Page 6 of Henrikk’s Game

I do hope the costumes I had made for you are to your liking. I look forward to seeing your selection. I believe any one of them would complement your plainness well.

Asher snorted and kept reading.

In regards to the fun we had planned, I regret that I’ve been called away from Wintermaw Keep this afternoon. However, we may continue our little game of cat-and-mouse at the ball tonight.

I look forward to enjoying you.

H.

Heat rushed through him at the last threatening sentence. At what the words enjoying you implied.

Asher had reached the end of the letter, but as he turned the sheet around, he spotted another line scrawled in Henrikk’s spidery handwriting:

P. S. You are not the cat.

“We’ll see about that,” Asher muttered, but his stomach twisted unpleasantly at the thought that Henrikk would be hunting him, too.

Chapter 3

GARDEN ROOM

Asher

Asher steered clear of the Great Hall, choosing to take a plate of food directly from the kitchens. He had no interest in being near people right now, and there were enough weapons on his person that no one would have wanted him near anyway.

A longsword over his back, ornate hilt sticking up in the air. A hand-axe at his belt. A curved dagger at his thigh. Several throwing stars to serve as a distraction.

And cord. Hopefully, he would finally get the upper hand on Henrikk tonight.

Asher was tired of being tied up. Tired of the imbalance of power. It had gone on for too long.

He slipped into the Gallery with his food—a long, narrow room with artwork lining the walls. There were several nobles moving about, doing more gossiping than admiring, so Asher took his plate into a side room.

Dank air and darkness greeted him.

The Garden Room.

It was one of the only rooms that had been left undisturbed by Henrikk. Which was a wonder, given that the royal wolf family who’d previously occupied Wintermaw Keep were well known to enjoy this room.

Glad to find it deserted, Asher entered and shut the door behind him. The Garden Room was vast and densely filled with plants, shrubs, and even large potted trees. The space doubled as a tea room, with circular tables decorated in mosaic tiles situated in pretty spots. They were dusty and covered in leaves and soil, so Asher settled into a far corner beneath a bay laurel tree. It was one of the few trees that had been planted in the ground, the tiles cracked, lifted and deformed around its wide trunk.

He stared through the window at the grey winter sky as he ate. It was unusually dark for the middle of the day. The clouds were dark and thick, the sky hazy, and it looked as if it might snow. The wind was howling, its icy chill managing to creep through invisible crevices in the stonework to pierce his knitted jumper and skin.

Asher sniffed and shuffled closer to the base of the tree trunk. He wouldn’t be able to stay here too much longer or he’d catch a cold, which would make his existence even more miserable than it already was.

His change in circumstances hadn’t improved his mood. Henrikk hadn’t called it a ‘game’ for nothing, and his new freedom was only an illusion. One that Henrikk would find a way to snuff out the moment Asher actually began to enjoy it.

Asher licked his plate clean—a bad habit, one he’d acquired from his days as a soldier. There had been a time when he was hungry and cold, his fingers too dirty with mud, and licking his plate clean was the only option. It had been a trencher then, not a glossy porcelain plate, the rim adorned with gilt accents of gold leaves and floral motifs, the petals furling and unfurling before his very eyes.

Magic.

This plate alone was a priceless treasure, not only for its craftsmanship but for the decorative magic woven into it. It was a relic now, a reminder of an entire race of witches that Henrikk had wiped out.

“What a king,” he muttered sarcastically, turning the plate in his hands.

Asher was just summoning the energy to stand when the door to the Gallery creaked open. At first, he assumed it was a couple of nobles looking for privacy—he could hear the distant sound of giggling drifting in from the Gallery. But then the door shut, plunging the room back into an eerie silence.

Asher froze, every nerve on edge as his ears strained for sound. It was too quiet.