Page 80 of The King's Man 2

Nicostratus inches forward and whispers, “The king, but keep that quiet. He goes to great lengths not to reveal his identity on the field. I’m not even sure Veronica knows it’s him.” I shake my head in utter disbelief.

“Is it alright you told me?” I whisper back.

“I’ll tell you everything.”

A smile pulls at my lips, but only briefly. “Why doesn’t he play openly?”

“Our uncle always sends one or two of his own men to play, and Constantinos spent the last years pretending to be sick, so...”

A drop of rain sneaks through the leaves and falls on my cloak. Nicostratus’s gaze follows it. “New clasp?”

My stomach leaps unexpectedly and I pinch the edge of the engraved silver where the raindrop landed. A high-pitched laugh trips out of me. “Oh this. I got this from... from your brother. When we were in the capital. My makeshift solutions were vexing him.”

Surprise flashes across Nicostratus’s face. He leans in to inspect the clasp, the smallest crease forming between his brows. “It’s... exquisite.”

“Is it? I haven’t really—” I swallow “—noticed.”

His frown flickers with a deepening shadow, and then voices have us glancing towards a nearing longboat of bored-faced officials.

“I have to go,” he says, then pauses. Smiles. “This game tomorrow. Consider it a date. I’ll pick you up.”

With that, he leaps out of the boat as quickly and as quietly as he came.

Drained from the last twenty-four hours, I slouch towards my cell, only to perk up again outside Florentius’s door. How has he fared?

I knock, and Florentius opens, all pristine and perfect. Ignoring his surprise, I duck into his room and flop onto his bed. Hands tucked under my head, I stare at his dark ceiling, then look across to the frogs magically suspended above his desk. “You went to the other island.”

“I tried. I got caught and sent back.”

I look at him, and feel a little more at ease. “You’re all right. At least that.”

“You weren’t in your room last night.”

“Concerned for me?”

He swishes his hands and lowers the frogs to his desk. “A mere observation. There are frogs in that pot for you to practice on.”

I swing into a sitting position and grin at his back. “How about we practice together?”

He grunts, and we spend the next forty minutes practicing side by side. “You’ve natural talent,” he says as we clean up. “Not quite as much as myself.” I snort at his sincere narcissism, and he exhales. “But close.”

“What are you planning to do? When you find your brother.”

Florentius stiffens, then places the vented lid over the pot holding the frogs. “The only way to leave that island is in a coffin.”

“So—”

“So I’ll kill him.”

I yelp. Florentius lifts a small clay jar from his shelf and uncorks it. He rolls a single, black capsulised spell onto the palm of his hand. “In all history, there has only been a handful of these made.”

“What is it?”

“What will kill him and bring him back to life.”

In awe, I reach for the capsule, but Florentius slips it back into the jar.

“A fake death spell?”

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