The King’s Man #1

Chapter 1

Q uick!

Redcloaks—three of them—ghosting through the trees with swords drawn and those unmistakable crimson cloaks.

I rip a precious thornwort root free and shove it into my belt. Akilah needs this. And I need to live long enough to get it to her.

I launch down a bushy embankment, boots skidding, cloak snagging on underbrush. Twigs whip my face. I don’t stop. The clearing’s ahead—

I lurch to a halt, boots suctioned into the mud.

I’m not the only one trespassing in the royal woods.

A young man stands at the cliff’s edge. Tall. Still. Cloak and hair caught in the wind. He’s carved from silence, as if from magic, from something old and untouchable. Beautiful. But wrong. There’s a shimmer to his face; subtle, but unmistakable.

Not his real face.

Not that it’ll matter. Masked or not, the redcloaks won’t ask questions.

He doesn’t look like he’s seen them. Doesn’t look like he sees anything .

I veer toward him, heart thundering, and wave with wild urgency.

He turns. Not startled.

Just a blink. A faint frown. On a fancy fake face.

I reach him in a few strides and grab his arm.

He glances at my fingers, curled around his sleeve. Too late.

I curse under my breath, squeeze the man’s arm, and flash him a reckless grin as the redcloaks break through the trees. They move fast. We’re in for it now, unless...

I drop to all fours.

“Don’t panic,” I whisper, already crawling through dirt and leaves. “Just play along.” No one can possibly take us seriously like this.

I whinny. Loudly. “Your faithful steed is here.” I toss my hair with a wild neigh, rearing up dramatically. “Climb aboard! We ride into the sunset!”

“You’re unbelievable,” the young man mutters. Creamy and composed, his voice slides straight down my spine.

But no time to dwell.

He slings himself onto my back, and I nearly collapse beneath the weight of him.

Somehow, I hold it together, biting my tongue when he offers a most dignified: “Giddyup.”

And giddyup I do, hissing for his ears only, “Ride me proper. My mane. Steer with it.”

A long-released breath. Then he grabs a handful of my hair and yanks it.

Behind us, the redcloaks falter, confused. Muttering.

Lunatics. No threat. Let them go.

I crawl with my masked rider into the shadows of the woods, heart still hammering, until we reach the nook by the river, half-wrapped in bramble and shadowlight, where Akilah waits.

She startles, blinks, rubs her eyes, then sighs. Her look says it all: This is so Cael Amuletos.

I grin, breathless. “We’re safe.” I shift beneath him. “Dismount.”

The moment his weight vanishes, I sit back. Too fast—he stumbles, catches a tree trunk but still falls, hitting his knee with a solid thunk.

I lunge forward, offering a hand.

Then I freeze.

His pain. I feel it in the air—sharp, sour, sparking against my nose. Too strong to ignore.

I reach for my healing pouch. “Let me read your pulse—”

“No.” Firm. Cold.

He braces against the tree to pull himself upright, back turned.

I hesitate. That ‘no’ was more than cold. It stung.

I glance over. “Why?”

He faces me, tight-lipped. “I’m fine.”

He’s lying. The pain’s still there, clinging to the air like smoke.

“You’re not,” I murmur. “I can sense it.”

“Just... leave it.”

I open the pouch. “I can—”

“I said leave it!” The words lash out, but beneath them... a slight tremble?

I flinch. Not at the volume. At the wall that just slammed down between us.

I reach toward his arm, gently—

And he roars. “I’ll heal myself!”

My hand drops. I let the pouch flap fall shut. Silence blooms, and it tastes bruised and bitter.

He glares. Actually glares. After everything.

Something twists inside me. I step up close to that marble-perfect face, my pulse still ragged.

I breathe him in. Pain still shivers off him, but underneath... that mask. That magic. It pulses with scent. Ancient herbs, rare, exact. Detectable enough for me to name them, if I focused hard enough. “This isn’t your real face.” I say, breath hitching. My nose brushes his hair.

The air hums between us, charged and prickling.

“What are you doing?” he rasps, and clears his throat, too quickly.

“I recognise these herbs.” My voice is quieter now, my lips tingling from the proximity of his magic.

His nose flares.

I draw back slightly. “Were those redcloaks chasing you?” I tilt my head. “Are you a wanted criminal?”

He snaps, “What if I am?”

My breath stutters. Then I square my shoulders. A dangerous thrill flickers under my skin. “Then I guess I’ve become an accomplice—”

He’s already turning away. Already disappearing into the trees.

I start forward, but Akilah grabs my arm and shakes her head. “Just leave it.”

But... but...

There’s something about him. That arrogance. That impossible mask. That voice.

It itches under my skin. Part curiosity—no one masks like that. That level of precision is definitely criminal. But mostly?

It’s the sheer rudeness.

Even after we’re back at the manor, I’m still fuming.