Page 22 of The King's Man 3

He shakes his head. “Sometimes sacrifice is necessary.”

“Have you ever sacrificed something you didn’t want to?”

His hand hovers over a pawn, his expression shuttering. “You get used to it. Even if it hurts.”

A shiver runs through me and I lean in, whispering, “Is it unstable at the border?”

“The Iskaldir king is waiting for an excuse to go to war; only his son keeps him in check. It wouldn’t take much for the king to act regardless.”

“Why?”

“On the surface, they want to reclaim sacred land between our kingdoms. It’s where our oldest violet oak grows—a gift from the Arcane Sovereign himself.”

“Why can’t it be shared?”

“Wouldn’t that be a peaceful solution?”

“Why the sigh?”

“That was the original agreement. It was broken by my father.”

“Your father?”

“He stole the then Kronprins’s intended.”

“You don’t mean—”

“My mother, yes. Kronprins Yngvarr fell in love with her during a royal exchange meant to promote peace. My father, more cunning, caused the destruction of that peace, as well as emotional devastation.”

How dangerous love can be. “The devastation of your mother?”

Quin gestures for me to make the first move. I do, still staring at him.

“You’ll learn more by paying attention to the board.”

I hum in response, uncertain.

His gaze locks with mine, stirring a flutter of unease in my stomach. He leans forward, a subtle smile playing at his lips. “You want me to talk about love?”

I focus very quickly on the board, trying to steady my nerves.

“Let’s continue with the game.”

There’s no beginner’s luck. As the moon climbs high, I lose the fifth game in a row. “Again.”

Quin, rising to grab his cane, shakes his head. “Enough for tonight. I’ll return shortly.”

I follow him through the shadows, hiding under the wooden staircase as he meets a mysterious someone and exchangessomething with him in hushed tones that I can’t quite hear. The conversation from three men at a nearby table disrupts my spying.

The youngest, with a striking freckle under one eye, notices me and signals his companions. They vacate, and when I regain my focus, Quin’s mysterious someone has already left.

“Can I help you?” the innkeeper’s voice startles me.

I pat the timber framework. “This carpentry. Exquisite.”

She coughs, and while she’s distracted, I race back up the stairs, barely avoiding Quin’s notice.

He and his cane snick, snick, snick into the room a few minutes later. The door shuts with a whoosh, blowing out the candle on the table.

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