Page 26 of A Queen and HER Bad Boy
Could she strangle him, or would that be another improper thing to do?
Bris smoothed the emerald silk of her morning dress, a creation that had arrived yesterday with dozens of others in her impromptu shopping spree. Since leaving the palace was apparently forbidden at the moment, they’d brought the shopping to her—personal stylists, bolts of fabric in jewel tones, racks of designer gowns all tailored to her measurements. Heaven forbid she do anything normal in Tirreoy! But losing herself in fashion and color and beauty had been her one bright spot at the palace.
If she’d thought turning into a fashion plate was the secret to her husband’s heart, she was dead wrong. If anything, he grew more distant the prettier she felt. During the day it was easy not to take it personally amid the whirlwind of royal obligations. But the nights? He’d vanish into that side room with the overstuffed couch, claiming exhaustion.
“Naturally, I trust you’ll both conduct yourselves with the dignity befitting your stations,” Phoenix continued, his voice like fingernails on silk.
“Absolutely—three second curtseys, got it,” Achilles replied without looking up from his phone, his tone carrying just enough sarcasm to make Phoenix’s left eye twitch.
Ugh! Her hopes of ever building a real marriage with Achilles was evaporating like morning mist, replaced by a simmering pot of anger and rejection. It was hard to remember he was evenher husband when he barely looked at her, let alone touched her. She didn’t know what she’d expected from marriage to him—certainly not this arctic politeness, this constant ache in her chest where her heart should be.
“The evening will commence with cocktails and meet and greet at seven, followed by the formal presentation at eight-thirty, then dinner service—”
And Bris’s attention was the one drifting now… back to her husband. He shoved his phone into his pocket, his lip curling in frustration. Oh… was there trouble in paradise with his little side dish?
No, don’t give him the satisfaction of thinking you care!
She’d had plenty of practice with learning how to be cold with her distant father. What was another inattentive man in her life? Achilles was being Achilles, and she wasn’t meant for walks on the beach and passionate declarations and stolen kisses—time to get over silly dreams of love already!
Achilles’s eyes closed, and he nodded over his teacup. Was he actually falling asleep? Her irritation spiked like a fever. So much for all those nights he turned in early for the past week! Of course, she knew better! Polly had talked. Achilles was so used to partying the night away that his only outlets were working out at the gym, swimming endless laps, and pounding the heavy bag until his knuckles bled.
As if to prove the rumors true, he hid a yawn behind a hand decked out in Band-Aids.
She straightened in annoyance. There was no way she was keeping back her uncivil tongue a second longer. “Oh, I’m sorry, Killiefish. You tired? But I thought that couch was so comfortable?”
He nearly choked on his Earl Grey, setting the cup down with a sharp clink against the saucer. He slanted a pointed glance at the Chancellor.
She wasn’t about to pretend their marriage was blissful for Phoenix’s benefit. The smug man probably already knew everything anyway—he resembled the mystical creature he was named after, craning his neck forward like a predatory bird. She’d never seen a more obvious spy. He’d be better served having surveillance equipment stitched into his sleeves.
She fixed a fake smile on Achilles. “If you’d like I can take the couch sometimes.”
“The couch suits me just fine, thanks for your concern,” he replied smoothly, though she noticed his tightened jaw.
“You know, I hear that sleeping is more restful when you actually sleep instead of… what was it that you were doing last night—attempting to drown yourself in the pool, or were you trying to punch that heavy bag into the next century?”
His eyes narrowed on her. Yeah, she had tattletalers watching his every move, so what? “I prefer to exercise at night without spies present,” he said.
“And I prefer not to be stuck with a narcoleptic zombie for a husband, but we can’t all get what we want, now can we?”
The words hung in the perfumed air like a thrown gauntlet. Phoenix’s pale eyes glittered with barely contained irritation. “Pay attention,” his voice cut through their bickering like a blade. “The High Consortium controls not merely the purse strings, but the very foundation upon which your reign shall stand. Cross them at your peril.”
“What about the people of Tirreoy?” she asked, her heart dancing in her chest as she felt herself asking the question that seemed forbidden in the palace. “When do we get to actually meet them?”
Phoenix looked blank. “What? You mean like make appearances for photoshoots?”
“Yes! I mean… no, like visit hospitals, cut ribbons, do those walkabouts where you shake hands and talk to regular people?Isn’t that what royals are supposed to do?” The words tumbled out before she could stop them, making her cheeks flush. She’d seen it in Hallmarks and documentaries—princesses visiting schools, hugging children, being... well, actually useful.
And Achilles was watching her, his dark eyes focusing on her with an intensity she hadn't seen directed her way since their wedding night. For the first time in days, he was actually seeing her. And it made her feel far too exposed. “Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do?” she barely got out.
“In due time,” Phoenix muttered. Did that mean never? That’s what her father said when he meant never. “I haven’t told you about your greatest obstacle. The Earl of Alexopoulos.”
Achilles’s jaw turned rigid. “Dimitri?”
“I’m sorry, do you know another Earl of Alexopoulos?” Bris asked, though his suddenly raw fury shot a bolt of alarm through her. He really needed to spit out what his objections were!
“He’s an arrogant jerk!” Achilles shifted in his chair, his every move radiating hostility. “The man likes to throw his title around and crashes yacht parties uninvited.”Someone was talking from experience.“He’s known to use his influence to silence anyone who speaks out against his… appetites.”
Bris’s eyes widened in shock, her teacup freezing halfway to her lips. Now that sounded nasty. Why hadn’t Venice mentioned anything about this before?
