Page 92 of The King's Man 2

“Better make it quick, then.”

I shake my head. “Unless the patient is dying or unable to give consent, they must be willing.”

Chiron bows his head towards the duke and concurs uncomfortably. “This is indeed a tenet of vitalian law.”

The high duke smiles; there’s a shadow to it that has me feeling sick. “Akilah, is it? Tell us, are you willing?”

She shifts in my arms, her eyes filled with panic and pain.

“She’s clearly not—”

“I’m willing.”

“Akilah,” I gasp.

“I am willing,” she says to me, but there’s tension in her body that betrays her words. I don’t believe them. I can’t.

“There you have it,” the high duke says. “Willing.”

Akilah is my person. Closer than a best friend; a sister. I gather her against me as tightly as I can and laugh quietly, hollowly. “There is only one outcome allowed here. That’s for me to fail.”

“Are you saying you can’t perform the transplantation?”

“I’m saying I won’t.”

“Chiron.”

Chiron clears his throat. “Not attempting the task is deemed failure.”

At Akilah’s strangled sob of sympathy, I kiss her forehead and murmur that it doesn’t matter.

“Then,” the high duke says, “that result will be made public.”

I slam my eyes shut—

“Chiron, perform the transplant.”

—I ping them open. “I’ve already failed. You’ve won. Please—” I shuffle on aching knees towards Chiron, Akilah sobbing wetly into my shirt. “Don’t do it. You’re a teacher. Stand up for your principles. Ethics.”

“I’ve already lost one child,” he says gruffly.

“Now,” the high duke says, “or your son’s test will be just asspecialas this one.”

I cover Akilah with my body, struggling against two redcloaks as they try to pull me away; they bind me with metallic magic as the spell plumes into Chiron’s palm, changing colours as he stacks it. He’s fast, proficient, and he schools his face as he steps up to us.

Akilah cries out in agony, body arching under Chiron’s forceful, obtrusive magic. I fight against the redcloaks’ restraints, screaming her name. Her only lovelight—

The doors burst open; Florentius skids inside and halts, his shocked gaze shifting from me to his father to Akilah. “Father! Stop—” He shifts his hand, readying a spell to break his father’s, but he’s seized and restrained alongside me. He shouts at his father again, horrified, as Akilah’s lovelight rips away. It bursts from her, swirling in beautiful aching beauty around the violet oak, before sinking easily into the high duke’s chest.

He breathes in and out slowly, absorbing everything with a wistful curl of his lips. Closes his eyes and murmurs a name.

I shout, straining to get to Akilah.

Finally, the high duke rises, his robe billowing with his shadowy magic. “Everyone out. Not you,” he says, eyes pinned on me. “Not her.”

The magic binding me falls away and I scramble to Akilah, prone from pain, and gather her in my arms. With just the three of us here, the vast luminarium feels like a tomb. A tomb for a king, perhaps. But a tomb nevertheless.

I caress her face and stare past the high duke. “If you hate me so much, just killme.”

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