Page 50 of The King's Man 4

If there’d been shadows over his face before, they were nothing to now. Quin leans forward, scrutinising me. “You don’t recall last night?”

My chest pounds wildly, and a shiver zips deep down my middle. To be looking at me this intensely... something significant happened. I shift on the bench, crossing an ankle, jiggling my foot, uncrossing it. Do I inquire? Can I handle it?

I’m supposed to be gone. After today, I will leave again.

“What do you remember?” he asks softly, but the kind of softly that feels like a mask.

I jerk a finger at his attire. “You’re not wearing your uniform. Why were you headed for the constabulary?”

He growls. “I told you, I saw you this morning. I followed you. Saw your arrest. I was making a plan to bring you out.”

Is he upset I left after... whatever significant happened last night? I swallow. “I thought the drakopagon would’ve been”—his eyes flash, and I mumble the last part—“your priority.”

We stare at one another, and then he says, “I shouldn’t be so surprised you weaselled your way out of confinement.”

“Surprised?” I choke. “That isn’t... what you looked like.”

He raises one tight brow. “What did I look like?”

Like you’d whisk me away and lock me up all over again.“A smidgeon upset—”

The buggy jolts over a rock, causing me to fly off my seat and into Quin. I scramble to find balance, to push myself back, but he curls an arm around me and hauls me closer. My breath puffs against his chin and I lift my gaze to deep, dark eyes.

“A smidgeon?” He presses his face so close our noses graze, and his steely focus drops briefly to my lips before rising again. “Want me to remind you what happened last night?”

Shivers bolt hard and fast through me and when he opens his mouth to speak, I clamp my palm against his lips. I shake my head wildly.

Don’t. I don’t think I should know.

Don’t make it harder for me to leave.

My hand is trembling over his face and he hums hotly against my skin.

I talk before he tries. “It’s not the time for... this.”

His hand comes up to mine and drags across my fingers. He’s feeling my shaking from all sides, and it... softens the look in his eye. He inclines his head and I slowly, slowly drop my hand.

His arm tightens around me, crushing me to his chest, and he murmurs against my ear. “Don’t you dare leave my side until we’ve talked.”

He releases his hold on me and I slink to the opposite seat.

I bite my lip and I’m first to flee the tight confines of the buggy when it stops at the bottom of the hill. I start towards the outpost and he immediately grabs my hood, reining me back to his side. “I meant what I said.”

By his side. Right.

There’s a crowd being checked at the outpost gates and entry is a slow process. Quin presents our letter of admission, and at my lingering look at it, informs me Nicostratus gave it to him yesterday.

At the mention of the prince, I steer my gaze elsewhere. Once inside, we take to lurking in the shadows as we scope out the arena and search for the commander.

A cordoned-off area of a flat expanse of grass defines the drakopagon pitch and around it mill a thousand spectators. There’s a betting station set up on one grassy flank, and by a large margin, the favour is for a redcloak triumph. On the opposing flank is a welcoming station, where nobles are perhaps trying to sway guests in their favour. Soldiers knock back the drinks, laughing, but the smirks on their faces tell me they’re still not placing their money on the opposing team. There’s more hesitation when they’re confronted by an exquisitely dressed Sparkles, fluttering her eyelashes and swishing her skirts.

Eparch Valerius nods at her and hands out more free drinks to the drooling crowd. “Cheer on the underdogs!” Behind him, Nicostratus’s head aklo has been roped into helping, refilling quickly emptying jugs and sweating profusely as he tries to keep up.

I shield my eyes from a series of blinding flashes of reflected sunlight. “More people than I imagined.”

Quin’s hum is equally surprised. “I thought the redcloak team would be made up from the commander’s unit. My father-in-law’s soldiers are... unexpected.”

I look over at a large portion of the crowd. Even though they’re out of uniform, laughing and sipping their welcoming drinks, they all sport circling wyvern buttons.

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