The King’s Man, Vol. 1

Chapter 1

Faint creaks echo as I lift the trapdoor; my hands shake and my pulse races as I peer inside. Slats of wood and squares framed by dust.

I crouch, feeling in the shadows as if the books I’d been hiding there might reappear with wishful thinking. I put them back; I always put them back. What . . .

My mind races. If the luminists, those priestly enforcers of the kingdom, find them,

I’m dead. If Father found them, I’m even more dead. Either way, my dream of becoming a licensed vitalian healer ends here.

“Cael!” Akilah, our household akla—attendant—barges in with a bang of the door against the wall. “Quick,” she says. “Your father—”

The trapdoor slams shut at my feet.

Does he know? “What mood is he in?”

Akilah grimaces. “The kind where us aklas and aklos all get very busy with our chores.”

My heart sinks lower.

The air is heavy with the scent of rain. The manor, once grand, is fringed with decay; faded murals whisper stories of a prouder past as we rush through the courtyards, our footsteps slapping against wet cobblestone. In the timeworn front yard, Father waits, his grim gaze shadowing over me.

“Follow, son.”

Akilah gulps and leaves me with “Good luck,” an unconvinced whisper.

My pulse quickens. Each step into Father’s study feels heavier than the last.

He knows.

He sits behind his parchment-cluttered desk, and I haul a lungful of ink and mustiness deep into my lungs.

“It’s time to discuss your marriage, Cael.”

I snap my head up. Not the conversation I was expecting.

But it’s worse.

“I’m too young.”

“Our king married at twenty-one. If he can, so can you.”

“Our king has a royal bloodline to protect. It’s understandable—”

“We have an entire household to protect! I let you put this off until Megaera came of age. She’s eighteen now. You’ll do the marriage rites immediately.”

Anxious heat thickens in my chest. I keep my voice firm. Steady. “I don’t love her.”

Father slams his fist on his desk, making the inkpot jump and loose papers shiver. “Love? What would you know of love? Love is a luxury.”

He’s not wrong. What do I know of love? My entire romantic experience .

. . an accidental campout with someone so far above me he might as well be a star, when we were barely out of childhood.

And a series of chance encounters with an infuriating man who never showed me his real face.

The vanishing man. The man who left me behind over and over until finally, he never came back at all.

What would I know. But still— “Should I pretend to be happy the rest of our lives?”

“Pretend hard enough, and you might believe it.”

I rock back on my heels; my voice cracks. “I need the real thing. I want it.”

If I can mend a life, I should. If I must marry, it will be for love.

Father points to a polished box on the edge of his desk. “Half of her dowry is gone to pay our taxes. That’s what we want. What we need.”

“You did what? How much?”

“One hundred pieces.”

One hundred!

“Or we’d have lost our home. The home your great-grandfather was gifted by King Timotheos Aetherion. We would have finally ruined the prestige of my grandfather.”

Great-grandfather, who Grandfather loved dearly and who shared his knowledge and conviction that par-linea—half-blooded—could wield power as well as a linea. The glory of his days still glimmers in these now-crumbling walls.

“Where would we go?” Father continues. “Your older brothers, their wives, your nieces . . . this is their home too. Can you see them cast out on the street? Squeezed into one room at the poorest end of town? No patient would come there for treatment . . .”

Not just the ruin of Great-grandfather’s prestige—the ruin of the family.

My father’s words hit me like a bone-splicing spell aimed at my chest. A marriage to Megaera would save my family, their home, their pride.

But . . .

I glance at the walls, the fading murals, and imagine them bare. Imagine my nieces huddled in some mouldy alley. I see the faces of the vagrants I’ve treated, their desperation a mirror of what my family’s might become.

But . . .

Marriage.

It would shackle me. The real me.

Father moves to a small, cloth-draped table and pulls off the dark fabric that covers it. A dozen vitalian spellbooks are stacked underneath. The books I’d hidden under my floorboards.

I suck in a breath. “How . . . How did you—”

“One of the aklas saw you treating that woman under the bridge last night. You’re lucky it wasn’t a luminist.” He leans closer, his voice firm.

