Page 24 of The King's Man 2

I yank him back down, grab a small cake from the platters before us and stuff it into his mouth. Skriniaris Evander strokes his cat, smiling.

“Fancy table,” I say appreciatively, stroking the fine linen tablecloth. “Might be the best here.”

“It is. It’s the royal booth.”

Florentius chokes on his cake.

I also find it difficult to swallow.

I say, tentatively, “You mean Prince Nicostratus invited you?”

“Also a good boy, that one. No, I’m closer with his majesty.” His gaze slides outside the booth and he smiles widely. “Here comes my surprise for you, Cael. Make some space.”

I lurch to my feet as a set of pretty pastel skirts peeks from behind Skriniaris Evander’s aklo, and a young woman launches herself into my arms. She looks pretty, despite the wisps of hair that have fallen out of place, the smudged eye makeup over her cheekbone, the crinkled hem of her dress. Typically Akilah. Her hug is fierce. I look at Skriniaris Evander over her shoulder and he gestures us to sit down. “Eat. The play is about to begin.”

Akilah pulls a small box from her sleeve. “Teas from home. Have you seen Veronica?”

“It’s harder to move about the royal city than you think.”

“What about you-know-who?” she giggles.

“Not nearly enough,” I say with a sigh.

Florentius shifts next to me, looking like he’s about to leap out of his seat and elegantly scamper off. I fuse a hand to his forearm; Akilah glances at him, blinks, and laughs. “If it isn’t you.”

He lifts his chin and looks away. “You don’t need me here.”

I clamp tighter. “Stay.”

Akilah squeezes between us, skirts billowing as she plunks down with a happy sigh. Florentius flinches as her skirts spill over his lap, brushing at the fabric like it might stain his robes.

“Like a cat avoiding water, aren’t you?” Akilah says, laughing.

He huffs and then quiets as the play unfolds below.

It’s about a young woman who keeps falling for and losing the same man, only she doesn’t know he’s the same man, for each time they meet, he wears a different mask. It feels familiar—too familiar—and a quiet unease builds in my lower stomach. No matter how many others come into her life, she always finds herself entwined withhim.

Masked figures swirl across the stage, silk and feathers catching the light. The woman hesitates, her gaze darting between them. A villain’s whisper hangs in the air, and she trembles before taking a tentative step forward.

Akilah whispers in my ear, “Who do you think it is?”

I stop swallowing and squint. “The one in the feathered mask?”

“Which feathered mask?”

Florentius scoffs but then mutters, “Under the arch. Definitely. Or... maybe by the trellis.”

His uncertainty surprises me, but I catch the faintest twitch of his lips—amused despite himself.

Akilah finds this hilarious and chuckles, spilling tea over her skirts and, to Florentius’s intense mortification, his lap.

“You!”

She grabs a dry part of her skirt to mop at his lap and he shrinks back from her until he falls of the bench.

Akilah raises a brow at him.

Florentius lurches swiftly to his feet and glares at her. “I’ve never met such a rude mess in my life.”

---