Page 31 of The King’s Man #5

O nce more, I’m faced with the deeply carved, intricate knot on the doors. I glance over my shoulder, nod to Prins Lief, and—at the king’s summons—push my way inside, alone.

Guards flank the long hall, light from the pits of eternal flame reflecting on their armour. At the far end, King Yngvarr sits on his throne, a beautiful bejewelled figure of grace with his ageless face. Only his dark eyes hold the truth of his age, his pain, his anger.

The fragrance in the hall hits the back of my nose; had I not taken herbs to counter it, I’d already feel the lulling effects. This meeting is too important. I need a sharp mind.

As I move towards his curling hand, another figure comes into view.

He’s crouched behind a stormblade, bent over a side table before the king.

And I immediately recognise him. My heart hammers hard against my chest and my teeth snap together at the sight of the iron chains around his wrists, his ankles.

King Yngvarr follows my gaze and clicks his fingers. Quin lifts a pot, pours dark liquid into a fine cup, and holds it out to the king, who tsks. “Do it on your knees.”

Quin obliges, emotionlessly.

I force myself to keep walking, but my fist is curled tight behind the folds of my cloak. King Yngvarr motions towards me. “Pour another cup.”

I stop just behind Quin’s stiffening back and bow to the throned king, holding out the letter Prins Lief instructed me to deliver.

The king snatches it and reads. He gulps back his tea and laughs.

“I heard rumours of your tremendous feat in Hinsard. This validates them.” He gestures Quin to hurry and hand me my tea.

Slowly, Quin turns. His gaze meets mine calmly, as if to tell me he’s fine.

It flickers with warning. Tread carefully.

I take the tea and another laugh bursts out of King Yngvarr. “Haldr, Haldr. I’m so pleased you’re my man.”

Quin’s fingers freeze around the cup. For a long beat, all calm bleeds away. His eyes are a frenzied flash hitting mine, and it’s my turn to cool him. I take the cup, brushing our fingers together, pausing a fleeting second—a message of my own.

Slowly his mask slips back into place and his fingers slide along mine, leaving a wake of shivers as he drops his hand and steps back.

I sip hurriedly and chains clank and clatter as Quin returns to the king’s table.

King Yngvarr leans forward. His smile seems soft but his eyes are hard. “This contest certainly tested your ability. I’m satisfied. I have another patient for you to heal. A challenging one. Are you willing?”

His hand tightens on the arm of his throne, a reminder that I must agree, or...

I press my hand against my chest and incline my head. “Before I submit to this request, may you please deliver upon your promise.”

I glance briefly in Quin’s direction. The King looks his way too.

“Your triumph in Lumin indeed impressed me. The mortification rolling through their kingdom right now! I’m truly pleased. But promises...” He sighs and it has my stomach tightening. “Promises are merely motivators. When they’ve served their purpose, they can be abandoned.”

“With a philosophy like that,” I reply, “they won’t work as motivators for long.”

“Ah, but you see I do fulfil the ones that are harmless; the ones that offer me more advantage.” He sweeps a hand in Quin’s direction.

“I’m afraid he is too smart. Letting him go will infuriate their regent, and I cannot afford his wrath at my borders right now.

Wyrd armies threaten war from the west.”

“What if... what if you give this king your support? What if he becomes your puppet? What if he can take down the regent and become your ally?”

From the corner of my eye, I glimpse Quin shifting, trying to snag my attention, probably with a clenched jaw. I don’t look. I can’t. I keep my gaze steeled on King Yngvarr, who chuckles in amusement before narrowing lethal eyes on me.

“Lumin and Iskaldir will never be allies.” He pauses, calming his voice. “Fighting on two fronts weakens us. I must keep him here.”

“So you’re afraid of the regent.” I lean in, lowering my voice. “You don’t think he’s already incensed?”

King Yngvarr tenses.

“Perhaps it’s in your interests to let him go. He may provide a distraction. As you say, fighting on two fronts weakens.”

He uncrosses his legs, laughing, but there’s a strain to it. My palms sweat with hope—

“Losing a mere contest, and losing the upper hand on Lumin’s true king... The magnitude of one significantly overshadows the other. He’s embarrassed now, but so long as I don’t unleash my captive on him, he’ll not push at our border.”

My lungs deflate, my knees buckling in desperation. I do not want to reach for my last resort. I do not want to betray Quin like that. “An enemy of my enemy is a potential ally. Release him, let him gather his forces, rally support, and fight against the Wyrds with you.”

“What gall, to suggest political manoeuvres on behalf of kings!”

I do dash a look Quin’s way at this. I expect him to be glowering at my ruthless negotiation attempts, but he’s watching me thoughtfully.

