Page 27 of The King's Man 4

“It pains him, how much his mother hurt you.”

Wood creaks softly under our weight, and the darkness amplifies his uneasy exhale. “It’s never easy to be torn between two people you love.”

I stir, and my knuckles bump against his. My voice roughens. “You went from gallivanting in disguise at ease to...”

“To lying in bed for months as vitalian after vitalian worked to rid me of poison. There was some success. I could have died. Apex-vitalian Chiron saved me, but my leg...”

“I had immortal bone. I could have—”

“It went where it needed to.”

“Why aren’t you frustrated? Angry? When I lost my magic...”

My stomach churns.

Quin’s sigh curls over my jaw. “Seeing you struggle... was like seeing myself, back then. I didn’t want to believe it. I cried and pleaded. I bargained nightly with the heavens that if I fully recovered, I’d become the most benevolent crown prince there ever was. And when I didn’t recover, I withdrew. I didn’t go out of my room, didn’t let anyone see me. Nicostratus spent days outside my door pleading to come in, but during that time...”

“You couldn’t. It hurt too much. You wanted to give up.”

“I couldn’t bear seeing you go through that.”

“That’s why—”

“I was so insistent. Yes.”

My throat aches; swallowing has my nose briefly tapping against Quin’s. It’s too dark to see him, for him to see me, and yet I have the strong urge to close my eyes. Some kind of veil, to stop the rawness I feel inside leaking out completely. “Somehow, losing my magic hurt more when I looked at you.”

“Why?” the question is soft, too knowing.

I open my eyes and laugh hollowly.

His slow, whispered “Cael” sends a bolt of panic through me and I push my back harder against the side of the coffin.

“You don’t need me anymore.”

Silence.

I hear the words again, in my head. You don’t need me. It echoes painfully and I want to take them back. But they’re hanging there between us.

His breath hitches.

The darkness is too much, the confined space far too intimate.

“Cast some light,” I gasp, clawing for air.

He coaxes soft magic to his hands, and at once I wish it gone again. He looks at me carefully, gaze too serious. The coffin seems to shrink around us. He feels larger, warmer, closer. It’s overwhelming.

“Finding an antidote,” I say, squeezing my fist. “It’ll be a tough task. We’ll need all the help we can get. My grandfather wrote a lot about the dangers of amorous fungi. To think it’s used as perfume and incense! No wonder you paled when I gave you some.”

A brief flash of amusement quirks his cheek and he rearranges himself, shifting his glowing hands between our chests. The change in light draws my eye to the edge of the bruise at this throat, and an image of Sparkles perched atop him, like I had been, fills my mind. Had she kissed her way down his throat, or had he steered her there in the throes of the moment... Had he truly been drawn to her, or had she worn amorous perfume?

“What are you thinking?”

I jerk my gaze to his. “I’m glad you banned it from your dance house.”

“Did so immediately after it was used against me.”

I stare at him and swallow. I’m curious, but I don’t want to ask.

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