Page 81 of The King's Man 4

“Prins?”

“Prins Lief of Ragn. Second only to our king.” They all slam loyal fists over their chests.

The one Kjartan wants to gift me to if we make it through the night? “If he’s so important, why is he so close to this chaos?”

“He’s been hunting for a cure. In case it slips through our net. In case it gets to shore.”

Ah. He’s in charge of the second line of defence.

I raise a hand and wave.

He watches me for a long moment, then inclines his head.

It feels like forever before the hours pass. I’m reduced to huddling into my cloak, blowing on my hands to keep them from going numb. Blankets have been passed around thestormblades, but I’m left in what I arrived in. Luckily, their tall, larger bodies block the worst of the breeze, and the brazier radiates just enough warmth to keep me from freezing—but barely.

I almost fantasise about those dozen arrows being set alight and stationed along the side of the boat.

I shake my head, gritting my chattering teeth.

The boat rocks over gentle waves, wood creaking. One of the stormblades mutters, “Almost sundown.”

I lift my head from my cocoon. The sky is low, the fading light making the drifting snowflakes glimmer. It’s beautiful. And terrifying. Only a few minutes until darkness.

What if my oil isn’t strong enough? What if it takes longer than six hours for their symptoms to fade? What if I’ve made a mistake? What if—

I’m yanked to my feet, my heart pounding, and—

Yelps and shouts come from our ship.

A Skeldar bounces down the plank in a hurry. “Lindrhalda’s touch saved me!”

“Commander!” a stormblade gasps. “Your face. And his, look!”

Around me, men shout in awe and relief, dropping their weapons—and my sore arms.

Lykos and Zenon entangle themselves in a joyous, relieved hug.

Megaera gazes at me, her eyes shimmering with respect.

Cheers ripple from the Skeldars, echoing across the surrounding boats.

The commanding stormblade mutters and then laughs, a sound of bitter relief.

A chant begins, “Praise Lindrhalda’s mercy! Praise Lindrhalda’s mercy!”

And I sag to my knees, finally allowing myself to shake.

I’m pulled up, yanked triumphantly onto shoulders, and amidst blonde hair and leather vests, I’m steered onto a bridging board, up a ladder—

And over the side of the ship to a lantern-lit deck—

This is not the ship I snuck onto with my companions.

The ship’s sides are studded with hand-painted Skeldar shields, bearing emblems of their gods. The sailors here are dressed in finer wool tunics. Somewhere close someone is playing the flute, and wafting up from below is the rich aroma of cooked chicken.

Stormblades hustle me to the bow of the ship and drop me to the deck, where I catch myself on all fours.

I’m pushing myself up when two boots come into view.

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