Page 30 of The King's Man 2

I sit back, about to re-check his pulse, but he draws his arm away. “Outside.”

We leave the bathhouse and breathe in deep lungfuls of fresh air. Nervously, I follow him past a view of night-lit palaces and moon-glittery canals, to an exposed area of grass with targets lined up at the far end. Quin snaps his cane on his way to a shelf and takes a bow and quiver to a seat overlooking the training arena. He says nothing while he prepares himself, and I watch quizzically.

He has a bowman’s physique. His shoulders, back, arms, forearms, core...

Did he ever join tournaments? Had he ever competed alongside Calix Solin? Could I have seen him back then, at that very tournament, if I’d paid attention to anyone else?

He pulls the string. I reach out instinctively to his straining arm and he lets the arrow fly.

It whizzes straight past the first target.

His eyes flash and I drop my hand with a flustered whisper, “You just bathed. You’ll get sweaty again.”

He blinks at me. “And yet I still have the urge to vent.”

I smile sheepishly and Quin takes another arrow. “I asked you to leave yesterday. You’re back already.”

“I came with Nicostratus.”

Quin looks pointedly at the empty space around us.

“I—I needed to take a walk.”

“Alone?”

Slowly, I drop to my knees before him, gripping blades of grass. “You gave me my soldad.”

Quin stares hard at the targets. The slightest smile stirs at his lips and a pulse-quickening thought tugs at me.

“Why such a valuable gift?” I croak. “You don’t...”

“Don’t what?” His arrow leaves its nock, veering far right of the second target. “And you thinkI’marrogant.”

I open my mouth and shut it again. What was I thinking?

“I do have feelings for you.” At my widening eyes, Quin laughs hollowly, plucking his third arrow. “Unpleasant ones.”

Relief. He doesn’t—wait,unpleasantones? My glare hits his and neither of us is willing to lose this battle. That a person could be this infuriating. If he weren’t the king, or Nicostratus’s brother, or the person who gifted me this soldad—

I scowl. “You can’t find methatunpleasant.”

“I beg to differ. Why else am I transferring you?”

“What’s so unpleasant exactly?”

“Everything.”

“I wish you weren’t a king right now.”

“Why? Want to slap me again?”

I raise a tempted hand and curl a finger, ready to flick. “Can I? Can I please? On the forehead. The side of your ear?”

Quin bats me with the feathered end of his arrow; I dodge it and give his lower thigh a few good flicks.

He prods me away, rolling his eyes.

I stay there before him, and raise my head to meet his dark gaze. He watches me carefully.

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