Page 95 of A Queen and HER Bad Boy
She was pretty sure she knew who! “Which prince did this?” she asked.
“The youngest of them.”
Atreus Mnon? Her breath caught. Not her father? But how was that even possible? He’d formed the Myrdons to fight against hisbrother’s excesses—at least that had been his excuse. Had Atreus Mnon been the one to start the problems that he pretended to be outraged by?
“Being the son of a king was not enough for Atreus Mnon,” Eleni said. “He would pluck out the heart of our lands too, take everything from us and his brothers.”
Achilles stared at the ancient limestone shrine, its surface pitted and scarred by time. “O Skia stood against Atreus Mnon too?”
“He stood against them all.” Eleni’s voice rang with fierce pride. “He would not harm the innocent. No crown was worth the blood of our people.”
Was this the real start of Aeaea’s rebellion then? Not a power grab, but a moral stand against those would steal their resources? Now the confusion that had haunted Bris since the beginning became a fog, and she felt for a moment that if she accepted this as truth, she’d stumble into a deeper pit. The people of Aeaea weren’t the bad guys in this story—their government was.
A rustling in the olive grove made her swivel with a gasp, and suddenly they were surrounded. Dark figures emerged from behind the ancient trees, moving with military precision. Bris’s heart skipped as she pressed closer to Achilles, feeling his whole body shift into something dangerous.
They’d stepped into a landmine of rebels.
Achilles swung around to their formerly pleasant tour guide. The man’s eyes no longer crinkled up at the sides in good natured lines. “What have you done?” Achilles hissed.
The priest shrugged. “You wearhisring.”
Apparently, they weren’t the brilliant liars they thought. Throwing the wool over the old priest’s eyes had been as unlikely as their touching story about rushing into a marriage to pass a lazy Christmas afternoon.
From the shadows stepped a man with graying hair and swarthy features, his dark eyes so similar to Achilles’s that she gasped.
His father!They’d found him. He moved toward them with the brute strength of a guerrilla leader, his worn fishing sweater and canvas trousers making him look like any of the olive grove workers, though he carried himself with the bearing of a soldier, an assault rifle held with casual familiarity in his sun-darkened hands.
“That was bold of you to come for me…andwith your wife.”
Achilles whipped around, shoving Bris behind him as his hand snatched at his weapon. “You’re supposed to be dead!”
The man smirked. “Phoenix has always been a liar, young wolf. He couldn’t execute me. Now… have you decided to cut your puppet strings and become my son again?”
Chapter Thirty
EverymuscletightenedasAchilles watched O Skia… his father!
Was he truly what the priest had said? A freedom fighter, a martyr? They thought General Peleus was a hero here! More like a deranged terrorist! Even now the man watched Bris with unconcealed disdain. He’d do anything to get his son on the throne and reap the benefits.
“Stay back from her,” Achilles said. His hand was on his Glock, but he didn’t want to show them he was armed yet, not unless they came after Bris and forced him to fight.
Peleus made no fast moves, just gestured to the rebels in canvas work shirts who gathered around them. Their dirt-stained hands were convincing props for their masquerade as grove workers. “This is my son,” he told the ones nearest, and he listened to the echoes turn into rapid Tirrojan with a heavy, almost undecipherable accent.
Still covering his wife from them and desperate to distract, he tried to make sense of what was happening. “Why did Phoenix say he’d had you executed?” he asked.
“I’m sure he didn’t want you to come looking for me.” His father’s dark eyes—so like Achilles’s own—were steady and unflinching. “I turned myself in when I was told it was the only way to save you… but…” he laughed grimly, “I had no fear they would kill you—you’re their puppet, boy. And still, I welcomed the chance to see for myself what kind of man you are.”
So many lies to weed through! The men surrounding them held AK-47s with the casual ease of those who’d used them before, their eyes alert and unforgiving beneath the sweltering heat.
“And so, what?” Achilles asked. “Phoenix just let you go?” That was the night Bris barely escaped being murdered by Aggie Mnon.
A brief smile flickered over his father’s lips. “The flood kept you all busy enough. And since I have my own agents behind your palace walls, I left through the old citadel tunnels… I had business to attend to, a prisoner to pick up.”
“Who?”
His father grinned. “Now why would I tell you that, young wolf?”
Achilles swallowed down his retorts, his throat tight with emotion. If he’d learned anything under Chises Mnon’s tutelage, then he knew when to keep his mouth shut.
