Page 8 of The King’s Man #5

I don’t intend to return, but not more than an hour later, under a glaring silver moon, I do.

Stormblades raise their brows at my second coming, but the signet I almost throw at them has them letting me through.

I slam the cottage door behind me and lean against it, catching my breath.

Quin looks over from his chessboard this time, and I’m glad to see not only a flicker of surprise, but the swift rise to his feet. My satisfaction at this is short lived. He buckles, catching himself on the table. Chess pieces scatter; I feel each one hit the floor like a pulse of pain.

The pain Quin is trying to suppress.

He grunts.

I fly across the room on a clenched stomach. He’s overdone it—his leg has borne the brunt of too much. They’d blocked his magic at Mount Lysippos, who knows what the stormblades forced him to do since then. What he forces himself to do .

Like rising at my sudden entry.

“Hold on.” I’ve grabbed him by the upper arms and am steering him to the bed. He falls onto it, palming his forehead and gritting his teeth.

I yank at his leggings, pulling them off swiftly. Smooth corded muscles rise from his calves to his knees to his hips. Though it’s not visible, I know exactly where the poison is attacking his nerves. I’ve had my magic inside him before.

His thighs flex at my fingers running down the inside of his leg. His only sound is a stifled gasp.

I massage into the pain, pressing on the points around it. I’ve climbed between his legs and my veil has swept forward, a curtain around me and Quin’s pained leg. The tension in his body starts to loosen as I continue to massage. Goosebumps form where my veil tickles him.

I’m not done yet.

I shuffle, dragging my fingers down over his tight muscles to his ankle, and grab his foot.

I reach for the bag I flung at the end of the bed and pull out my needles. “This’ll help. Keep still.”

I push the thin needles into the acupoints that’ll give him the most relief.

Finally, when it’s done and I’ve pulled out the needles and returned them to my case, I let go of the knot in my stomach, and a small sigh slips out of me.

His voice pulls me out of my relief and into the reality of the moment. Me on my knees, his foot on my lap pinched between my fingers, his naked legs rising to his undergarments and the hem of his shirt .

I yank my gaze up past this. Quin’s head is angled from the pillow, giving him a perfect view of the scene.

I let go of his foot.

His dark eyes are fixed on me through a loose lock of his hair. His chest rises on a deep breath and the quiet way he releases it has me jumping off the bed.

“Halt.”

At his whispered command, I do.

I hear him shift behind me. “How did you know where to massage? Where did you learn to use acupoints in the feet to alleviate pain?”

I ball a handful of my cloak. “A-any good healer would know to do that.”

Barely audible, he murmurs, “Turn around.”

With dark, saddened eyes, he looks at me for a long time, and despite the veil, I tuck my chin.

Say something. Every moment you don’t, it’s harder to breathe.

“You’re right,” Quin finally says. “A good healer would know.”

I want to rush away, but I came here for a reason and, frustratingly, can’t leave yet despite the pounding in my heart. “I wish I had wine.”

Quin’s eyebrow quirks.

“Additional help against your pain,” I lie, with a self-chastising grimace.

Quin eyes me again, too softly, and then abruptly he shifts his legs off the side of the bed .

I lurch to stop him standing, but he hadn’t intended to, and I step back.

He waits a beat before he gestures.

I follow his outstretched hand to the meditation cushion. Curiously kneel beside and look under—

I shoot a look at Quin, now smiling smugly, and lift the latch in the floorboard... A treasure trove of wax-sealed wine bottles. I take out two. “Guess meditation gets boring.”

Quin’s lips curve slightly, but his eyes remain serious. “Thank the gods,” he murmurs.

I snicker, close the floorboard with my knee, and hand Quin one of the bottles. “No more than a quarter for you,” I say as I push the meditation cushion to the wall and lean against it. “Make it a sixth.”

“And you?”

I break the seal and gulp the cherry-flavoured wine beneath the veil. Quin leans against the bedpost and sips alongside me. When I glance over, he must somehow feel my eyes on him because his seem to deepen.

Just get through a couple of hours without being found out.

“Why did you come in here like you were being chased?”

“I was being chased.”

His eyes narrow. “Who? What did they want?”

The protective flex of his jaw has me gulping more wine.

“Tell me.”

“He must know it was me who took it. ”

“What did you take?”

“Something that doesn’t belong to him.”

“Does it belong to you?”

I pause and take another long sip.

