Page 14 of The King's Man 3

The music swells.

I pour. Each drop of tea falling into the cup seems to take forever.

One drop. Two. Three.

His fingers brush mine. The scent of roses. The sound of harp strings. The taste of blood in my mouth. My blood. His.

He speaks. “Stand in your place.”

I stagger back, my heart pounding so hard it’s deafening.

He lifts the cup, presses it to his lips. For a moment, he looks out over the crowd, and then aside, where he might see my wobbling feet.

The seconds stretch and it feels like I’ll throw up as I wish desperately for him to cast the cup away, smash it to smithereens before his uncle’s feet.

But he drinks.

No tentative taste, no tiny sip. He throws it all back at once and sets the cup down with a purposeful clatter.

For a moment, everything is fine. His gaze stays on the dancers, his posture composed.

Then it shatters.

His body jerks. His face twists, and his gasp is the only sound I hear.

I freeze, the world narrowing to Quin’s pained expression as chaos erupts around us.

Casimiria screams; Nicostratus’s gaze lands on me, filled with betrayal and disbelief, as he swoops in. And the high duke commands his doctor forward with a cold smirk.

Quin’s eyes find mine, locking me in place. The agony in them is worse than anything I’ve ever known, but there’s something else there too. His lips part, as if he might speak it, but no words come. His body convulses, and my cry is lost in the screams surrounding us.

Redcloaks haul me away. My arms ache from their grip, but I barely feel it. My knees buckle.

“Please,” I beg. “Tell me what’s happening. Is he . . . Is . . .”

No one answers.

Hours pass. I curl on the ground in a cold, damp cell, replaying every agonised look, every cry of pain.

Footsteps, breaking the silence. I scramble to my feet, clinging to the bars.

Nicostratus steps into view, his hood shadowing his face.

I reach for him, but he steps back, his grief palpable.

His voice is raw. “He’s the king,” he chokes out. “My brother...”

“It’s not what you think.”

“Iknow,” he snaps, his anger filling the air. “You tried to keep your distance. My uncle— But I should have—”

His voice breaks, and I press my hands to the bars, pleading. “Quin needs you. He needs you to protect him.”

Nicostratus’s hands clench into fists. “And who will protect you?”

“I don’t deserve it.”

He growls in frustration, but I see the pain in his eyes.

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