“Do you have any idea what they’d do if they found you with these?

Behead you, Cael.” His voice falters, and for a fleeting moment, I see something in his eyes.

Fear. “Publicly. I don’t ever want to see that again. ”

Again? I shake off the confusion and step forwards. “I’m careful—”

“Keeping you here is a curse of its own. Sooner or later, we won’t just be contending with financial ruin.”

I shake my head vehemently.

“You think I want to force you into marriage?” Father’s voice drops, the anger cracking. “It’s the only way to save this family. I cannot keep watching you chasing a dream that will kill you.”

“So you’re selling me,” I say, my voice shaking.

He sighs, running a hand over his face. “I’m trying to save you, Cael. From yourself. From the luminists. From . . . everything. You’ll have a comfortable life there.”

My throat stings.

Would I? I think about Megaera and that big house with its fiercely formal garden and high walls. I think about how many mornings I’d have to fake a smile.

I don’t want to ruin my family, but I can’t marry her. I dream of choosing for myself, and giving my lovelight freely. “Please.”

“I’ve spoken with the Temenos family. Megaera is willing to do the rites immediately. This evening.”

I stagger backwards, a mounting urgency quickening my breath. “Father, please, don’t. I can’t. I’d sooner you strike me from the family tree.”

Father crosses the room towards me with a sigh. “One day you’ll understand.”

I shake my head again. “What about what I want?”

“Cael . . .”

I whip around to the door, and sharp pain ripples across my back.

My body stiffens under the spell, my knees buckle, and I collapse.

Frozen, helpless, I can only scream in my head.

At my father’s command, male aklos move forward.

Father hesitates a moment, something flickering in his eyes, but he sharpens his posture. “Lock him in. Send aklas to dress him.”

No! Stop! But my lips won’t move. I can only watch him, helpless, as I’m carried away.

Father stands in the doorway with a grimace of regret. “Sorry, Cael. It must be done.”

A half-dozen aklas flood into the chamber that’s become my prison, a flurry of movement out the corner of my eye.

They’re carrying trays of bright garments and jewelled fastenings for my hair; I wish to leap from the bed where I lie and escape, but it takes all my effort just to move my little finger.

The aklas strip and redress me. A deep violet robe lined with floral silk, embroidered boots that buckle up over my stiff calves, and twenty-one bejewelled braids amongst my loose hair. Wedding attire.

When the last of them has gone, my muscles unlock in a sharp rush; I throw myself onto wobbly feet and cross the room in three strides for the door. Too late. They’ve already bolted it. I drop my head against the wood and swallow a thick lump of frustration.

I know the family needs me, know my father is only desperate, but . . .

A sound from behind startles me and I whirl around to Akilah crawling out from under a clothed table. She flashes me a toothy grin. “Snuck in with the aklas. Here.”

She holds out a flask of herbal tea and after a sniff, I haul her into a hug. “You saved it.”

“You were working on it last night; I feared it might be the start of a medius spell. Aklos are searching your room, on your father’s orders.”

“Why is it so hard to help people?” I sigh and shake the stupid long sleeves of my wedding robe. “Why is it so hard to help myself?” I cast my eye around for other clothing but the aklas have taken everything.

I need to go, before Megaera arrives and I’m marched to the luminarium—half temple, half court—to finish the rites.

I fly over to the other side of the room and check the windows. Locked. Locked. I bang my palms over the next one. Locked.

“I also brought this.” Akilah pulls a sharp knife from the folds of her skirts. “For your inevitable attempt at escape.”

She knows me too well. She would—she might be my akla, but she’s more like a sister to me. “I suppose a key would be asking too much?”

“They had to return it to your father.”

I laugh hollowly. “Of course.” I hold the knife in the murky light coming through the shutters. “This’ll have to do.”

I slide the blade around the edges of the window, feeling the resistance of a sealing spell. Father only ever uses simplex spells—the permitted, simple kind—which means with enough pressure . . .