King Yngvarr, though... his head cocks as he eyes me with suspicion.

Tread carefully . Already he’ll wonder why I fight this hard for Lumin royalty when I’m supposed to be a Skeldar healer—one, even, with the goddess’ touch.

I bow again. “I am merely a healer. My desire is simple: for no one to be hurt; to heal those who become so. My suggestions are not to interfere with the games between kings but merely to save this man’s life—and perhaps more, if these strategies are employed. ”

“I’d let any other captive go. Why this man?”

I twist slightly to avoid Quin’s upcoming glare. “Quite frankly? He’s pitiful.”

“So are others.”

“Pitiful but full of potential. I truly desire him to be used to bring peace between our kingdom and his.”

After a moment’s deliberation, King Yngvarr accepts this. “I suppose someone touched by the heavens would hold bigger aspirations.”

I clutch this straw, even if it does mean Quin finds out the depth of my deception, the risk I’ve taken. “Indeed, I’m afflicted with dreams of peace and the wellbeing of our people. They never stop; nor will they, until the gods are satisfied.”

A cup drops and I glance to Quin, who’s quickly straightening the mess of tea he’s made; his grimacing gaze slaps mine and though we don’t speak, we’re conversing. Caelus!

I had to don this mask. I’d do it again.

We’ll talk about your beheading if we ever get out of this!

I shift on a shiver and refocus on King Yngvarr .

He nods. “I will fulfil one part of my promise to you. I won’t put his head on a stake.”

I sag to my knees.

I only have one thing left.

“In my dreams, releasing this man is crucial to establishing this divine peace. This is why I’ve been so bold before you.”

“Boldly living the will of the gods can be forgiven.”

“Then I boldly ask you to forgive me for intruding on your past.” I touch my head to the ground.

“What do you mean?” King Yngvarr says tightly.

“I discovered your dromveske; I entered your memories.”

An unsettling silence follows and I dare not raise my head. One step, two steps towards me—

A hand clasps my shoulder and King Yngvarr steers me upright to face him. His eyes should be angry, but instead, they’re damp. “My son gave them to you.”

He already knew.

King Yngvarr continues, “He too has always yearned for peace, always intercepted my wrath towards Lumin. He wanted you to understand me. Do you?”

“I feel for Kronprins Yngvarr.”

“Kronprins Yngvarr is me.”

“Is he?”

King Yngvarr rocks back on his heels.

“I brought you a gift from Hinsard,” I say quietly, and his eyes shoot with hope and anxiety towards the main doors. “It comes with conditions. May I have it brought in?”

The king croaks out the order, and a woman wearing my veiled curacowl enters the hall.

King Yngvarr staggers to a stand and stares at her, and with a sickening lurch in my stomach, I glance at Quin.

I expect to see his horror and hurt and what I’m doing, but once again, his face is well controlled.

He appears calm and collected, ready to face whatever twists and turns will follow.

His gaze shifts from his mother to me and I struggle to hold it.

I’m sorry. Please. I’m sorry. Don’t hate me.

Or maybe do. Maybe that is the best result.

“Remove your veil,” King Yngvarr says, almost a whisper, when Casimiria has come to a stop beside me.

“A gift is meant to be unwrapped,” I say, “but is first delivered with a few words.”

“Your conditions.”

“His freedom in return for her.”

“I’ll have them both!” King Yngvarr snags the veil and rips it off Casimiria, revealing her elegant frame and her keenly intelligent eyes.

She smiles at him and King Yngvarr most clearly buckles. “Haldr,” she says, glancing at her son and to her first love again, “please continue.”

“I poisoned her.”

Both he and Quin suck in air.

“Only I know the antidote,” I continue. “She must receive it within three days.”

King Yngvarr roars, “How dare— ”

“Fulfil your promise! Free him. When he’s safe, I’ll save her.”

He lunges forward and grips my throat, his thumb and fingers squeezing hard.

“If I didn’t need your skills, I’d have your head!

” He throws me away and I cough and claw in breath.

Chains rattle and, in an instant, Quin is at my side, setting me upright, cuffed hands lifting to softly check my neck. I don’t meet his eyes.

He should hate me. He should want to finish the job.

But of course, not yet. The antidote.

“It wasn’t he who poisoned me,” Casimiria says and steps towards King Yngvarr. “Nor he who pushed me into this corner.”

King Yngvarr trembles. His lips are pressed into a hard thin line. He can’t hold her gaze either.

“If you still hold me in your thoughts even a little, please. Free my son.”

King Yngvarr jerks his finger towards Quin. “He is half that vile man! He is half the man I hate!”