Page 36 of The King's Man 4

He’s shut his eyes. “You’re not back.”

My stomach lurches. “Let me read your pulse.”

He throws his wrist at me; with a swallow, I hold his arm gently. There are still fading bruises from all that he’s had to put up with. My voice rasps. “You’ve been like this for days? You need water. You need sleep. You need to stop drinking.”

His dark gaze hits mine and I let go of his arm to fill his goblet with water, from a pitcher that has barely been touched.

Nicostratus continues, words slurring, “I love him. But this... Has he told you what he did yet?” He shakes his head. “He hasn’t. He shouldn’t. Hewon’t.”

I hand him the water. I want to askwhatQuin hasn’t told me, but I think if I do, I’ll break Nicostratus. “Drink this.”

He takes it and frowns at the clear surface. “Why did you come tonight?”

“Drink and sleep first. I’ll ask for your help later.”

“Help?” He straightens, struggling to keep his gaze sharp, focused... His brow pinches with worry. “What’s the matter? What do you need?”

He is good. He is kind.

“Tell me,” he insists with a small hiccup.

I perch on the arm of his chair and, rubbing my temples, murmur, “We need your guest invitations to the drakopagon. Need you to play and distract the commander while Quin and I search the outpost.”

“Constantinos again.”

“He’ll have proved your innocence by tomorrow.”

“That’s not what I want most from him.” His words, though laden with alcohol, are weighted and his gaze bores into my profile.

“Let me get you into bed.”

“If only you meant that.” He turns my chin and makes me look at him. “You’re wavering. You were already wavering on that island. Isn’t that why you put distance between us?”

I swallow. Then, I’d been trying to protect them both.

No words pass my lips.

He lets me go and twists his violet oak armband, his eyes fixed on it. “You called him a lemon. Sour. He irritates you, makes you mad, makes you laugh, makes you afraid. And he makes you cry.” His gaze drops to my clasp. “I’m kind. Steady. But he makes youfeel.”

His words drop through me, quick and sharp, and I’m left trembling in their wake. I lurch off the chair, move to his bed, and fight shaky hands as I peel open the blankets.

Nicostratus glares into the middle distance. “He makes me feel lots of things too.”

“Let’s talk when you’re not drunk.”

“I’d rather”—he stands and sways, and I lunge to catch him around the waist and steady him—“be drunk for this conversation.” He drops his head against mine. “Will youevercome back for me?”

His breathing shifts. I stir him and his head rolls forward. “Nicostratus? Nicostratus?”

He snores lightly. I steer him to the bed and buckle as I bend him into it. His shoes, I remove, but the rest... It’s too much. Too intimate.

I pull the covers to his chin and his arm dangles out the side. I take it and set it on the mattress. My fingers linger over his knuckles and I stare down at his beautiful face. My whisper comes out choked. “I’m sorry.”

I’m turning to leave when his fingers hook around one of mine. I stare across the room.

“Please don’t . . .”

I won’t go. I’ll stay and make sure he’s alright. Remind him, when he wakes, how he can help...

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