Page 99 of A Queen and HER Bad Boy
Achilles tensed beside her. Bris lost no time, tugging on his arm to keep him from challenging this tree trunk, what little good it did. He was ready for war.
“She’s coming with us.”
Yeah, nothing Bris did to keep Achilles back was going to work in the face of that threat. He stood, his fists curling into that familiar fighter’s stance. “Forget it. Anywhere she goes, I go.”
The flickering glow of Christmas lights cast dancing shadows over the man’s lips splitting into a wicked smirk. “Ah, I see you want to go through another round of fists—it’s not going to be as easy when you were armed.”
“But you might not survive it.”
Again, the man crowed out in laughter, though this time, he did it from a bit farther away. “Do you hear that?” Turning, hewaved at the working silhouettes, bringing them closer with his booming calls. “Are you ready for this? Come lend me your fists. The young wolf is in a temper tonight.”
“Then he won’t like what’s coming,” another voice slurred as they stumbled closer, holding a clay amphora. They were drunk, their eyes eager for the upcoming entertainment. They weren’t going to get it from them!
“Over my dead body,” Bris snapped, rising to her feet with fire in her heart. “You want entertainment? Go play with the Christmas boats bobbing in the harbor.”
“Oh, come now, princess.” The priest Eleni came forward, swaying slightly. “They are just being friendly.” He looked over at the others with bleary eyes. “I’ve never seen two sweethearts more in love. They asked me to marry them you know… I get to do the honors.”
The big man guffawed. “Ah, their first marriage wasn’t enough for them? I bet that coward made his vows staring down the barrel of her father’s gun. He didn’t mean a word.”
“I’ll take that wager,” Eleni declared, his words slurring as he defended them with drunken passion. “They’ll prove their love and more! Let them have their island wedding at Aphrodite’s ruins!”
The revolutionaries erupted in cheers and laughter, passing around more amphoras of wine. Were they really that bored? She didn’t care—she wasn’t about to let them make a mockery of her marriage. Fury blazed through her like wildfire. “You can forget it! We’re not your circus animals to perform for your amusement!” She glanced over at a fuming Achilles. “They can’t make us do this.”
“Yes, they can,” he grumbled. Well, yes, technically. And perhaps this was better than the violence they’d first promised; it might even buy them more time. But for what? She didn’t like this at all.
“And she won’t get married in that torn rag of silk!” A woman with wild dark hair and bright eyes moved through the crowd with a flirtatious swing to her hip, wine amphora in hand. “We’ll find something fitting for an island princess.”
What? Coconuts and olive leaves?She listened to the excited chatter of the women, as they’d somehow, somewhere procured canvas cloths. They’d actually put her in the same rough fabric they used to gather olives? A flare of her usual defiance exploded through her. Absolutely not!
But as laughter bubbled up around them, and she saw the genuine joy in these tired faces, her anger came to a halting stop and melted into confusion.
Could it be that they actually thought of this as romantic?
Behind him, wild-eyed Eleni grinned brightly. “Consider this my gift to you—to exchange your vows, this time to be witnessed by your people who adore you.”
His sudden kindness silenced her. Why was he so accepting of someone with Chises Mnon’s blood—his daughter, in fact?
Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself, her eyes going to the bear of a man who’d started all this. He’d settled into a chair with the others, already lost in drink and rowdy Tirrojan Christmas ditties. There were worse fates than being forced into another wedding ceremony with Achilles. She felt his thumb tracing gentle circles over her knuckles. “Are you okay with this?” he whispered.
Once again, she felt lost in the passionate depths of his dark eyes. She could fall in love with him all over again. “Y-yes…”
And just like that, the men swept away her groom to prepare him… or haze him with island traditions and strong wine, while the women eagerly led Bris toward a canvas tent. Their hands were rough from labor but tender as they showed her a chair and wove wild lavender and tiny white flowers into her hair.
“A Christmas wedding under the stars,” one of the women breathed, her eyes shining with delight. “Just the thing to make your wedding right before man and God.”
“It… is… was…” Bris stuttered.
Instead of using the canvas rags like they’d threatened, they draped her in a simple dress of flowing white cotton that took her breath away, elegant in its simplicity, the fabric soft as whispered promises.
Would it take Achilles’s breath away?
The heat of his eyes on her had never left her, and it had somehow nestled around her heart in a cozy song of happiness.
The women chattered around her in broken English, their voices warm with excitement. “You are beautiful, like Aphrodite herself!” one exclaimed, adjusting a spray of oleander blossoms behind her ear.
As they worked, the girls began slipping away to fetch “the perfect touch,” until Bris was left completely alone in the tent with its simple décor of woven rugs and oil lamps. This was the refuge Achilles’s father had sought, away from the Myrdons, her father.
What had been that been like, to be so alone here? O Skia had claimed that her father had kept his family as hostage, so he couldn’t get to them… and wasn’t that true?
