Page 55 of The King's Man 4

Quin sucks in a sharp breath. “My lead to find the commander was to findyou.”

“I knew that’s what you’re truly after.”

“I must force him out of the royal city.”

They stare hard at one another. Princessa Liana speaks first. “It’s not the right time.”

“He’s actively ruining our kingdom. Compromising border security. Tearing families from their homes. Confiscating food and medicine from the people.”

“Are you any better?”

“Yes.”

“Such confidence. That’s why he’ll be trying to kill you. Destroy your power.”

I step into the mounting tension between them. Their words have sent a shudder through me. “Let’s discuss saving the kingdomafterwe save the refugees.”

Tight nods.

“The game has already begun,” says the commander.

Princessa Liana retreats towards the apothecary. “Let me get my mask.”

Mask.

The word rattles through me. Constables, demanding how I got into Eparch Valerius’s place. Dress up, did you? Delivery man? Aklo? Vitalian?

It all comes crashing together in my head. I ball my fist.

“The culprit has indeed been masking himself.”

Quin uses magic to support himself as he leaps off the stool. “You know who it is.”

“Worse. I don’t think we’ll have enough vitalians, even with a proper antidote.”

“What are you talking about?”

I see a flash of the welcoming stall, those continuously refilled jugs...

“The entire audience has been poisoned.”

In the dim, musky stables, Quin leans against a beam, his cane braced at his side, while I press my weight into the wood to steady my nerves. Through a gap in the stable doors, I catch fleeting glimpses of the drakopagon pitch, where hooves thump against churned earth. A distant cheer from the spectators ripples through the stillness—and tightens the knot in my stomach.

A horn blows. Half time.

I glance at Quin with a tight swallow. This is it.

Murmurs drift from redcloaks traipsing to the privy. “They’re gonna cost me a pretty penny. S’like they’re asleep out there.”

Commander Thalassios leads Nicostratus and his horse to the stables, and he gracefully dismounts and hands the reins to a stableboy. He crosses to us, face impassive, but his eyes track both me and Quin and one of his hands—the one still wearing my armband—tightens.

I shake my head. No time for that. I pull him with haste further into our private corner; he lets me, his fingers closing around mine and lingering. Quin’s gaze drops, noticing this, andhe schools his expression. The air suddenly feels stiffer and I jerkily face Nicostratus. “I need your help.”

He lets out a strangled breath. “I’ve always been willing to help you. Now is no exception.”

I tell him everything, and his eyes widen and search Quin and the commander’s faces for confirmation. He looks down at the object I’ve pushed into his hands.

“Can you do it?” I ask.

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