Sweat drips down my temple as I work, each scrape of the blade a race against time. Akilah watches me, her voice light but probing. “You’re not just running from the wedding, are you? You’re running for him.”

Her words strike harder than Father’s attack earlier, and I freeze.

“He’s no one,” I mutter, focusing on the window.

Akilah steps closer. “You’ve been holding on to that no one for years, Cael. If he were truly no one, you’d stay. For your family.”

I shove the window with a grunt. “I don’t even know his name let alone his real face.

He called himself Calix Solin; I called him Maskios; neither was real.

I don’t know his name, I don’t know what he looks like behind his mask.

He disappeared from my life years ago. He’s nothing more than a shadow. An annoying emotional shadow.”

“And yet, you’re willing to risk everything for that emotional shadow,” she says softly.

The latch finally pops with a sharp click, and cold air rushes in. I glance at Akilah, her steady gaze brimming with the unspoken.

“I’ll find a way to help my family,” I whisper. “But I need—” My voice falters. “I need more than this.”

She nods. “Go.”

I pull Akilah into a tight hug and slip through the shutters. The night air bites at my skin as I creep along in the shadows; halfway to the gate I round a corner and slam—

Into my bride.

I lurch back in horror, my stomach twisting at the sight of her.

Her silk skirts are a cascade of rich golds, embroidered with white vines that are spelled to glow.

Jewelled chains dangle from her belt and sleeves, jingling with her movements.

And her braided hair gleams with tiny golden clasps and a delicate, pearl-encrusted veil.

She’s very pretty. A noble bride. And I should be more than grateful she’s chosen me.

But.

Her dark eyes widen, and the sharp edge of her surprise quickly gives way to something harsher.

Behind her, her aklas stand stiffly, their hands on the hips of their matching white robes.

“What are you doing?” Her voice is low, but panic flashes in her eyes.

“It’s bad luck to see me before I’ve presented myself to your family to collect you. ”

“Megaera . . . this—” I shake my head, over and over. “It can’t happen.”

Her voice rises, cutting through the quiet night. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t love me either,” I say, my voice trembling.

Her mouth tightens and anger flickers across her face. “Do you think this is my choice? Do you think I want to marry a man who has no interest in me? There are other reasons for marriage!”

I stagger back from her, my chest heaving. “Not for me. I’m sorry.”

“Cael—” she starts, but her words twist and sharpen. “Stop him!”

Her people surge forward.

I spin and bolt for the gate, but a small army of steps claps over the cobblestones behind me. A hand grips my robe, yanking me backward with enough force to expel the air from me. I twist violently, and the heavy fabric of my sleeve tears free as I stumble forward.

Another aklo lunges, his fingers digging into my shoulder. Pain lances through me as I yank back with everything I have.

“Let go!” I snap.

He tightens his grip and I slam my heel against his shin until his grunt of pain gives me just enough slack to wrench free.

A third aklo blocks my path, his arms outstretched. I duck low and slither beneath him, the cobblestones scraping my ribs. The evening air stings as I scramble to my feet and sprint harder.

Behind me, Megaera’s voice cuts through the chaos.

Father’s yell follows hers, thunderous and commanding.

The narrow streets of the city close in around me as I dart through twisting alleys. The aklos’ footsteps pound against the road behind me, but I take every narrow turn, every sharp corner, until the sounds grow fainter.

Finally, I burst free of the city and into the woods, my chest heaving, body trembling. The sounds of the chase fade as I slip through shadows until I’m finally alone, panting, in the middle of the forest.

I laugh bitterly.

I’ve escaped my wedding, but with nothing but embroidered boots, jewelled braids, and . . . and the flask Akilah saved for me.

I might not get far with this, but it’ll be far enough.

I can heal in exchange for food and shelter.

I can start a new life. Maybe I’ll stumble into him again on my travels, not that I’ll try to find him.

Certainly not that I’d care if I don’t. Calix Solin, Maskios, liar .

. . Akilah is wrong. I didn’t run from marriage for him.

It means nothing that I ran to the very woods where I met him that first time.

Nothing.