Page 33 of A Queen and HER Bad Boy
“May I?” she asked softly.
His hands froze on the tie. She watched his reservations flit across his face—uncertainty, wariness, something that mighthave been longing for what they once had—before he nodded. Vowing to do this as objectively as possible, she spanned the distance between them and moved through the complicated knots she’d learned in order to help out her brother and boyfriends in the past. Tying a bowtie had always seemed a necessary skill for someone who lived and breathed fashion.
His Adam’s apple moved as he swallowed under her fingers, the warmth of his skin seeping through the thin fabric of his collar.
She finished and marched back like a retreating soldier, inspecting her handiwork with an experienced eye. “There. Now you look properly devastating”in a totally friendly, non-threatening way. She patted his shoulder for good measure. That somehow felt worse.
She threw her hands behind her back as the elevator doors swished open, revealing men in expensive suits and ladies dripping in jewels and glittering designer gowns. These were the ambassadors, the titled gentry, the members of this country’s oligarchy who held the country in a political chokehold. Would she gain their acceptance tonight?
Achilles stepped closer to her, pressing his fingers into the small of her back just like the dutiful husband that he was supposed to appear. She could feel the warmth of his palm through the thin satin, steadying and strengthening, keeping up appearances like he’d sworn to do.
He leaned closer to her to whisper in her ear. “The Earl of Alexopoulos is here tonight. Keep away from him—I mean it, Bris. I’ll take care of him.”
With difficulty, she stopped herself from melting at his protectiveness. He was only being practical anyway. That guy sounded like he didn’t respect women, so it was better that they played this like a team, for better or for worse.There. That’sbetter. Safer thought.They walked from the elevator into a glittering minefield.
Phoenix cut into their path like a well-dressed shark. He was no longer wearing the military uniform, but he could’ve been for how straight his shoulders were. Instead, he wore a black suit, his eyes efficient under his heavy brows. He swept his hand out to an older, white-haired woman covered in enough jewels to fund a small army. “Meet the Countess of Meridian.”
Ah, the famous lioness who’d sent Bris practicing curtseys in front of her mirror. The woman put up a jeweled monocle to inspect them, not a word escaped her pursed lips.
Bris performed the precise curtsy demanded—a graceful dip with her right foot sliding back, her head bowed at exactly the proper angle.One. Two. Three.She drew back up, noticing Achilles executing a flawless bow beside her, his movements fluid despite his earlier complaints.
The Countess’s wrinkled face creased with approval. First hurdle cleared.
Phoenix looked pleased as well and swept them past and through the mingling crowd like a shepherd guiding prize sheep. He introduced them to another lord. “The Baron of Sunfassa.”
The older man nodded regally. Bris and Achilles performed their stiff royal greetings, carefully avoiding talk of policy. Achilles graciously thanked him for the vintage wines he’d sent as coronation gifts—half of which he’d downed in a moment of depression, though that was left unsaid.
The next half hour was a social whirl of introductions to assorted royalty and heads of state, with so many names that Bris would never remember them without a cheat sheet.
Phoenix felt like a lifeline, and for once, she was grudgingly grateful for her father’s heavy-handed interference in installing him into their lives. He led them to the right people, initiated the correct responses, and even timed each visit perfectlybefore making their gracious excuses to move on. They’d be finished with most of their first impressions by the time dinner started. Her eyes darted around to find the infamous Earl of Alexopoulos.
She had no idea what he looked like, but Phoenix had warned them that the night would be a failure without his approval. As she scanned the room, the bejeweled countess they’d met earlier decided to cut through the circle to make her exalted presence known again. “Briseis Tyndarian, you are a much shorter ruler than I’d expected. I suppose you’re easier to handle than your brother?”
Bris turned at the surprising insult, her smile never wavering. “My Lady?”
“I expect that you will not make the same mistakes Venice did.”
“Of course not,” Bris answered carefully, fighting her every urge to heatedly defend her brother, but being very careful not to offend this political powerhouse. “I’m my own person—I’ll make my own mistakes.”
The lady sucked in her cheeks and then threw her head back in a delighted laugh. “And your father expects to rule through you? I doubt that very much.”
Bris had no idea how to form a diplomatic answer. Was the woman happy about this development or planning to object to her coronation? “I hope my rule will be for the benefit of this country.”
“Yes, that is easy to say when you’re unaware that you’re dependent on the goodwill of wealthy toads to fund your empire.”
“This country has its own resources,” Bris answered evenly. Never mind that they weren’t available to them at the moment. The Island of Aeaea jealously guarded their offshore drilling rights and had been known to sink ships that venturedtoo close to their territorial waters. “We’ll enjoy a mutually beneficial relationship with our allies—while they respect our independence as a country.”
“Tell that to the moguls in America who want to set up their sweatshops here.”
“I shall,” Bris promised firmly.
The countess smiled broadly, her approval evident. “See that you do.”
“No one has ever accused Bris of being a pushover,” Achilles said next to her, his voice warm with what sounded suspiciously like pride.
The monocle was back up again as the countess inspected him next. “I don’t doubt it. And what of his Royal Highness, the soon-to-be prince-consort? Will you magnify the strength of your queen or drain her of it?”
That was bold.