His lips flatten. “Nothing’s worth you getting harmed. Return the thing.”

“ Never. ”

“Do you intend to live here with me?”

I hold my breath and it drizzles out with the taste of cherry. “They’ll get bored of waiting in an hour or two.”

Quin watches me for a while.

“You know what’s better than bruise salves? Not getting hit in the first place.”

“Why did you run here? ”

“There’s a child at home. I don’t want to implicate others.”

“Why did you run—”

“There are three dozen stormblades between you and the temple gates.”

He looks at me for a long time, and lets it go with a murmur. “You’re safe here.”

I tip more wine into a strangled laugh.

“Will they come after you again tomorrow?”

“He couldn’t afford to send all those men again for no gain. I told them I burned...”

Quin’s brow lifts. “Burned?”

“I didn’t. But they think that.”

“Are you being obtuse on purpose?”

“Do you have to wring me of everything? ”

Quin takes a deep drink, and watches me.

“What?”

“You’ve come here many times now, yet I know little about you.”

Alcohol buzzes through my veins and I sink my head back against the wall, curacowl tipping downwards. “There’s not much to know.”

He smiles. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

There’s something in the fragile lines of his smile and the flicker in his eyes. For a heartbeat, I want to tell him everything. But then I glimpse a flash of someone deeply conflicted, and I crush the fabric of my cloak at my side.

I laugh. “If you weren’t a king, what would your life look like?”

“I’m supposed to ask the questions.”

“What would it look like?”

“Before my brother met him, I would have...”

I juice my cloak of dye.

He continues with savage frustration, “ That night would have been real.”

Night? What night?

Quin takes a swig of his wine and rips his gaze across the room. His throat juts heavily. He says, with more control, “But I have responsibilities. To family, and above all, to my people.”

My throat is sore as I drink again. “Everyone’s wishes before your own.”

“The people work hard for our kingdom, they allowed me to grow up without ever going hungry. In return I owe them safety.”

“The crown is heavy.”

“I will bear it.”

His most difficult act.

I sigh and my veil flutters forward. “You must be so lonely.”

Quin shuts his eyes briefly and looks at me. “What about you?”

“I... have healing. I bury myself in that.”

“Are you lonely?”

“I never used to be.”

There’s a sharpening to his breath and my chest swells.

My lips loosen. “Do you ever have that feeling where you don’t know if you should rush forward or hurry back?” I look at him and nod. “Of course you do. Your kingdom is a chessboard, how can you not hesitate over each move?”

“To advance or to retreat. Sometimes you must even retreat to advance.”

“Life is a very messy middle game.”

He smiles softly. “Describe yours.”

I take another drink of cherry wine. I should stop talking, but the buzz is too thick, my attempt to rein myself back too feeble.

“I say and do things without thinking, like something deep inside is urging me to... and even when I’ve said and done them, I can never let myself acknowledge...”

Stop talking! I stuff my fist into my mouth.

“Acknowledge what? ”

“. . . ah, how frustrating life can be.” I abandon the wine bottle and scramble for my bag.

“What are you doing?”

I rummage in it for the right vial, this one. I can’t trust myself anymore. The only thing for it is to knock myself out.

His eyes are on me and narrowing.

My hand shakes as I pull out the cork, and I have just enough presence of mind to lean against the side of the bed before I swallow—

The heavy drumming of rain on the roof stirs me.

My head is a gentle throb as I open my eyes to the vague outline of ceiling beams. I feel around me. I’m on the bed, a blanket covering me up to my chin. How did I end up here? Quin is in no state to lift me... I must have staggered up here somehow myself.

If I climbed up on my own... did I do other things I can’t recall?

My hands fly to my face. Phew. Still covered. I’d rested my hat on the pillow so the veil draped over my face.

I knock my palm against it and my forehead. This is the second time I’ve lost a chunk of memory with Quin in very similar scenarios. I have to quit drinking around him!

I lift myself slowly to my elbows. Quin is at the side of the bed, head rolled back against the mattress at my knee.

His lashes kiss his cheeks, his lips are slightly parted, and his hair—another inch longer—frames his face.

When he sleeps, not a line of concern tweaks his marble face.

It almost makes me wish he slept all the time.

In his dreams, at least, he can be free.

Time to get out of here.

I peel back the blanket and carefully pick myself off the bed.

Sleeping like that will be hard on Quin with his wounds, and rising will be difficult.

