Page 48 of The King's Man 3

“Quin—”

I’m grabbed by the arms from behind. I gasp in fright, and hands tighten on me. A gruff voice hits my ear. “Got you.”

It’s a familiar voice. I yank my head around and catch sight of a grim smile and a freckle under a narrowed eye. Other figures slink into the courtyard to surround me. Pinched faces, hands ready to wield their whips. Like the last time, they’re wearing cloaks that clasp at their right shoulders, metal that blinds in the sunlight, engraved with a vespertine insignia.

“What do you want?” I choke out, wincing as he yanks me around for his men to see. Like I’m a prize he promised them.

“This is only half of us. Want to know where the other half are? Lying on wagons in the main street, sick like my sister.”

My heart is ramming fast and my throat is dry. “I’d help but—”

“You have the gall to negotiate with me a second time?”

I shake my head. He lets me go with a push that lands me hard on my knees. I raise my head to meet his blackened gaze. If I tell them I’m currently unable to cure anyone, how will they react? I need to be careful.

“You care deeply about your men.”

“What kind of leader would I be if I didn’t?” He pauses. “Ah, perhaps then I’d be like the king.”

I grit my teeth and ignore his blatant taunting, meant to strike a nerve. “Your principles are to stand up for the less fortunate, the weak and powerless.”

“What’s your point?”

“You must be aggrieved how the townspeople here are being treated.”

Bastion’s jaw twitches.

He lifts a booted foot, and like the first time we met face to face, presses it against my shoulder. His lips curl, voice rumbly, creamy on the surface with a warning underneath. He laughs suddenly, tipping his head skyward. “You’re flattering me?”

“Help me save the people here. And your men.”

“You’re the healer. You save. I avenge.”

“No.”

His eyes narrow sharply. “You don’t hesitate to speak your mind.”

“You wonder if I’m frightened or not. I am.” I shove his foot off me and he lets me. “But there’s no time to dwell on those feelings. People are sick. Dying—”

Whizzing sounds overhead. I blink upwards, toward the blur of an arrow. Before anyone can move, it has pieced the clasp on Bastion’s cloak, breaking it open. Dark fabric flies through the air and smacks into the wall, pinned by the arrowhead.

“The next one kills.”

The vespertines and I turn towards Quin’s voice as it booms through the courtyard. He leans against the balustrade on the speaker’s ledge, bow in hand, arrow nocked and ready, midday sunshine bright on his silver hair and the deadly glint in his eye.

Hollow laughter comes from Bastion and he saunters stubbornly forward. “He saved you last time, you’re saving him now. The healer and the useless king. I sense a story here.”

The others abandon me to flank Bastion. Behind a wall of their backs, I rise shakily to my feet and push my way to the front. “They won’t hurt me, Quin.”

His pull on the bowstring tightens, his gaze rooted on Bastion. I slip in front of him and claim Quin’s full attention. Hisgaze hits mine and holds, fingers on the string unrelenting. “We need their help.”

I keep staring at him, chin high, asking him to listen. His chest puffs out and he reluctantly lowers his arrow. “Inside.”

A low chuckle hits the back of my neck. Bastion tugs me forwards, ordering his men to remain outside.

The rooms are dimly lit, the air thick with the musty scent of aged parchment. Heavy wooden furniture looms in the shadows; tapestries adorned with the kingdom’s wyverns drape the walls. Shelves bow, laden with spine-cracked books. Only the magistrates are missing—their robed figures discussing laws, with the head magistrate presiding over it all.

It’s a place meant for protection of the people and the pursuit of justice, but—

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