Page 12 of A Queen and HER Bad Boy
His beautiful mother wasn’t defending him right now. No talk of Atreus Mnon merely fighting against an unfair system or avenging his father’s death? No arguments that Achilles would someday understand the importance of the Tirrojan revolution? He shot her a sharp glance, but her eyes held something he hadn’t seen in years—a spark of the fierce starlet who’d once taken all of Tirreoy by storm. She was acting strange. “You can forget about me working with the Myrdons.”
She snorted with impatience. “There are darker forces at play here, and you’re going to need allies at the palace.” Her voice dropped to barely above a whisper as she moved closer, her movements fluid despite the tension radiating from her small frame. “Your phones will be bugged; the halls will be swarming with spies, and so if you need to contact me, I want you to use this.”
She dropped a gold ring into his palm. The red rubies caught the light like drops of blood against a gold cross. “Find my heart…” she said, and for a moment her mask slipped, revealing desperation, “seek the cross. Then you will discover the help you need.”
She spoke in code, like she was afraid that they were being monitored even now. She might not be wrong. Turning over the band, his heart sank when he saw the insignia of the Myrdon ants under the band. “Put it on,” she said.
With sudden revulsion tightening his every muscle, he dropped it back into her hand. “No thanks! How about you give me your phone number like a normal mom?”
Her fingers trembled as they closed around the ring, and he saw her swallow hard. “I know you don’t trust me anymore… for good reason.”
“Yeah, you almost killed my best friend.”
She bit her lower lip—a gesture so achingly familiar from his childhood that his chest tightened. “If you don’t wear the ring, then at least keep it close.” Again, she placed the gold band in his palm, her touch lingering as she folded his fingers over the cold metal. Her brown eyes begged him. “You’ll see… you’ll see very soon that Tirreoy is full of danger. Never forget—find my heart; seek the cross. Then you will discover the help you need.”
Achilles felt his helplessness consume him, especially when he saw those eyes glisten with tears that she refused to let fall. More than anything, he hoped she was wrong, that he’d never need the help of the Myrdons, but a nagging feeling told him that he was over his head in every way. He slipped the ring into his pocket.
Her hands found his, small and warm but carrying calluses that spoke of the difficulty of the life she led. “Do you love her?” she asked.
Again… he remembered the lullabies his mother used to sing to him, remembered how she’d been Tirreoy’s own rock star before she’d given up all the fame for her children; she’d whispered into his ear how he was her little warrior. Now he wanted to go back to confiding in her, tell her that what he felt for Bris… was complicated, but he couldn’t trust her with his heart. He settled on a careful answer: “I care about her.”
A brief smile—genuine this time—transformed her face into something closer to what he remembered. “I’m glad of it. I wish I could give you more advice. I loved your father so much that I…” Her voice caught, and she looked away. She’d told him that Chises Mon had him assassinated—that was why he’d joined the Myrdons in the first place. “Well, that is over now.”
“What about Atreus Mnon?” He couldn’t help asking. The fact she stayed with that killer only confirmed to him that the man was using her children against her. An urgency that he’d hidden deep inside floated to the surface. What if he could reach her this time? “If you need help out,” he said. “I can do that.” He’d make another deal with Chises Mnon; promise to fight any war he asked him to do; he’d do anything.
“You’ve a good heart,” she breathed, reaching up to touch his cheek with fingers that shook slightly, “just like your father. My love, I am safe. I am only worried about you, and about my darling Iphigenia. Listen to me, if you need anything, I’m here for you. Always remember that.”
The fact that she’d come so quickly was testament to that. He was almost afraid to ask how she’d done it, but he had a feeling that she would’ve risked her life to bring him this ring. It felt like he had a loaded weapon in his pocket.
She rose on her toes to kiss his cheek, her touch brief and warm, carrying the faint scent of jasmine that he remembered from childhood. Then she was leaving as silently as she had come. He stared at the door, listening to the soft scrape of her shoes against the flagged stone hallway—even her footsteps held secrets.
And now he had the Myrdon’s blessing on this marriage. He groaned. This was all beginning to feel real… he hadn’t even invited his sister to the wedding. There was good reason for that. Gena would try to make him be sensible, and then he’d have to explain everything to her.
His sister didn’t know half the things that happened around here. She’d been too young to remember the screams during the Crimson Reckonings, the bullets, losing loved ones… and it was better that way. Someone had to remain innocent.
She’ll know soon enough when she gets a bodyguard assigned to her.
He took a deep breath and, looking back in the mirror, he was surprised to see the same man standing there from before, considering the emotions roiling through him—maybe his color was a little high against his tan face, but the man the world saw was an arrogant aristocrat.
His job was to perpetuate that image—whether it was right or wrong, he’d be a force to reckon with. He straightened his shoulders and stepped outside into the hallway.
Two security men watched him as he passed by—it only confirmed his suspicions. His mother had gotten through them so easily. More spies? It would be worse when he actually reached the country of Tirreoy.
Everything he’d feared for Venice was now happening to him—forget having trusted advisors, confidantes or friends over there. The listening ears behind the listening ears would be after his blood.
And what of Bris? Could she truly be his wife in every sense of the word? Could he trust her with his deepest feelings and suspicions? Could he lean into her as his partner or was “cleaving unto her” just a meaningless vow they were about to make?
Tonight in her father’s study, he couldn’t rip his gaze away. A spoiled, heart-wrenchingly beautiful princess! She had a mouth on her that either had him laughing, fighting for his life, or both. Every moment with her he treasured; his days only lit up with the power of her smile, but would that be enough for them in the end?
None of these fears mattered anyway.
He entered the chapel that was still scented by the cascades of white roses and peonies from Venice’s wedding. The usual fanfare was missing, and the seats decorated in white satin bows and clusters of olive leaves were empty. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that his wedding would be anything like this. For all his jokes about eloping, he desperately wanted his friends here at his celebration.
A priest stood at the end of the chapel, reading a Bible. Nestor Pappas was a Tyndarian aristocrat and an old family friend of the royals; he’d escaped with them during the Crimson Reckonings. The robed man had also recently overseen Venice’s wedding earlier that day.
Nestor glanced up at Achilles and attempted a smile. Huh. He had sad eyes; the kindly expression did nothing to hide them. Here was another poor soul who’d been touched by the war. “Achilles Peleides? Are you here of your own free will?” Nestor asked.
An odd question, but he nodded anyway.
