Page 8 of The King's Man 1

The cat meows softly from his chest.

I slide off the horse. My hands tremble as I pass him the reins.

I don’t look at him.

As soon as the reins leave my fingers, I bow my head.

And walk away.

Akilah gives me a sidelong look.

“It’s just borrowed. For noble purposes.”

“To pretend you’re a noble, you mean.”

“That’s what I said. Noble purposes.”

She rolls her eyes and returns her focus to the arena.

I’d snuck into these tournament games plenty of times in my youth. But this is the first time I’ve dared to walk through the gates in full view, complete with a fine robe, an overconfident strut, and a mouthful of lies. The fine robe—the one with the glowing gold-threaded vines and red-and-green floral silk lining—is my older brother’s wedding robe. It billows dramatically behind me like I actually belong here. Like I’m a full linea, like everyone else who’s officially allowed to attend.

All to stand at the front of the wooden stands overlooking the arena carved into the base of the Claviska cliffs.

The cliffs themselves loom above, spiralling into clouds, and the games below are framed with bright flags and shouting vendors. Today’s event: the mounted archery challenge.

A dozen contestants gather at the far end, their horses restless, heads high. Each has swallowed a temporary spell to block their magic, making this a test of sheer crude skill. Raw instinct.

The rounds begin.

Riders thunder past, loosing arrows at moving targets while their horses leap fences and pivot mid-stride. The first round is impressive. The second, breathtaking.

By the fourth, I’m transfixed.

At first it’s just a glint. A smooth, shimmering fake face. My breath hitches.

Surely it can’t be...

Itis. Just take in that absurd composure! That haughty confidence.

I grit my teeth and watch him. He’s dressed in dark riding leathers and an eye-catching cloak, looking as cool as frost, loosing arrow after arrow with barely a glance at the targets. His horse weaves through obstacles, every motion fluid, lethal, exact. Like a dance.

I forget how to blink.

My hand grips the fencepost beside me so tightly I swear it groans. My stomach does something swoopy and undignified. I hate that I feel it.

I hate that Istillfeel it.

Just par-linea.

His words are still raw in my ears. I can still feel the punch of that moment in the woods. The way he spoke.

But even so, I can’t tear my eyes away.

The crowd cheers. A horn sounds for the next round. I stare, the world growing foggy around the edges.

Akilah nudges me.

I shake my head.

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