Page 20 of The King's Man 3

I’ll have to make it up to him. He’s not the only one. A pang sears through my chest as I recall Casimiria. Veronica, as she shielded Prince Alexios.I have a lot to make up for.

I clear my throat. “When things are peaceful, I’ll... I’ll show him I care.”

“Care about advancing your knowledge in healing. Developing your skills. Sharing your knowledge to shape a better world. Care about achieving your dreams.”

“He can be my dream too.”

Quin throws me an exhausted grimace over his shoulder.

An idea sparks in my mind. “Could you teach me sentinian sparring on our way? I promise not to make you pick up bow and arrow.”

Without warning, a gust of wind sends me crashing onto my back in the cabin. “Hey!”

“Attack comes when you least expect,” he says, moving inside to me. He extends a hand to help me up. His grip is firm around mine, but it feels like he’s teasing me. “You need to be ready.”

I glare up at him. “Why are you smiling right now?”

“I have to,” he says, “or your obstinacy will be the death of me.”

“Is this a first lesson? Are you agreeing to take me with you?”

“Keep hidden.”

“Much obliged for your acquiescence.”

“Of course you’d go for the last word,” he says under his tongue.

“Feels good.”

“Unbelievable.”

I smirk. “I do try.”

We drift from canals into wider rivers, until the sun begins to set. As the tiny village of Mytilene approaches, Quin murmurs, “Anyone asks, we’re travelling home to Hinsard.”

I perk up at the mention of Hinsard, but before I can ask, Quin adds, “You can’t be scholar Calix Solin.”

The name hits me like a blow. It’s been weeks since I’ve thought of him, when for so long I couldn’t go a day without him haunting me. A ghost of a person who disappeared as suddenly as he had appeared in my life.

My breath catches before I can stop it. Quin notices. He always notices. His gaze sharpens, unreadable yet piercing, and I feel too exposed, like he’s peeling back layers I’m not ready for him to see.

“Why can’t I?” I manage, forcing a grin. “It’s a mask I’ve worn before.”

“It’s not your mask to wear,” Quin says quietly, his voice low and firm, like he’s closing a door I shouldn’t have opened.

My stomach tightens at his tone—there’s a hidden depth to his words I can’t quite reach. But before I can dwell on it, he continues briskly, “You’ll be a cook. I’ll trade in fabrics.”

I narrow my gaze on him, determined to catch any flicker in his expression, but his attention is turned to the approaching village, his posture composed and his jaw set.

I let out a soft breath. Maybe it is all in my head. Maybe when it comes to Calix Solin—Maskios—I’ll never think clearly.

“Trade in fabrics?” I eye his fine clothes pointedly. Even stripped of his title, Quin carries himself with the elegance of someone who’s never had to haggle a day in his life.

He smirks faintly. “Don’t overthink it.”

“Undo your braids and give me those pretty fastenings,” I reply, gesturing to his immaculate hair.

Quin pulls the braids loose and knots his hair roughly, as if it’s a practised motion. It should look haphazard but somehow, even like this, he manages to appear more effortlessly regal than half the linea I’ve met.

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