Page 51 of The King's Man 1

“We’re here with a purpose, remember?”

“And wine is liquid courage. A few cups and we’ll be fast friends with these popinjays.” She gestures to a middle table, where the man I hoped to meet someday sits admiring the dancers. Chiron’s son, the smart and succinct scholar of Thinking Hall. He holds himself with poise and grace. Gloves cover his palms and rise up under gold silks.

I lift my cup, finish my wine, and rise. I’m not one step towards him when a shriek pierces the air. A dancer rushes out from behind the drapes of a semi-private booth at the back of the room. She jerks a shaky finger toward a man stumbling out behind her, red-faced, eyes bulging, hands clawing at his throat.

I call magic to my palm but it stutters and dissolves under the stream of alcohol in my veins. I try again, weaving hurriedly around frozen, gaping patrons. The man’s eyes are desperate and afraid. He clutches my arm, fingers digging hard into my muscle. My magic fizzles again, but I have to do something—

I grab the hilt of my dagger and, hugging him close, ram it into his stomach. It’s a crude manoeuvre, definitely not my first choice. But it works. There’s a hardoofof air and the sludgy cough of dislodged food.

A collection of shocked gasps follows as I release the older man. The dancers on stage have gone still; only the harp tinkers on. Patrons stare, but not at us. Their wide eyes are glued on the silk-clad scholar standing three feet from us, face pale as he shakes a neat ball of magic off his palm so he can wipe gunk from his cheek.

He eyes me tightly, and I grimace in sympathy. I think he’ll remember this face. Fast friends, however...

Akilah, bowling her way towards me, belches drunkenly into his face.

I slink backwards into the shadows as Akilah busts into a laugh, horrifying the scholar further. The man I saved stutters his apologies. And a hand locks around my shoulder—I whirl to a scarred face and barely have time to gulp before I’m pulled upstairs and deposited in a curtained, candlelit booth.

The view over the balcony to the stage and floor below is impressive, but it’s another view that holds me hostage.

Quin’s thoughtful expression, his hands drumming on the chair arms... I shut my eyes.What twisted fate is this?

He speaks, words thrumming through the three-foot gap between us. “Quite a scene. Very improper.”

I keep my eyes lowered. Nothing to do with respect; just the fear that he’ll recognise me despite the mask. “Living through crude tactics is still better than dying with dignity.”

Laughter has me jerking my gaze to his. “Indeed.” Quin leans to the table between us and pours wine into two cups. “You misunderstand. It’simproperyou were not immediately thanked and rewarded for your quick action.” He passes me a cup. “Drink.”

I take the cup, frowning into the crimson liquid. Surely Quin would have said something if he suspected me?

But then, why bring me here?

“I brought you here so I could thank you.”

I eye him warily. “On his behalf?”

“On my own. This place belongs to me.” Quin swirls the wine in his cup with infuriating nonchalance. “Imagine the scandal if someone died here.”

“You... own this?” I ask, unable to hide my disbelief.

Quin’s smirk sharpens, gaze cutting right through me. “Among other things. Does that surprise you? Impress you?”

I frown into my cup, hyperaware of the opulence surrounding us. “I’m just a travelling scholar. Everything about the capital impresses me.”

Another laugh, softer. “A travelling scholar?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me your name. Where you’re from.” His voice is smooth, too smooth. It makes my pulse quicken.

“Calix Solin,” I reply, carefully. “From the southern provinces, near Hinsard.”

Quin leans back in his chair, the faintest smirk playing on his lips. “Interesting. Calix Solin.”

I stiffen. The close observation in his gaze has my stomach tightening. “What about it?”

His pause is deliberately long, as if he wants me stirring with unease. “The Solins have a long history. Such a good name. One I hope will not be forgotten anytime soon, do you agree?”

My fingers curl in my lap. “It’s just a name. Whether it will continue to be remembered depends on the people carrying it. The better the person, the better the chances.”

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