Page 21 of The King's Man 4

“You’re here about the food poisoning.”

“Someone died.”

“You suspect foul play.”

“We must rule out all the possibilities.”

“The oats I delivered were purchased from a grocer in town. The seal was intact when I delivered them.”

“You delivered them personally.”

“I should think that makes it less likely I’d tamper with them.”

Quin eyes him. Waits.

“Ah, you’re after my motivation for donating. I wanted to help. I plan to help more.”

“You’re from the border.”

A slow, acknowledging smile. “How do you know?”

“You drag your vowels slightly. I made a guess.”

“The accent leaks through from time to time. You’re right. I grew up in Lyrica.”

“Are your family amongst those—”

“I’m the only one left in my family. The townspeople took care of me growing up; it’s only right I repay them.”

Quin hums and, while I dance, continues conversing. His mouth addresses the commander, but his eyes are solidly on my performance. Something which the commander notices. He toasts Quin again, and orders another dance. “You, come closer. Let my guest admire you fully.”

I wince behind my silk scarf and flutter towards Quin, whose lips twitch knowingly. I dance again, this time close enough that I touch his chest—with warning force—and knock his constable hat over his grinning face.

Quin neither budges nor flinches. Instead, his smile widens, he straightens his hat, and after another twirl, he yanks me into his lap with firm steering hands, eliciting a laugh from the commander. “Excellent, excellent. Pretty eyes, that one.”

“Full of hidden talents,” Quin agrees.

I purse my lips.

The commander rises. “Excuse me one moment, I’ll be right back. Keep playing,” he orders the harpist.

Quin’s hands tighten on me, stopping me from pulling away. His breath combs my ear. “Laugh,” he says. “There are eyes in the room.”

I feign a giggle, though my chest lurches with... frustration. Quin’s grip softens, but his fingers linger around my hips. I pinch the sensitive area of his chest as hard as I can, and he jerks slightly under me—but that only results in him laughing and drawing me in tighter. He whispers, “Being interested in the entertainment keeps the commander at ease.”

Makes him no threat. Maybe opens the commander up.Quin’s after this chance to understand him...

“Hmm?” Quin says, nuzzling into my neck.

I tip his chin back and stare hard into his eyes, then lower my face slowly to his. The silk scarf shifts between our lips. “Understood.”

His fingers flex; I pull back with another giggle, pluck a grape off a plate and feed it to him, sliding my thumb into his mouth. His teeth graze my skin. At the sound of footsteps returning, Quin grabs another grape and ducks his face under the curtain of my silk scarf to feed it to me from his lips. Our mouths don’t touch, but I can still feel it, like a shiver. I almost drop the grape, trembling. His splayed hands brace me.

“The harpist is watching a bit too closely,” he whispers.

I swallow. Nod. This is to further the act. To convince all eyes that he’s a lady’s man.

I’m swallowing the heartbeat in my throat when the commander returns with more dancers and more wine. On his way to his seat, he gives Quin a jolly slap on the back that jostles me further up his lap.

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