Page 21 of The King's Man 2

“You made the assumption I was waiting for the king and you were rather vocal about not wanting to meet him. I confess, I wanted your opinions when your guard was down.”

“You teased me.”

“And what was that with your itching spell?”

“You enjoyed making a fool of me,” I snap, crossing my arms.

His smirk deepens, maddeningly unrepentant.

“Not just enjoyed,” he says, leaning closer. “Relished.”

I’m quiet, my cheeks hot. My chest is throbbing with humiliation. But also sympathy, and a hoppy, nervous kind of...frustration. I want to step back, haul in lots of fresh air. My legs don’t move. I’m trapped.

“You had no idea, and I played along. Even had an aklo dress in my robes and move around in my chamber to see how you’d react.”

The feet between us become inches as he moves forward, and my eyes start to hurt along with my throat. My chest feels about to burst.

“I enjoyed prolonging your punishment.” He leans forward—

My palm meets his cheek with a sharp crack, the sound reverberating through the clearing. For a moment, his face remains turned, his breathing slow and measured—too measured.

The second Quin touches his face, I realise what I’ve done.

I fall to the grass and slam my eyes shut. I can still feel the throb in my fingers. “I couldn’t help it. You still feel like Quin to me, not...”

He doesn’t speak for a long time, the only sounds my uneven breaths and the flutter of breeze-blown grass around my burning ears.

He steps back a foot.

Tentatively, I push to my haunches, staring hard at my knees.

“Nicostratus also hid his identity,” Quin says, no hint of anger in his voice. “Were you this upset?”

“Hetold me himself.”

“If I had told you today?”

Slowly, I lift my chin. “It’s different.”

Quin stares at me, his eyes dark and thoughtful. His usual arrogance seems softened, and something sad and wistful lurks in those depths. He rips his gaze away and squeezes his cane.

He laughs to himself and waves me away with his hand. “Consider the matter of the pearl heart settled.”

I wobble to my feet and turn, then turn back. “Your face—” I hesitate, the words sticking in my throat. “Let me make sure it doesn’t bruise.”

Quin turns slightly, his profile sharp against the sunlight, but his silence feels like a dismissal.

“Go,” he says, the word clipped and final. But as I turn, I catch the faintest tremor in his voice.

That tremor lingers long after I’ve fled into the trees.

Igive up tossing and turning in my bed and get up early.

Blood-transfusing spells, complex-medius—

Blood is extracted from the healthy, filtered through chamomile compatibility adaption, and delivered into the patient...

Quin’sGo!punches through me again, and I slam the book shut. He’s not what I care about most. He’s not why I’m here.

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