Page 65 of A Queen and HER Bad Boy
“My mother was from Aeaea,” Achilles said firmly. He’d force this evasive holy man to own up to the truth.
“Oh, was she?” Nestor said with an airy shrug. “It was so many years ago, really.” Impossible that he’d forget such an important detail even so. Did the priest have legitimate reasons for concealing these connections, or had the lies become so habitual he barely noticed them anymore?
Nestor’s round face flushed red with embarrassment under Achilles’s piercing stare, though he still brazenly tried to coverup his slip. “I only meant to say that after everything that’s happened, your mother’s heart was always in the right place.”
Was it? Or had Clysta been the one to convince his father to betray his people? O Skia’s cryptic warning about loving too well and dancing too close to the fire suddenly carried horrible new meaning. The agony that resulted from that union hammered his next question into a blunt knife. “How did they meet?”
Nestor waved the subject away, too quickly, too frantically to be believable. “That’s a story for another day, one that I’m not entirely familiar with.”
Liar! If the man was truly loyal to the crown, he’d share every detail he knew with his future queen and her consort. Achilles felt his muscles coil with sudden menace, suspicion crystallizing into something harder and more dangerous.
If Nestor was part of some rebel network, what was he capable of? His mind raced back to the chained man in the palace dungeon—O Skia claimed to know the truth but demanded loyalty as payment. How far would Achilles go to pay that price?
If it meant saving Bris… anything.
It was too late! What did they really know about Nestor beyond his clerical collar? Nothing, only that Bris had been attacked practically on the priest’s doorstep. They’d walked directly into enemy hands.
Another crash of thunder rocked the cathedral walls, making them vibrate. The storm showed no mercy. Water began seeping under the heavy wooden doors, dark streams spreading across the stone floor. They were trapped, and it would only get worse as the flood continued rising.
The ancient stones seemed to whisper of other storms weathered, other desperate souls sheltered within these walls, but tonight felt different—charged with an ominous energy that made Achilles’s skin crawl. Somewhere in the back of his mind,warning bells screamed out, having nothing to do with the storm raging outside.
His gaze drifted to Nestor, noting how the priest’s kindly demeanor seemed somehow less genuine, his movements more calculated. They were completely exposed here, cut off from anyone who could help them.
If Nestor wanted to strike at the future queen, tonight would give him the perfect opportunity.
Chapter Twenty
WasAchillesawakeorasleep?
This was the first time since marrying him that he’d actually cuddled her while she slept. Bris stretched out on the wooden pew, resting her head on his lap. Of course, where else could he go? There would be no midnight swims for him… unless he thought to jump out into the flood to escape her.
But no… he’d wanted to make their marriage real. Was he just parroting what she’d said, or was it true? Did he still feel the same way? Nothing could tear her away from trying to save the townspeople’s lives, not protocol, not Phoenix, nor the pleadings from her lady-in-waiting. Worst of all, she’d ignored Achilles’s repeated calls for caution until he was proven right. They couldn’t race against time—they couldn’t procrastinate their fate.
Nothing they’d done had stopped Ilion from falling.
She cradled Yiorgos’ trembling form. If she hadn’t gone, they wouldn’t have rescued this small child. Was he the only one they’d saved? The boy’s head lolled from side to side, finding her arm, then Achilles’s knee, then her stomach, turning into a human heater while he burrowed closer. He let out a sad cry in his sleep. She ran her fingers down his back while she drifted in and out of consciousness.
Perhaps a few days earlier, the thought of stretching out on the hard oak, shaking from the cold and sleeping in her wet clothes might have seemed impossible, but the exhaustion was too much to fight.
Poor Achilles! He couldn’t be doing any better! His arms kept her from rolling off the pew—they were strong, comforting, and the spoiled princess she’d become didn’t deserve his pity.
Where was Polly? Peder? If anything had happened to them, she’d be solely responsible. Bris’s dreams were full of water and death. And the pain in Achilles’s eyes haunted her still. He blamed himself—for what? Not keeping her in line?
His breaths were slow, measured… and definitely awake. “Where are you going?” his sleep-deprived grumble proved her right, jolting her further awake and echoing through the church on a whisper.
“To find a radio.” Nestor kept his voice low, likely to keep anyone else from waking up. Too late for that. “The water’sgetting higher. It isn’t safe for any of us here… especially our queen-to-be.”
Achilles turned silent. Without opening her eyes, she could almost see the self-revulsion on her husband’s face as she listened to the priest’s steps scrape haltingly across the chapel floor. Achilles’s hands tightened over her. He’d turned into a guard dog after reading about his father’s betrayal on the island of Aeaea. Punishing himself again? This time for what his father did.
Propaganda was a wicked sword—distract the people with a common enemy, mold public opinion for their benefit, but if General Peleus was indeed executed on her father’s orders, could this be the reason? Why else would her father turn on his best friend like that… if he had… well, had he?
Enough of this! She didn’t know the past, and certainly couldn’t control it… or the present, tragically. How could she, of all people, be put in charge of nearly 3.8 million citizens when she was such a mess at managing her own heart? She just wanted to be a normal girl in love with a man—a man who desperately needed what comfort she could give him.
The door closed behind Nestor, and she reached over to pat her husband’s knee. “Achilles?” Her head lifted, her hair catching under his fingers. “It’s not your fault what happened on Aeaea.”
The darkness of eyes glistening under the candlelight caught hers—not full of pain like she’d imagined, but a storm of urgency. “I need you to listen to me,” he said. The panic he tried to hide in his voice immediately put her on high alert. “We have to leave before Nestor returns to finish us off.”
She jumped in surprise. What was he talking about? Achilles pulled her closer. “He’s going for a weapon; I’ll bet my life on it.”
