Page 33 of The King's Man 3

“Your sister?”

“—my mother.”

His mouth works hard to hold backwords.

I pull him, limping, out the door, and stop, shaking my head. “We need a legitimate reason it’s hard for you to walk.” I cock my head, scrolling my gaze up and down, and—“got it.”

I stuff Quin’s cloak up his skirts to his belly, making it swell. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Quin grumbles but doesn’t fight. I wrap an arm around him and we make for the road.

“Keep your head down,” I murmur, and halt Farmer Georgos and his donkey trundling along the gravel road with their cart of chopped wood. “Please, will you give us a ride into town? My wife’s struggling with her labour. I’m a healer, but we need to get to the apothecary.”

Georgos casts his eye over us. He seems to sense the waves of pain pulsing from Quin; his gaze drops to my hands, one of which is supporting Quin’s waist, the other rubbing his swollen belly. “She’s not your wife. You’d be wearing rings.” He starts to move on. “Consider this your fate.”

Quin grips my wrist that’s around his waist as if to say forget it, but I have no other way to get us to town without causing him unbearable pain. “Wait—”

The farmer pauses.

“We’re from the south, we don’t use rings—we exchange tokens.” Quin keeps his head bowed but turns to me, the heat of his gaze tingling on my profile.

I lift the silver clasp on my cloak for him to see. “Inscribed on the back by Sacran Kyrillos himself.” The farmer’s eyes widen, clearly impressed.

“And hers?” he points a finger at Quin.

I catch my breath, hesitate. What could—

Quin lifts one of his delicately gloved hands and pulls out his flutette. My grip tightens on his waist and slinky shivers scuttle through me. I raise my chin and meet the farmer’s eyes. “I exhausted all my magic making this token.”

“Give me your tokens and I’ll take you.”

I stomp forward, kicking up gravel. “You’re out of your mind. It’s just a ride.”

“Nothing free.Onetoken.”

Quin strokes his fingers along my wrist: calm. Calm? It’s a ten-minute ride in the direction he’s headed anyway. “I’d rather carry my wife than let you touch our tokens.”

“Suit yourself.”

Quin clears his throat demurely and I throw up a frustrated hand. “I don’t care we’re being chased by vespertines. Romantic principles first!”

The cart is moving; I chase after it, Quin wincing along. “Wait, wait.”

The farmer stops. He holds out a hand for one of our tokens and I’m torn between a snarl and the urge to hurry Quin onto the wagon. I dip my finger into my belt and extract Nicostratus’s golden feather.

Quin hisses, “That’s your real—”

I grip him and he silences. The golden feather falls from my fingers to the man’s palm. “I will buy this back from you later.”

The farmer’s eyes light at the sight of gold, calculating how much I’ll buy it back for, and he cheerfully agrees.

A pang of guilt twists in my stomach as the feather disappears into his belt. That feather is special, a symbol of Nicostratus’s affection. It was too easy to hand over. Quin’s reassuring squeeze does little to ease the twisting. I can’t shake the feeling I’ve just done something I can’t take back...

Quin clasps my hand and urges me into the cart, atop the wood. Absentmindedly, I pat the bump of our make-believe child while the farmer whistles all the way to town.

I’ll get the feather back. I will. I have to.

As we near the town, I notice how the villagers’ eyes dart to the dispensary before quickly looking away, their faces pinched with worry. A woman clutches a small pouch of herbs tightly to her chest, glancing over her shoulder as she hurries past. Something feels... off.

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