Page 11 of A Queen and HER Bad Boy
“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, exactlynothingthese 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.
Chapter Four
“…youlovemydaughter,and you don’t want anything bad to happen to her.”
The words burned through his thoughts like acid. Everything was turning into a nightmarish blur. Achilles stood in the groom’s suite where Venice had gotten ready earlier that day, preparing for his own wedding. His own ceremony would bea mockery in comparison—no joy, no freedom, and a bride who was trapped in this gilded cage with him.
And he wasn’t abandoning Bris to her father’s whims.
Achilles had seen the truth of that old tyrant’s threats in his eyes. In fact, the instant he’d walked into the room and spied Bris’s tears, he knew that he’d give Chises Mnon anything he wanted.
But to rule Tirreoy? To marry Bris against her will? Yes, and yes.
He groaned. His first instinct had been to wrap his arms tightly around Bris and let her cry against him, even as she begged him not to give in to her father, but what was the alternative? At least this way, he could protect her. Achilles would go mad knowing she was in danger in some far-off place where he couldn’t fight for her. He’d been to Tirreoy, and he’d seen for himself the rubble that was left from the civil war that had torn that country apart. Crime-infested streets, dangerous conditions, a lawless world. And what about these advisors that Venice didn’t trust?
He’d have to move more carefully than his friend had, stay in the shadows and strike when the moment was right, so that Chises Mnon wouldn’t realize he’d been played until it was too late.
Was it even possible? Where were Bris’s loyalties? He wasn’t sure anymore. Was he marrying the enemy? This might be the worst mistake he’d ever made.
He ran his fingers through his hair, not having a comb. He’d made all sorts of excuses to Charisse earlier to get out of their plans tonight—it wasn’t worse than what he’d done with other women in his life, though he honestly had never broken a date to get married before. There was a first time for everything.
A soft rap sounded on his door. His hand froze on his hair, and he turned. “Yes?”
“Achilles.” He recognized the gentle voice that had once sung him to sleep with Tirreoy’s most beloved lullabies. How was it possible that she was here?
He jerked open the door, and his breath caught. Clysta stood before him, her willowy frame draped in an oversized dress, but unmistakably his mother. The delicate silk scarf couldn’t quite contain the thick, dark curls that had always defied taming, just like her spirit once had.
He ushered her quickly inside, noting how she moved like she was being hunted by a bear, each step careful. “What are you doing here?” Her life was in danger.
She shut the door behind her, leaning against the oak with delicate shoulders. “My love, I came as soon as I could. Tell me truthfully, are you sure this is what you want to do?”
He studied the new shadows beneath her eyes. “What have you heard?” he asked carefully.
“You’re marrying Chises Mnon’s daughter in exchange for my—my pardon.” Her head lowered, and a flush crept up her elegant neck. The fact that she knew every detail, and that she’d come so quickly sent his suspicions on hyper-drive. The Myrdons were just like the ants they’d tattooed all over their bodies—her bloodthirsty husband, the demon who’d spawned the whole twisted organization, had spies crawling all over the place.
“We don’t have to do it this way,” she said, and he caught a tremor in her voice that she quickly suppressed.
“I thought you’d approve,” he said. The usual anger at her betrayal flared through him. “Atreus Mnon has been pushing for this since Scheria Island. I’m sure your new husband would be here to congratulate me if he could… as well as force me to memorize detailed instructions on how to suck the royal family dry… or has that job fallen to you now?”
Something flickered across her features—pain, perhaps guilt—before her expression shuttered. “I came because I’m your mother.” She seemed to steady herself. “Believe it or not, I care about you!”
More lies! She’d roped him into this cause, knowing that she was introducing her son to a monster. She was incapable of leaving her abuser. Why drag him into the trouble too?
He turned back to the mirror, trying to fix the tie that got more difficult to manage by the second. “You forget. I’ve seen exactly how Atreus Mnon works.” He’d used everyone Achilles loved against him—just like his brother Chises Mnon was doing now! The Tyndarian royal family were peas in a pod. “I know what your husband is capable of,” he muttered.
