Page 100 of A Queen and HER Bad Boy
“… you can be sure that I’d never let his father find his spawn again without facing me for his sins.”
Perhaps the old general wasn’t lying. Peleus hated Chises Mnon about as much as her father hated him. What was stopping him from getting his revenge now? The women had separated her from Achilles, and now she waited, defenseless, in this tent. Her hands shook as she searched the makeshift vanity table for anything that could serve as a weapon, finally picking up a sharp hairpin with trembling fingers.
Voices drifted from outside, making her freeze. “The prisoner keeps asking for the priest—thinks he’ll deliver a message to Clysta for him.” Rough, amused laughter followed.
Clysta?Her chin lifted sharply as she strained to listen. The answering voice sounded matter-of-fact, certain. “Clysta would rather he rot there than see the light of day. He went after her kid. The Myrdons won’t lift a finger to get him. We’re stuck with that maniac.”
Their conversation faded as they moved away, leaving her ears ringing. They were in communications with Achilles’s mother?
The opening of the tent flew open, and O Skia filled the doorway—the more brutal, hulking version of Achilles, his dangerous gaze making her shrink back. Her fingers tightened on the hairpin. “Are you with the Myrdons or are you not?” she accused.
“Good evening to you too. My son found himself a fierce tigerlily, has he?” He stepped inside, his presence suffocating in the small space. “You get right to the heart of the matter.”
Maybe not the brightest thing to come out swinging, but she didn’t trust the hate simmering in his eyes. “Clysta makes deals with you?”
“So much passion.” He purposely ignored the question, his features tightening like a contained storm. “I am surprised my son let you from his sight. He seems rather fond of you. Did your father order you to make him fall in love with you?”
It seemed they both had a reason to distrust the other. And she wasn’t a dishrag he could push around. “I don’t do anything I don’t want to do.”
He cracked a humorless smile. “So, he did.”
Her hand shook on the hairpin. “You didn’t answer my question. You have a prisoner here…” Her father’s words washed up into her mind to collide with the Earl’s accusations. “Aggie Mnon! You’re the ones holding him prisoner.” That wouldexplain her father’s inability to keep tabs on him—he’d said Aggie had been taken, not that he’d been the one to do it.
O Skia smiled dryly. “What do you want from my son?”
“What doyouwant with him? To start a war?”
“To end it. Now it’s your turn.”
How could she explain to this uncaring block of granite that she loved his son when he didn’t know what that was? She copied his treatment and didn’t answer.
He made a sound of frustration. “Let’s make a deal. You don’t have to get hurt in all this. I can give you back to your father. Tonight.”
She wasn’t leaving Achilles. “No!”
His body stiffened in the same fury she’d seen in his son. “No?”
“Only if you let me take my husband with me.”
“Like the Wives of Weinsberg,” he mused. “What will you do? Carry Achilles away on your back? Are you that strong?”
She didn’t hesitate with her answer. “Yes.”
His eyes narrowed. “I don’t pretend to understand you.”
“I don’t imagine you could.”
Bright chatter announced the women’s return. She straightened, forcing a serene expression across her features like she’d done with her own father countless times as gentle hands took over her hair. Another woman carried a delicate silver chain bearing a tiny olive branch pendant. “From island silver,” she said proudly, fastening it to the front of Bris’s dress.
Her fingers touched the sweet gesture with a shaking hand, her eyes moving up to find Achilles’s father, but he was gone.
Stupid shadow!
Taking her hand, the sassy woman from before led her from the tent along a pathway lit by flickering torches and a curtain of white ribbons. The ends caught at her hair as she moved through the waterfall of silk. On the other side, the sea stretched out in a black, gentle warmth, the Christmas boats twinkling like fallenstars across the harbor and then finally… Achilles. He waited for her beneath an archway of fairy lights and twisted olive branches.
If only he knew the confrontation she’d just endured with his father. His heavy lashes lifted to show eyes blazing with the passion of his soul. She’d never tire of seeing his heart laid bare—the darkness outside the flaming torches couldn’t shroud it, and he didn’t try to hide it.
His hand reached for hers, hands that would hold off armies for her. He’d come to claim her in holy matrimony again, and this time she was certain of his love. Strange. These rebels, in their clumsy way, were quickly erasing the memories of their forced ceremony and creating something genuine… hopeful.
