
And that was no excuse. It was time to stop letting his heart rule him and play this smart or everything they loved would burn.
Chapter Thirty-One
Wasthistheirlastnight together?
The sun was setting beneath a canopy of ancient olive trees, their gnarled branches heavy with fruit that workers plucked in silhouette against the orange and pink horizon.
This was the honeymoon that she would’ve wanted—well, without the threats and the armed guards watching their every move. She didn’t know what to believe. Her anxiety circled herribcage trying to break free. What did these rebels want from them? Achilles’s father said they were his guests, but they sure weren’t letting them go.
Achilles’s hand never left hers; for his benefit, for hers, perhaps for them both. She closed her eyes, listening to the soft Mediterranean Sea whisper against the shore beyond them, its waves catching the last light like scattered diamonds. Salt air mingled with the earthy sweetness of ripe olives, and somewhere in the distance, a bouzouki’s haunting melody drifted through the grove—the sorrowful song of their people.
She wanted to cry as they settled onto carved stone benches that had weathered centuries of storms. The music floated through olive branches adorned with traditional wooden crosses wrapped in fresh basil sprigs that swung in the breeze. This was their Christmas celebration, so different from what she knew. Nothing could make her feel farther from home.
“We’ll get out of here soon,” Achilles murmured.
She didn’t ask how soon. His father was sure that they knew who was funding Atreus Mnon. If they had, they wouldn’t be here.
The warm glow painted everything in honey and amber, transforming the rebel camp into something magical. Yet, nothing took away from that stressed line between Achilles’s brows. She knew all the signs—the way his jaw worked silently, how his dark eyes grew distant while scanning their surroundings, the tension that corded through his shoulders.
His father was dead, then alive, then a monster, and now… not? Her heart ached for Achilles, especially as she thought of her own dishonesty.
She’d caught sight of that necklace in his pocket—would it track them? Was that a good thing? It might be the only thing to save them from this nightmare… or perhaps this was the dream she’d never dared hope for.
Crickets had taken over the night and chirped around them in air perfumed in intoxicating sweetness. Achilles turned to her, running his hands over her arms under a sky erupting in stars.
“Do you believe that your father is telling the truth?” she asked him.
“Even if he is, these wars have made him hardened and bloodthirsty. I don’t trust what he’ll try to do to you.”
Again, her thoughts went to the necklace. “There might be a way to get out of here,” she said.
Heavy footsteps approached, and the same burly man that Achilles had knocked senseless moved from the shadows. His thick brows cast his eyes in darkness as he stared at them with undisguised hostility. A purple bruise was spreading across his jaw where Achilles had hit him. Yeah, he wasn’t happy.
He let out a bark of harsh laughter. “Is this our royalty? O Skia’s boy?” His voice dripped with contempt. “Everything he fought against, and he sired the problem right here. Is it true that the two of you were forced to marry? What does that make you? A fake couple… just as fake as your right to rule.”
