Page 56 of The King's Man 1

“Thank you for ensuring Akilah and I were taken care of last night.”

“Don’t thank me.” I see the corners of his lips curl. “I set it all up.”

I swat him on the way past, barking out a laugh.

His gaze follows me, his eyebrow arching. “Will you let me exploit you longer?”

“Not today. I have some romancing to do.”

“What?”

I toss a wave over my shoulder and rush out to find Akilah. The rough texture of her cloak brushes against me as I wrap her into a hug. “Let’s go.”

Outside, the clamour of the heaving market surrounds me. We hurry away from the academy, towards the bartering vendors and the scent of fresh bread. Akilah rubs her temples, whining that had she known, she’d never have drunk so much...

I slow down to spell her mind clear, the familiar surge of vitalian magic calming me too. As much as Icanbe calmed before meeting the man I keep dreaming about... “The masks will have to stay.”

“He won’t recognise you.”

“I’ll find him.”

She strokes her moustache, clears her throat, and swaggers off into the market, only turning back to throw me a giddy grin.

I turn sharply and a floral teacup drops to the ground, cracking down the middle. My forehead collides with that of the teacup’s owner as we both hurry to scoop it up.

“Fool. Look where you’re going. You’veruined—” He stops rubbing his head as he looks over at me.

His eyes widen. Mine too.

“You!” He snaps, clutching the shards of porcelain.

If the chicken bone incident wasn’t enough...

Florentius’s cloak is like soft, golden leaves today. He’s as pretty as he is annoyed. He rises elegantly to his feet while I dust dirt off of myself and apologise on my way up.

His eyes narrow as he jerks his head towards the stall. “Replace it,” he demands, his voice raw and strained.

Iwasat fault. Ishouldcompensate, but...

I pull my money pouch off my belt and peer into it. Not enough. “I can’t—”

Someone grips my elbow. Quin? I twist and my breath fizzles out. Not him; another pair of dark eyes, without quite the same tense edge. I shake off a shiver. Silvius’s smile is gentle, kind. And he’s coming to my rescue. “Allow me. If I hadn’t caused the distraction, he’d never have bumped into you. I apologise.”

He smiles, his eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief, as he pays for a replacement cup. “Let’s go,” he says, his voice low and luring.

We squeeze past stalls of paper and books, needlework and delicate, brightly coloured paintings, around a bustling corner, into an alleyway, and through the side door of an inn. How did he recognise me? The freckle on my hand? The scent of my magic?

The soldad at my belt?

I bite my lip on a smile and let him pull me into an airy room overlooking the market. The steadiness of his grip is different—not crude and commanding like Quin’s. Silvius’s calm is like a complex spell, superior in every way. Enough to soothe any storm inside.

Surely.

He lets me go, and his smile brightens in the dust-speckled light as he pushes his hood back.

“What in all the kingdoms...” He shakes his head at my disguise, amused, and flings a spell at me to reveal my true face.

I spare him a raised brow. “When it comes to disguise, aren’tyouking?”

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