Page 21 of The King's Man 1

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A half-dozen aklos flood into the chamber that’s become my prison, a flurry of movement out the corner of my eye. They’re carrying trays of bright garments and jewelled fastenings for my hair; I wish to leap from the bed where I lie and escape, but it takes all my effort just to move my little finger.

The aklos strip and redress me. A deep violet robe lined with floral silk, embroidered boots that buckle up over my stiff calves, and twenty-one bejewelled braids amongst my loose hair. Wedding attire.

When the last of them has gone, my muscles unlock in a sharp rush; I throw myself onto wobbly feet and race for the door. Too late. They’ve already bolted it. I drop my head against the wood and swallow a thick lump of frustration.

I know the family needs me, know my father is only desperate, but...

A sound from behind startles me and I whirl around to Akilah crawling out from under a clothed table. She flashes me a toothy grin. “Snuck in with the aklos. Here.”

She holds out a flask of herbal tea and after a sniff, I haul her into a hug. “You saved it.”

“You were working on it last night; I feared it might be the start of a medius spell. Aklos are searching your room, on your father’s orders.”

“Why is it so hard to help people?” I sigh and shake the stupid long sleeves of my wedding robe. “Why is it so hard to help myself?” I cast my eye around for other clothing but the aklos have taken everything.

I need to go, before Megaera arrives and I’m escorted—marched—to the luminarium.

I fly over to the other side of the room and check the windows. Locked. Locked. I bang my palms over the next one. Locked.

“I also brought this.” Akilah pulls a sharp knife from the folds of her skirts. “For your inevitable attempt at escape.”

She knows me too well. She would—she might be my akla, but she’s more like a sister to me. “I suppose a key would be asking too much?”

“They had to return it to your father.”

I laugh hollowly. “Of course.” I hold the knife in the murky light coming through the shutters. “This’ll have to do.”

I slide the blade around the edges of the window, feeling the resistance of a sealing spell. Father only ever uses legal simplex spells, which means with enough pressure...

Sweat drips down my temple as I work, each scrape of the blade a race against time. Akilah watches me, her voice light but probing. “You’re not just running from the wedding, are you? You’re running for him.”

Her words strike harder than Father’s attack earlier, and I freeze.

“He’s no one,” I mutter, focusing on the window.

Akilah steps closer. “You’ve been holding on to that no one for years, Cael. If he were truly no one, you’d stay. For your family.”

I shove the window with a grunt. “I don’t even know his name let alone his real face. He called himself Calix Solin; I called him Maskios; neither was real. I don’t know his name, I don’t know what he looks like, he disappeared from my life years ago. He’s nothing more than a shadow. An annoying shadow.”

“And yet, you’re willing to risk everything for that shadow,” she says softly.

The latch finally pops with a sharp click, and cold air rushes in. I glance at Akilah, her steady gaze brimming with the unspoken.

“I’ll find a way to help my family,” I whisper. “But I need—” My voice falters. “I need more than this.”

She nods. “Go.”

I pull Akilah into a tight hug and slip through the shutters. The night air bites at my skin as I creep along in the shadows; halfway to the gate I round a corner and slam—

Into my bride.

I lurch back in horror, my stomach twisting at the sight of her. Her silk skirts are a cascade of rich golds, embroidered with white vines that are spelled to glow. Jewelled chains dangle from her belt and sleeves, jingling with her movements. And her braided hair gleams with tiny golden clasps and a delicate, pearl-encrusted veil. She’s very pretty—a noble bride—and I should be more than grateful she’s chosen me.

But.

Her dark eyes widen, and the sharp edge of her surprise quickly gives way to something harsher. Behind her, her aklas stand stiffly, their hands on the hips of their matching white robes. “What are you doing?” Her voice is low, but panic flashes in her eyes. “It’s bad luck to see me before I’ve presented myself to your family to collect you.”

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