At least... I scan the room, and cross to a broom standing in the corner of the kitchen area.

I remove the brush end and quietly set the long handle next to Quin.

My foot touches something and I glance down at a glass vial.

I recall pulling it out of my bag and pinching one of its contents into my mouth. I grip the glass with a swallow. Not the one to induce sleep. An anti-anxiety potion.

I bite my lip, slip it into my bag, and tiptoe for the door.

Rain is coming down so hard it’s even seeping inside. There’s a big puddle at the door, and it seems to be swelling? Was that a leaf that washed in, or... I bend toward it, squinting—

“You’re leaving.”

His voice is rusty, but even so, I’m certain his words weren’t a question. My breathing hiccups and my shiver is lost in a lurch of fright as the puddle before me takes form.

I gasp. A wyvern? Here?

It leaps upwards and over my head, knocking off my curacowl, and I freeze as the veil flies off my face and the fabric plunks to the ground somewhere too far behind me.

Quin murmurs to the wyvern and stirs. A snap of wood against the floor has my heart pounding. I should run before I’m seen. A wyvern is in here. If stormblades catch a glimpse...

I slam my eyes shut.

But if Quin sees me, won’t I have to leave for good?

Air wakes over the nape of my neck.

I duck my head and tense, my hair only enough to curtain me from a few angles... I’m waiting for him to come into view, waiting...

He doesn’t. He stands at my back and my veil gently slides over my face as he settles the curacowl on my head. Does he suspect? Or am I imagining his gaze on my nape and the soft way his fingers brush over my hair?

I wait two hectic heartbeats and turn. He’s standing with the aid of the broomstick, a warm expression on his face even though he’s not smiling.

A flicker of wings behind him has me whispering urgently. “A wyvern?”

He leans in with a raised eyebrow and a spark in his eye. “Will you tell on me... Haldr?”

The way he . . .

He stares at me for a long beat, until I’m swallowing nerves. “Why is there one here?” I manage to choke out.

Quin seats himself at the table and the wyvern perches on the chessboard. I spy a familiar scar running down its side and lurch over. Quin casts me a curious look and halts me a foot before it. His arm is a warm band across my stomach and I quickly step back.

Quin murmurs, “I was surprised to find one over this side of the channel. Usually they stay in our kingdom, where there’s traces of magic in the waters.

But this one crossed the sea, alone. As I was being hauled off the ship I fell—some of my wounds met the ocean and it must have sensed my blood.

It appeared in the shallows. Stormblades were up ahead and on the ship behind, they were distracted with opening the cage.

I had a moment; I commanded it to find my brother and bring me news. ”

“It can scent royal blood? It would find the prince and you again?”

He nods and stares with amazement at the creature. “This wyvern, in Iskaldir, when it shouldn’t be. What luck; what hope.”

I stare from the wyvern nuzzling at something around its leg to Quin reaching out to help.

He and I. We are fated.

Ill fated, perhaps, but fated.

“You don’t seem afraid,” Quin says to me.

“This wyvern won’t hurt me.”

“What do you mean?”

I pinch myself. “I mean, I... heard you can control wyverns. I’m safe with you.”

Quin pulls off the leaf I’d seen in the puddle, but it’s not a leaf; it unfolds, thin and leathery. “Light me a candle? ”

I grab one, and Quin holds the material over the flame. As it dries, words appear. A message.

Quin reads it twice, lips moving silently, forming the words. His brow furrows in concern, but his tight lips show his determination. He lowers himself into his chair. “He’s alright.”

He means . . . Nicostratus. He only wanted word.

There’s a taut silence in the air between us. I clear my throat and quickly break it. “What will you do now?” I ask. “Will this help you escape?”

He shakes his head. “This provides communication. Leaving here though, I’ll need another way. I won’t let my men be cut down. I need them for more important missions.”

“Recover,” I say. “I’ll help you.”

I move towards the door but he grabs my wrist. “Don’t do anything rash.” His grip is firm enough I can feel each one of his braids and the pound of my pulse.

“I have to go. My companions will be worried.”

He slowly loosens his fingers and drags them off me. I’m afraid I’ll feel the tickle of this last touch all day.

Quin says something and the wyvern jumps from the table to become a puddle at his feet.

Just as I reach the door, he murmurs, and the soft sound of it, the intensity of that softness...

“Come back tonight, Haldr.”