Page 28 of The King's Man 4

He answers anyway. “It was used to make me impregnate my wife.”

Veronica. Their son.

“I loathed being forced to marry, and I was stubborn enough to insist I’d never lie with her. We were locked into a room with those spores. Far more than a dance house might use. So much, in fact, we both began seeing things. Things we desired. It was like living a fantasy. He was beautiful and I craved him, and he craved me.”

“Veronica.”

“When the spores wore off, when we realised what had happened... We despised what had been done to us. The shared anger brought us closer. We talked more, opened up about our needs, confessed to wanting, one day, to find our true loves. Discussed how we might make that work. And by the time Veronica discovered she was with child, we’d become more than two people who respected one another. We’d become friends. We were happy that we understood one another and that we could be a special kind of family. With love for one another, just not... that kind of love.”

“She told me. When I was upset at you flirting with that aklo.” My brow pinches, and my gaze trails back to the darker spot at his throat.

Just how much of Quin’s skin had Sparkles ravished?

Quin shifts, nose sliding over mine. “Would you like to see?”

I snap my eyes to his flashing ones.

“You keep staring at it,” he says.

I huff a laugh and grit my teeth.

“I didn’t trust her,” he whispers against my jaw. “I didn’t like the way she looked at you.”

“You didn’t like her and you let her—” I poke in the direction of his throat, and he captures my finger in the glow of his. “At least get a vitalian to heal it!”

“I don’t want to.”

I try to pull free but he doubles his grip and pulls my hand to his throat, hooks the fabric and pulls it down, and I see the mark in its entirety. The bruising mark from lips and suction... and the twin puncture wounds at the centre.

I stare at the wound, my mind catching up with my body’s realisation. My lips. My suction. My mark.

The world tilts, and a strangled sound escapes my lips.

Quin watches me with calm calculation that feels... too intense.

I duck my flushing face and bang my forehead against his chin. He lets go and curls his arm around my back. His breath sifts silkily through my hair.

I groan. “Please. Get us out of here.”

He summons his magic and hauls me tight around the waist. Before he forces our way out of the grave, he nips my ear. “We’re not close to finished.”

With Quin’s power and royal blood, the wards of the graveyard pose no issue. Neither does gaining access to an apothecary: it belongs to a supporter of his, who happens to be leaving today with a redcloak unit. We can use whatever we need, and there’s even a sleeping nook in the back room.

With a few candles flickering around stone walls, I meticulously sort through the vials and pots, and start a fire in the stove. I burn myself on the metal plate and wish I’d been wearing my gloves... My scalded fingers flutter to the knot at my cloak and I shake my head sharply.Focus.

Across the room, not helping, Quin paces. “You must be exhausted. You should have slept before coming here.”

I wave him out of my line of sight. “The poison is unique. I have a fair idea of its makeup now, but designing an effective antidote... it’ll take time. Time we don’t have.”

“I’ll get people onto it first thing,” he says behind me.

I startle and shoo him to a corner chair. “We’ll need all the help we can get. If I can design the base, it’ll make the remaining trial-and-erroring easier.”

I use the largest pots to make enough, and carefully measure all the necessary ingredients. I pour a crimson liquid from one vial into the pot and mix it with clearwater, stormward, sunburst—dew and herbs that counter the earthbloom, thundergrass, silverbell known in the poison. Though I know bush-snake venom is included, its counter venom might affect the properties of the other unknown herbs, so for the base, I exclude it.

“What is this for?” Quin asks, caning towards the glass vial at the far end of the table.

“Don’t touch that. It’s the poison I pulled from my handkerchief.” I walk him back to his seat and point a finger at him warningly. He swats it away, but remains in the chair.

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