Page 30 of The King's Man 1

He’s clearly capable of combat, and he’s much taller than Frederica. That intimidating forward step seems malicious.

He grits out angrily, “I won’t let them suffer—”

I launch myself onto his back, arms wrapping his shoulders, legs locking at his hips. I’m expecting—with the combination of surprise, my force, and his injury—he’ll stagger away from Frederica.

Instead, he stands solid, absorbing my weight while Frederica’s eyes widen. In a rush of colour, the world spins and I’m almost flung off. I double my grip with a gasp.

“What in the—” His voice is low, incredulous, and not strained in the slightest. His hands lock tightly around my thighs. I’m the one held captive now.

His voice drops with unsettling calm. “Who dares?”

Dark, unyielding eyes turn towards me. For a moment something tight and demanding flashes in their depths. But there’s also a moment his body tenses under mine; he readjusts his cane, holding his chin up proudly.

Even reliant on a cane and with my weight on his back, he seems full of vigour and pride. There’s a cold, ethereal beauty to him that is vaguely... familiar? It takes me a hard breath before I can shake my head. “This won’t do your face any favours.”

“What about my face?”

I lean in to his ear and whisper, “Good looks don’t last. No woman fawns over mean lines.” I pinch a stalk of calming herbs from my belt smooshed between us and hold it over his shoulder. “Soulbloom?”

Laughter tears up the air—genuine, until he meets my eye with a mocking curl at one corner of his lips.

Frederica quickly collects herself. “Caelus! This—” She glances at the man, who turns his gaze sharply to her. At a shared look between them, she coughs. “—a friend. Quintus. Quin. He’s... just received some distressing news.”

“You’renot in distress?” I ask her.

As she shakes her head, the man eyes me, like he’s making a study of me.

His grip tightens on my thighs, his eyes flicking up to meet mine with a glint of dark amusement in their depths. “Careful with the cheek, par-linea. You may earn yourself a response you can’t handle.”

I grin and tap the tips of the soulbloom against the man’s mouth.

His eyebrow quirks, and he rips a bite.

A low rumble quivers through the ground under us. Sheep bleat nervously from the fields, their panicked cries rising with the tremors. Dust shakes loose from the manor walls, diffusing into the courtyard. There’s a tang of uneasy stillness in the air.

Earthshakes are common enough, but they never feel ordinary. There’s always this nerve-wrecking moment, wondering if the shaking will stop or keep growing.

Quin grimaces, tensing further. “Hold on.”

The ground trembles violently beneath us, followed by a sharp crack. I tighten my arms around Quin, expecting him to topple. But he doesn’t. While Akilah and Frederica are making themselves as small as possible, arms shielding heads, Quin seeps power. Swirling wind wraps around him, and he casts a veil of golden light over all of us.

The earth shifts again and I yank his hair to steer him out of the path of a falling post, except it’s unnecessary. The post bounces off the surrounding shimmer, not even buckling it. Somewhere nearby I can hear a howling, tight like it had barely managed to escape.

I glance at Akilah and Frederica, both safe in Quin’s shield, and I let out a relieved breath.

When the tremors subside and only dust swirls in the air, Quin’s golden shield vanishes. For a moment, his shoulders sag, something I might have missed it if I hadn’t become the shadow on his back. “Are you alright?” I ask, fingers still clutching a handful of his hair.

His head turns slightly, enough for me to catch the stubborn line of his jaw. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

I laugh thinly and set his hair nicely in place, but there’s a lingering strain in his eyes. I don’t press. It’s clear he won’t admit to anything.

Frederica and Akilah rise cautiously, and we all freeze at the sound of a low, mournful whine. I slide off Quin’s back and follow the sound to a collapsed section of wall. Teeth snap out from beneath the rubble, followed by a foam-flecked snarl.

“It’s the sheep-killer,” I breathe, stepping back as the mangy dog scrabbles free.

“Suppress it,” I say, keeping my voice steady despite a lurch of fear up my throat.

Quin musters the wind to slam the dog to the ground. Its ribs heave; blood mats its fur. It howls in agony, but not only from broken ribs—there’s a large abscess on its back. Possibly the cause of its viciousness. I murmur, “I can help it.”

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