Page 9 of The King's Man 1

She raises a brow.

I cling harder to the post, like it’s the only thing keeping me upright. It might be the only thing keeping me upright.

I stare out over the arena again.

Calix Solin draws his bow.

His arrow thunks into the bullseye with effortless, mesmerising precision. The crowd erupts. I can’t look away.

By the eighth round, only three contestants remain. And Calix is one of them.

My fingers tighten around the fencepost the moment I catch him laughing with the others. Like they’re old friends, not rivals.

Then suddenly, he scans the stands.

My entire body freezes.

I don’t breathe. I don’t blink. I can’t look away. I don’t even want to.

Our eyes meet. Something slingshots through my middle, sharp and tingling. My breath comes out thin, shaky. I grip the post so hard I feel splinters digging into my palms.

His gaze doesn’t waver. It clings. Angry? Annoyed?

Just par-linea.

I swallow hard and force my gaze away. Toward one of the other contestants, who’s galloping through the course now with schoolbook precision.

I cheer. Loudly. Too loudly.

Akilah side-eyes me.

When the flag waves for Calix’s final round, I slouch against the post, angled away like I couldn’t care less. I’m not looking. Not really. Just watching from the corner of my eye. Every limb stiff. Every heartbeat thumping louder than hooves.

He hits the first targets dead centre, shearing through his rival’s arrows. The crowd roars. I don’t turn my head. I won’t.

Another shot. Bullseye.

Then...

Another arrow is nocked, the bowstring pulled taut. But—

Thunk.

It sinks into the post beside me. Pins my sleeve.

My heart launches into my throat.

The crowd gasps. Akilah shrieks. I whirl and meet Calix’s gaze, burning and unrelenting.

I glower. He glares right back.

And without so much as a bow to the judges, Calix rides out of the arena. No nod to his rivals. No fanfare. Just a sharp exit, straight out of the games.

And...

It’s too much.

Before I know what I’m doing, I tell Akilah not to wait and bolt from the stands. I find the family horse I ‘borrowed’, and swing myself into the saddle with a leap.

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