Page 22 of Henrikk’s Secret

Memories of their earlier non-dinner came back to him. He’d foolishly tried to coax Henrikk to admit his love for him, but that had failed, miserably so.

Hadn’t it?

A dying echo of I love you played in his mind, spoken in Henrikk’s voice. Had that really happened? Or was it a product of his feverish dreams?

The latter, Asher conceded, on the verge of despair.

Only Henrikk’s presence gave him any reason to hope, although it was as feeble a hope that had ever lived. But Henrikk was here, standing before him, his hands gripping Asher’s shoulders firmly as he peered at him with deep concern.

That was enough to keep his fears at bay, for now.

“What happened?” Asher asked weakly.

“You consumed poison, you dolt,” Henrikk said.

“I know that. But…how am I alive? Why did you give me your blood?”

Henrikk’s facial muscles hardened, then twitched and spasmed—his left cheek, his nostril, the corners of his mouth. “I did what I had to.”

“And what is that? Because if you kissed me…”

Henrikk tilted his head at him quizzically. “Kiss you?”

“Yes,” Asher said, matching Henrikk’s confused stare. “You did kiss me…didn’t you?”

A shadow of amusement darkened Henrikk’s eyes. “Now why would I do that?”

Exercising great patience and growing increasingly fond of Henrikk’s hands on his shoulders, Asher explained, “Because it’s the cure.”

“For your heartache?”

“No, you idiot.” The old insult from their brotherhood days slipped out, but Henrikk didn’t so much as blink, and Asher continued, “It’s the cure for Cupid’s Arrow.”

“Cupid’s Arrow?”

Asher sighed. Why was he playing the fool? “It’s the name of the poison you hid in the room full of weapons.”

“I was unaware it had a name.” Henrikk’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know what it’s called?”

“You had me guarding Barbara, remember? That was one of the potions you had her brew.”

Asher had initially been surprised to learn that Henrikk trusted Barbara to brew potions in the dungeon. She’d needed many supplies, including several small cauldrons, glass vials, herbs, chopping blocks, sharp knives, and other strange-looking utensils.

The fumes of the cauldron had been overpowering at times, especially in her high-security cell, which lacked windows or any other form of ventilation. As it turned out, Henrikk had brought in prisoners to taste the various poisons to verify their effects.

For the other more harmless potions, Henrikk had claimed to test them on innocent citizens. Whether this was true or not, Asher wasn’t sure, but the fear of hurting innocents had kept Barbara in line.

The poisoning of the prisoners, however, Asher had been ordered to oversee. He’d protested vehemently, to which Henrikk had sternly reminded him to remember his place.

It was a reminder that the king had been grinding into him ever since.

It was a stark contrast to how Henrikk was behaving now: Genuine concern, with a wrinkle of his brow and large, worried eyes that made his dark pupils gleam. As for his irises, the grey was so pale now that the effect was unsettling; the colour washed away to nothing but translucent halos amidst milky white.

“And what does that have to do with kissing?” Henrikk asked, hovering closer, his face inches from his.

Asher swallowed with difficulty; his throat was dry.

Henrikk noticed and passed him a glass of water, never breaking his unblinking stare.