Page 17 of The King's Man 2

Could that important meeting be— Couldthe kingstride in here to talk with Quin?

A sharper sound of footsteps at the entrance. I dart my gaze around the room, panicked. There’s no back door. No way out. No place to—

I eye the rose petals. The water. Quin, naked in its depths. Surely the king wouldn’tbathewith his subordinate?

The door starts to slide open.

“Cael,” Quin says. “I asked—”

No time for chitchat. I tip the heavy bowl and petals spill over the surface of the water.

“What are you—”

“Just... play along.” I abandon his cloak and slip into the water. “Forgive me.” I haul a deep breath and sink under the blanket of petals.

The water is warm and murky, but not so murky that I can’t make out Quin’s form mere feet away. I grab his good leg and hold tight, anchoring myself. His fingers tangle in my hair as it drifts upwards in the water; he clamps it against my head. Tightly. Like an admonishment.

I wince, the sting sharp but grounding, and my chest flutters with an unsettling need to laugh. I curse myself and slam my eyes shut not to see more than I already have.

Quin’s presence looms around me, every shift in the water quaking over me, and I bite my lip.

How long will I have to hold my breath? Could he do that bubble magic on me? So I could stay under here as long as possible? I tap his thigh, hoping he’ll get the point. His fingers scrunch up my hair. Alright, alright. I can hold on half a minute more...

I think.

I bash my hand against his thigh and sneak it up his stomach. The flutette. That might—

Quin pulls me up by the hair. My head breaks the surface and I gulp in air, spluttering, and glance around. No one here but me, fully dressed and dripping before Quin’s shaking head.

I sigh and stare at the vaulted ceiling. “Thank the heavens.”

Redcloaks erupt through the doors, marching down either side of the pool, and that darn gold-sash liaison stops at the upturned bowl. His impassive gaze slides over me.

“He has arrived, your majesty.”

* * *

His majesty.

I whip my head around. Quin’s gaze flashes to mine, dark, calm, serious.

He waves an aklo forward and orders his robes to be brought. “Where is he now?”

“Approaching the pear garden.”

Quin bites out a vicious laugh. “Of course. Tell him to forgive me, I’m on my way.”

The water ripples as Quin moves, each step sending soft waves against my legs. The cool breeze catches on the droplets trailing down his back, and I can’t stop my gaze from lingering—

A redcloak spell hits the back of my head, forcing my face downwards. I’m too numb to feel the throb of it.

His majesty.

The words coil around my throat, tightening with every breath. Quin’s soft, bitter laugh beside me—mocking, but not without a trace of regret—feels like a dagger in my chest.

I suck in a startled breath. He’s Nicostratus’s brother.

When my neck is released and I can lift my head again, Quin is dressed and holding his cane. Not just any cane. A cane topped with interlocking wyverns, the symbol of the kingdom. Animperialcane.

---