Page 10 of The King's Man 2

I jerk a finger to the pearl heart bed, ignoring the very obvious problem in front of me. Still, it’s worth a shot. “They’re thrice the size of yesterday.”

The gold-sash liaison does not seem amused. “Your...methodhas caused weeds to multiply here and through all the beds nearby. You must remove the weeds—withoutmagic.”

Outrageous. “Why without magic?”

“The king fears you’ll ruin his beloved garden.”

How very vexing. And possibly very accurate. That hair growth spell is still the bane of my existence. Alsonotmeant for gardens. I suspect I haven’t stacked the spell correctly. These internal scales are challenging to master.

I gaze at the sea of weeds engulfing this bed—and all the others—and grimace.

The pink-bow akla helps me locate tools from a shed tucked into the cliffs. I haven’t seen her since infusing her with warmth at the fountain a few days ago. She seems calm, though a bit quiet.

“How are you feeling?” I ask.

“The tea you saved for me helped this morning. Thank you.”

“You only had it this morning? It begins to lose potency after a day.”

“I couldn’t take it any earlier. I just got back.”

I look over at her, surprised. “You managed to leave?”

She nods suddenly, brightly, her bow bouncing. “I was allowed out yesterday, to give my brother a burial.”

As she hands me a box of trowels and forks, another akla interrupts, asking Pink-Bow to welcome the transferring aklas at the pier. They leave, and I head back to the mammoth mission of digging out every single weed in the flower beds, while also tending to my patients.

By the end of the day, I’m reduced to laughing and cursing the king in turns.

“How energetic you are,” Quin says, finding me at the back of the house.

I pass him a fork. “It’s easy to stay energised if you have the right motivation.”

“Is that right?”

I gesture to the weeds. “Imagine the faces of all who annoy you.”

I stab gleefully into the soil.

Quin sends his fork deep into the bed, close to mine. “Therapeutic.”

“Isn’t it.” I glance over at Quin, once more perfectly dressed for meeting with royalty. I pause my shovel at a fuzzy leaf. “What does he look like?”

Quin raises a questioning brow.

“The king.”

His gaze diverts across the canal toward the scholar courtyards. “Dark hair, dark eyes. Exceptionally handsome.”

I raise my brows and dig deep through the roots of a particularly persistent weed.

“Wait.” He looks suspiciously from the weed to me and back again. “Who exactly are you imagining?”

I yank up the severed root. “Thanks for the description.”

Quin’s eyes flash. “You—”

I drop the weed in his lap and slap a soil-laced hand over his mouth. “You and I, we have an unspoken understanding.”

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