Page 1 of The King's Man 2

Florentius sweeps through the royal city’s maze-like corridors, his green robes a blur against the stone walls. I follow, heart pounding, dreading another of Chiron’s infamous quizzes.

We reach the intricately carved archway marking entry to Chiron’s domain—shelves brimming with jars, the air thick with mingled scents of dried herbs and old parchment.

Chiron’s sharp gaze lands on Florentius and me, entering late.

We hurriedly sit.

“Aquamintis, earthbloom, aetherpelis, mastic resin, silvarias,” Chiron lists. “What ailment can these ingredients treat?”

Makarios and Mikros rise to answer. Makarios thrives on following Mikros, and Mikros rarely misses a chance for a joke. Together, they’ve provided some comfort to the start of my studies.

Before they can speak, Chiron raises a forbidding hand. “Let’s have a green-sash answer. Cael.”

The endless ‘let’s test Cael’ drills. I suppress my sigh and mentally assemble the herbs: aquamintis and earthbloom for stomach issues; aetherpelis as an amplifier; silvarias for tissue regeneration; mastic resin for ulcers. “Gastrotrype helkosis.”

Chiron nods reluctantly. “Describe the treatment process.”

“First, sedate the patient. Then treat the lesions, followed by a sealing spell for post-care.”

Chiron’s expression is flat. “Florentius, explain the more efficient method.”

“Stack the spells to conserve energy,” Florentius answers. “Combine the herbs into basic compounds and apply them in a single, layered spell, starting with sedation—unless the patient must stay conscious.”

Florentius’s answer is quick and precise, earning a rare nod of approval. I grit my teeth.

The room hums with quiet concentration as we weigh compounds and stack spells under Chiron’s watchful eye. Makarios mutters jokes to keep the mood light, but my focus is on the scales, each adjustment feeling like a test of my worth.

“You’re behind,” Chiron’s voice cuts through my concentration, unwelcome but not unexpected. “Without improvement, you will not reach medius-complex competency in time for the fourth examination. Prepare yourself.”

I clench my hands at my sides. The warning hangs heavily. He knows I spend hours practicing. He’s telling me to give up. But I won’t. I force my mind back to its task and shut out all else.

I’m so successful that by the time the change in atmosphere reaches me, all laughter and chatter has died. The air has shifted—sharper, heavier—cutting through the apothecary’s calm like a blade.

I freeze as a limp figure, her drenched form glistening under the lamplight, is carried into the treatment room on a stretcher. Through the open doorway, I can see blood dripping from her mouth, staining the stone floor.

Chiron snaps into action, his calm precision a stark contrast to the chaos around him. But even as he works, the whispers start—the fear.

“Water wyverns,” Florentius murmurs, low enough for only me to hear. The words send a shiver down my spine.

Chiron curses.

My fingers twitch, aching to help—something—as the akla’s breaths slow, each one shallower than the last. Her chest stills.

Silence falls, smothering the apothecary like a heavy shroud. A mage draws a sheet over her, the sound unbearably soft against the deafening quiet.

My chest tightens, and the air grows thick, refusing to fill my lungs. A life lost—so quickly, so easily. Despite the spells of vitalians.

I whisper, hesitantly. “I thought royal bloods can control water wyverns?”

“Evidently not,” Florentius says grimly. “Or they won’t.”

The air carries a faint tang of salt, sharp and unnatural. I breathe in this scent of poison, unease curling in my chest. What else is the royal city hiding? “Any chance to survive an attack?”

“Angelica root and mustiva as an antidote,” Florentius says. “Then hope you can address the internal damage quickly. One in two might live.”

“One in three,” Chiron states, voice devoid of emotion. Back to teaching his lessons as if this kind of death is a regular occurrence. Perhaps, more often than not, people are brought to that room and never leave it. Perhaps I’m the only one here who’s never seen such casual acceptance before. “Let’s review the steps for neutralising the poison. If there’s any chance of saving an akla or aklo, you’ll need to act immediately. Only silver-sashed vitalians may heal the nobility, and gold the royal family.”

I shiver. “What if no silver or gold vitalians are present?”

---