Page 55 of A Queen and HER Bad Boy
“Mmhmm.” She slid the brush over her big toe, transforming it to vibrant pink. The past few days had been a whirlwind of moving past the day-to-day emergencies of Tirreoy and ordering supplies—textbooks, desks, even a proper chalkboard for Maggie’s makeshift classroom. It felt overwhelming when everyone in their country faced similar poverty, but at least they’d made a real difference for one group of children.
It still felt like nothing at all.
Achilles reached across her to examine the tiny bottle. “What happened to the blue?”
“Someone kept ordering me different colors.”
“Yeah?” The man in question showed no intention of moving back. His arm rested against her bare knee, radiating heat. “Well, I don’t remember this shade being so sparkly.”
She took a deep breath and tossed her damp hair, accidentally slapping him in the face with the wet strands. His laughter emerged as a grunt. “Whoa. Sorry, I’ll watch my mouth from now on.”
“That wasn’t on purpo—” She stopped, realizing he was teasing her again. A smile tugged at her lips despite her efforts to suppress it. “Okay, fine, mind your manners…” That ended with his hands buried in her hair again. “Achilles!” Time for revenge. She shifted and leaned back against him, using his solid chest as a human pillow. “Hold still or you’ll ruin my nail polish.”
She was effectively trapping her husband behind her, but how else could she make him behave? His arms wrapped around her in response, pulling her closer until his chin dropped against her shoulder to watch the meticulous polish application. It took all her concentration to keep her hands steady.
“Bris? I’ve been meaning to discuss something with you…” Assassins? The Earl? She tensed instinctively. “About us,” he said carefully.
Her breath caught. Was he about to sacrifice himself to some greater political good again? “No,” she muttered. “Let’s just be normal people and enjoy the peace.”
He released a rough laugh that she felt vibrate against her cheek. She joined him with a light chuckle—they were so far beyond normal that it was amusing.
“Normal? You mean you want to go back to us constantly arguing? Start calling me Killiefish again?”
She made a face while covering another nail with pink polish. “I only did that because you put that dead fish in my shoe closet—you’re lucky I don’t call you Captain Cod!”
“Careful, Princess Prissy Poo… or I’ll make sure everyone adopts my nickname for you. One text to Deedeelicious will spread our secret to the world.”
“Truce!” she called out, setting the nail polish carefully on the side table. “Just for tonight!”
“Maybe I like our fighting.” He let out a mock growl and tackled her back against the plush mattress, but his movements were infinitely gentler than usual, carefully lowering her down. Still, the motion jarred her injured elbow, and she sucked in a sharp breath.
“Bris?” His eyes immediately scanned her face with concern.
“I’m fine,” she said, cheeks flushing. How could she make him stop treating her like she was broken? “I can handle whatever you dish out…” She stared up at him, watching his eyes darken with unmistakable emotion, feeling his warm breath against her lips. This wasn’t playful fighting anymore. The energy crackling between them was undeniable.
“I like how you got those textbooks for those kids,” he said without missing a beat. “Most queens would make a decree and force their servants to deal with their lowly subjects. Don’t think I didn’t notice the time you’re putting into choosing just the right books.”
She ducked her head, embarrassed by how excited she’d been about the gifts. So unlike the spoiled princess everyone thought she was. “One small victory, I suppose.” She steadied her voice to hide her emotion, then traced the bruises on his knuckles to distract him. “Most princes would have delegated the interrogation of evil assassins to their security teams.”
That was partly a sound scolding.
His smile was slow, though he immediately deflected the compliment with a grimace. “My turn—the new curtains in the throne room aren’t completely hideous.”
He’d actually noticed she’d changed those out? “Wait…” Her pulse quickened with unexpected pleasure. “We’re being nice now? Yuck.” She pretended to gag. “I don’t know if I can handle that.”
“We’ll survive somehow,” his voice had dropped to a rough whisper. The sincerity blazing in his dark eyes made her breath catch. “You’re going to be exactly the kind of queen who can heal this broken country.”
Yes, something fundamental had shifted between them. She could barely believe Achilles was finally treating her like a true partner… like his wife.
“You know,” he said thoughtfully, his fingers tracing absent patterns on her arm, “we need to think bigger than selling off our personal holdings. This country’s real wealth is locked away on Aeaea Island—those offshore drilling rights could fund reconstruction for decades.”
She felt a flutter of unease. “But the Guerrillas control those territories. They’ve been sinking ships for years.”
“There are other ways to deal with their opposition,” he said. “Maybe we could negotiate. Buy them out.”
“Buy out terrorists?” She stared at him in disbelief.
“You have a better solution?” His tone was reasonable, but something in his eyes made her stomach tighten. “Sometimes you have to work with unsavory people to find peace. We won’t have to be dependent on the High Consortium for their approval, on—on anybody!” Was he referring to the Earl now? “The Myrdons have connections throughout the region—they might be willing to broker negotiations.”
