Page 11 of The King's Man 3
“You’ll need this more than me.” His knuckles brush the clasp in an almost accidental motion. For a moment, his gaze softens, like he might say something more—but the mask of the king returns, and his voice drops into its usual measured calm. “Keep it.”
I raise my head, gaze seeking his, but he says nothing more. We stand like this for a long time, fog creeping over us and his death sentence lingering between us.
I won’t. I can’t. I must find a way—
I step forwards, pleading. “Could you send Florentius here?”
Much later, a rowboat emerges from the mist and Florentius leaps out, his white robes glowing faintly under the moonlight.
Relief crashes over me, but Florentius’s weary expression quells any joy.
“Did you bring herbs?” I ask, my voice tight. But I already know he wouldn’t risk it.
He shakes his head. “They’re searching everyone. He warned me not to try.”
I grit my teeth.
“I wanted to come sooner,” Florentius says. “Father had me locked in the Crucible.”
“You got out.”
“I don’t have long. And I’d like to see...”
Lucius. He’s longed to see him. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry about what happened.” His hand balls tightly at his side.
“With your help, we’ll be alright.”
“How can I help?”
“I know you have a bigger purpose for that fake-death pill, but...” At his greying face, I know the truth. “You won’t give it to me.”
My insides take a dive. It was an exceptionally big ask.
He shakes his head. “I would. I would do anything to duplicate it and free you from here. But it’s not possible.”Anguish fills his eyes. “The duke has been suspicious of me since I saved those children from the wyverns. Bolting in during your examination made it worse.” He breathes out heavily. “They confiscated everything in my room.”
The only possibility of a way out.
Gone.
My voice is splintered, a fragile mask of forced understanding. But inside I’m a lost boy wandering a dark, tangled forest, crying out for someone to find him.
“I’m sorry, Cael.”
I hiccup and with trembling fingers pull out the two notes with my instructions. “There are still things we have to do.”
“What is this?”
I press the notes into his hands. “One is for you, and the other...” I lift onto my toes and whisper in his ear. When I step back his eyes are wide with fear, apprehension and disbelief.
“Youmust,” I say.
“Cael . . .”
I laugh out my ache.
“Cael,” Florentius says again, and I blink back a sudden pooling of heat in my eyes.
