Page 18 of The King's Man 2

He tightens his grip around it. How did I not, even once, consider the possibility?

“Follow.”

Redcloaks drag me from the pool. An aklo spells my clothes dry, then I’m marched out of the bathhouse into blinding daylight, a dozen paces behind the king.

He stops before a bench overlooking the queen’s courtyards and the gala stalls along the canal. Seated there is a bearded man in rich golds and reds with boots up to his knees. There’s a sinister curl at his lips. “Nephew.”

The redcloaks beside me stiffen but remain quiet. No one dares.

Quin shifts his cane. I bite back my surprise when he delivers the duke a small, pathetic smile and stares glumly at his feet. His voice comes out thin with a small, sickly cough. “Sorry I made you wait. The water was so warm, I drifted off.”

“I won’t keep you long,” the high duke says, and after a pause, “You know I’ll always let you retire early.”

I baulk while the redcloaks and aklos practically become statues. And Quin... Quin nods, with another wet-sounding cough.

The high duke’s shrewd gaze slices towards me and my squeezing fists. “You. You must be worried for his health.”

I relax my hands.

“Come tend to my nephew’s cough.”

I glance at my vitalian robes and obvious green sash. It’s clear to all I shouldn’t tend to the cough of his nephew the king.

“I said, come!”

I bolt towards the smug glint in the duke’s eyes and stand beside Quin, head bowed. Quin’s knuckles whiten momentarily against his cane and return to limp passivity. He coughs again. “How kind of you to consider my health, uncle.”

The high duke’s gaze sharpens. “He’s always getting sick. Tell me why.”

I glance at Quin, who keeps half-lidded, lethargic eyes on his uncle as he offers me his wrist. The cough sounds real enough, but I’ve spent too much time with him today to be fooled. He’s playing this up. Lying.

Like he’s been doing with me. Today, yesterday. Every time we’ve met.

Heat flushes through me—humiliation, hurt. The things I’ve said to him. I slide my fingers along his wrist and feel his pulse. Except for the permanent blockage in his leg, he’s in fine health. “Your majesty...”

Quin’s head remains slumped and heavy-like, but I catch his warning side-eye. He wheezes, “Tell me.”

He wants me to play along.

I press my lips together. “Perhaps you’d prefer my diagnosis in private?”

“Don’t hold back. My uncle is family.”

I hesitate, putting on a show of anxiety, until the duke commands me to get it out. “You’re of a sickly disposition. Not just”—Quin’s eyes are fixed on me now. I whisper—“Not just physically unstable. Mentally, too.”

Quin coughs abruptly, hard at first, then weakly. “TheheadachesI’m plagued with.” Another darting glance just for me, and with quite a kick to it. “I do wish they’d calm down.”

I bow my head sombrely and lift my gaze with a kick of my own. “They’ll need much attention to calm down.”

“Possible?” His voice is tight, and he coughs again for the duke.

“That remains to be seen.”

“Just address the cough,” the high duke says, lips quirking in disgust as he fans a hand before his nose. “Don’t want to catch anything, too busy for that.”

“I have a new technique for dispelling such maladies.”

Quin croaks quickly, “The traditional spell will be sufficient.”

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