Page 13 of The King's Man 2

Laughter hits my back and I swivel on my knees. The liaison inclines his head and leaves, and I slump onto my haunches. Quin settles a hand atop my head.

I look up at him with dawning understanding. “The king... he’s...” I point at him, exhilarated, in complete disbelief.

Quin’s hand slips off me and he nods. “You’re correct—”

I get to my feet, shaking my head. “He must have overheard me talking with Nicostratus.”

Quin stares at me blankly and abruptly walks away.

“Unadulterated cheek.” I’m laughing, but it’s not easy laughter.

I shake a wild, frustrated hand towards the king’s chambers, and begin the arduous task of plucking the thorns off each thigh-high pearl heart bush.

How can I possibly laugh?

I pluck faster. Scratch the tips of my fingers. After I’m done, I find an akla to bring me a large teapot of hot water, and squeeze the syrup out of each thorn. I carry this brew with me around the gardens looking for a quiet spot to reflect on the turbulent punches of laughter that keep erupting from me. I spot Quin headed for the bathhouse, and the sudden need for his harsh criticism overcomes me.

“Quin.” I catch up to him under the shade of pear trees.

He looks at me expectantly, and I lift the teapot, two small cups balancing upside down on the lid like I’d wanted his company all along.

He glances towards the bathhouse, then hesitates.

“It’s meant to sharpen the mind,” I say.

“In that case, you should drink it all.”

He starts moving away, and I halt him by the cane. “Please?”

His eyes search mine. Perhaps he recognises my desperation, because his expression flickers and he turns around. The air swirls as he shifts himself to the sunlight-speckled, petal-covered ground. I sit next to him with my back against the trunk of a tree, the teapot between us. The liquid is syrupy sweet, and it’s only a few mouthfuls before a much-appreciated buzz drifts through my veins.

“Do you ever have feelings you shouldn’t?”

Quin tips the rest of his tea into his mouth and presses his lips into a firm line.

“I’m supposed to hate him. I’ve always hated him. But then, unexpectedly, I come to the royal city and he makes me laugh.”

Quin settles the cup on his thigh and narrows his eyes on it.

“I don’t like myself for how easily I seem to...”

“Forget?” he asks.

“Forgive.” I pour another cup and half the liquid sloshes over the side. “I don’t hate him anymore.” I tip my head back against rough bark and down the drink. “I pity him.”

“Pity?” Quin bites. “Because you understand now that he’s being manipulated? Because he’s weak? Because he’s useless?”

“Yes.”

“How dare you!”

“Isn’t it true?”

Wind whips violently around us and I drop my cup to clutch Quin’s arm before he leaves. “You’re loyal. But you can’t be blind.”

His face whips to mine, our noses almost colliding. His lips twist into a snarl. “Tell me again he’s useless.”

My fingers tighten on his arm. “He’s useless.”

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