Page 7 of The King's Man 3

Quin smirks faintly. “Sacrifice? Is that what we’re calling it?”

“What would you call it?”

His expression flickers, just for a moment, before he answers. “Bad strategy.” His voice is too light, but his eyes linger on mine.

“Go,” I say.

He doesn’t move. “I’m here for my mother.”

Heat floods my face. “That... makes sense. I’ll go.”

Casimiria grabs my arm, her gaze snapping toward the canal. “The duke.”

“Coming personally?” My stomach churns.

“A first,” she says tightly. “Hide. It’ll be worse if he sees us together.”

Quin groans softly as I tug his arm, the pain from his leg evident. He leans on me, and we stumble toward the castle.

We won’t make it.

I glance around, heart pounding, and shove us into a wild patch of coffinweed. The tall blades fence us in, cushioning our fall. His breath is against mine. I don’t dare breathe.

Quin winces.

My fingers wrap around his wrist, seeking his pulse, but the moment I meet his gaze I forget what I’m doing. His eyes are steady, too steady, like he’s daring me to look away first. My pulse stutters traitorously, and I wonder if he can feel it.

Probably.

Damn it.

“Truth,” he says softly. “Did you miss me?”

I swallow hard, deflecting. “With your mother around? It was like having you here.”

Quin’s gaze sharpens, and his lips curl.

“You have her jawline,” I tease, desperate to break the tension. “Looks better on her.”

He rolls over me, his body pressing briefly against mine. “I dare you to say that again.”

“The curl of her lips isn’t quite so foreboding.”

Quin leans closer, voice low. “Foreboding or foreshadowing?”

“What?”

Quin’s breath grazes my nose. “If anyone’s lips are foreboding, it’s yours and what comes out of them.”

“Ah, you finally admit my wit is superior.”

“And will you finally admit you’re glad I’m here?”

I hiss, half scolding, half laughing.

“Let’s try it this way,” he murmurs, that curl deepening a dimple in his cheek. “Do you like my mother?”

I eye him with suspicion. “You’re trying to trick me.”

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