Page 91 of A Queen and HER Bad Boy
“Good… good… get her out of there!”
“Copy that. Handle the palace and—get Gena out, do you hear me?”
“You can count on me.”
His whole body relaxed in relief. If anyone could follow through with that promise, Peder would. “Okay—we’re going dark for a while.” And he needed those coordinates to Charisses’s place in Aeaea. Glancing over at fallen pens, he stole one from off the ground and copied the coordinates she’d sent against his arm.
“But my father?” Bris planted her feet, her heels sliding over the polished marble. “Won’t we need another security team with us?”
“I don’t trust anyone here, except Peder.” He dropped his phone on the table, knowing they’d track him with it. “We’re leaving them all behind.”
“Behind? Where are we going?”
He turned to face her fully. Under the flickering emergency lights, he took in her frightened eyes, her hair coming loose from its elaborate style, and he saw the woman he’d grown to admire and cherish. She clung to him, her fingers digging into his jacket like an anchor in a storm. Could it be that she wanted to be with him as much as he needed to be with her? “Somewhere they won’t ever expect us to go,” he said. “Aeaea.”
“The island?”
“The one from the history books, yes.”
Her face went pale, and he felt a jolt of concern when she swayed slightly, as if she might faint. “What’s there?”
“My father, Bris! He’s behind all this. And I’m not leaving you behind—never again. You have to know that… I meant what I told you. I love you.”
He’d never seen such a look of crumbling resolve. She watched him with desperate longing, and those tears were threatening again. “What about our people?”
“We can’t help anyone if we’re puppets. But if we become free—I promise you, we can free them too.”
“But…” her voice broke, “you don’t understand…”
“No, I don’t.” He took a deep breath, hearing the sounds of gunfire echoing behind them as he pulled her deeper into the shadowed alcove. “Talk to me.”
Hidden in the darkness of the marble archway, they crouched low beside an ornate pillar. The emergency lighting cast strange shadows across her face, but he could see the anguish in her eyes as her lips parted to speak. “My father threatened to give me to the Earl of Alexopoulos if I turn against him.”
Rage exploded through him like molten lava. Was this why she’d been walking on eggshells since her father’s arrival? Always on the verge of tears? She’d been terrified of losing him? He struggled to keep his voice steady through his fury. “You mean he threatened to annul our marriage if we step out of line?”
She bit her trembling lip. “I mean… yes… I would’ve clawed Dimitri’s eyes out if he tried to touch me—I think I would’ve—but… yes, my father knows how to make me come around. Maybe threaten you or Venice…”
Just like last time.No wonder she’d been so fragile, so guarded. Why hadn’t she come to him? Would he have listened? “He can’t force us apart if we don’t let him.” He blamed himself for this. Of course, Chises Mnon had thought such an insulting, gross move would be easy when their marriage had been a sham from the beginning. But was it now?
He forced himself to focus on what mattered most. “Brissy… do you want to build a real future together, take control of our own lives?”
Her fingers twined through his, and she squeezed his hand with a sob. “Yes, Killiefish. More than anything I’ve ever wanted. Let’s go to Aeaea!”
She didn’t have to say another word. His grasp tightened over her, and he swept her up from their hiding place, setting her gently on the polished granite before grasping her hand and racing down the corridor. They took advantage of the chaos. Diplomats running in evening wear, security forces shouting orders in multiple languages. The smoke billowing from the ballroom masked their escape.
Behind them, shouts echoed through the palace as security forces tried to restore order. A massive figure in black tactical gear lumbered around the corner, assault rifle raised. Achilles threw himself sideways, shoving Bris behind him as they crashed through the nearest door—the ladies’ powder room, all marble columns and gilt mirrors that reflected the scene like something from a slasher.
The door exploded inward behind them, the tactical officer filling the frame with muscle. Achilles’s survival instincts and revolutionary training kicked in as he lunged for the weapon, his hands closing around the barrel as they wrestled. The man was built like a tank, but Achilles had the rage of a man protecting everything he loved. He slammed his attacker against the ornate mirror behind the vanity, their reflections shattering into a thousand silver fragments.
Something cracked over the man’s head, and crystal splinters scattered across his body as he fell limply to the floor.
Achilles whipped around to see Bris holding the handle of a broken crystal vase with shaking fingers. Those gaudy decorations were good for something!
“That’smyamazon warrior princess!”
And he realized that she was crying. This was PTSD from the last time they’d faced down assassins. He wrapped her in his arms, feeling her fragile strength beneath the silk and gold thread of her coronation gown.
“You can’t die on me, Achilles. Please! Just promise me you won’t go charging into danger like—like Braveheart or something! I can’t lose you!”
