Page 25 of Henrikk’s Secret

“Barbara told him, apparently.” The one standing in the doorway nodded at Asher before crossing his arms. “True love’s kiss would have reversed the poison’s effects. Rendering our little expedition rather pointless.”

The other Henrikk frowned down at his book. “Oh.”

“Yes. Oh.”

The two Henrikks looked at each other for a long moment. They reached an unspoken verdict and spoke in unison: “Fuck.”

Chapter 4

POINT OF NO RETURN

Henrikk

Henrikk had been consumed by terror for Asher’s life but seeing him regain consciousness had washed away his suffocating grief. The general had a new lease on life as he had followed Henrikk out of the dining room. Melody was not amongst the well-wishers lining the corridors, which he thought odd but inconsequential, and he pursued the thought no further.

Asher climbed the steps through the castle with apparent ease, which caused Henrikk’s chest to swell with a quiet pride and another feeling he couldn’t quite place. He supposed this was what gratitude felt like, which he naturally attributed to his own efforts in saving Asher. Someone ought to congratulate him, even if his remarkable feat was somewhat overshadowed by that farce of a potion.

Cured by true love’s kiss? It was a level of buffoonery as such the world had never seen.

With the benefit of hindsight, Henrikk would have rather faced the dragon again than entertain such a ridiculous notion. Not that he didn’t want to kiss Asher.

Because he did, very much so. A desire he’d kept safely repressed for many years. But if he ever kissed Asher properly, he would do so on his own terms.

Unless Asher kisses me first.

As they climbed higher through the castle, Henrikk stole glances over his shoulder at Asher. The general met his gaze inquisitively, and Henrikk snapped his head back forward, hiding the small smile that tried to play across his face.

Asher was alive.

He’s alive.

For a few minutes, Henrikk allowed himself to feel something akin to happiness.

It was like a sudden break in a storm, the darkest of clouds parting to reveal a hint of sunlight. It cast warm rays upon his shattered soul, and his inner turmoil faded into the background.

Thanks to him, Asher had cheated death. Now, if only the victor could enjoy the spoils in peace. He wanted to be alone with Asher; to hold him, and fuss over him and make sure he was all right; to sit with him in quiet conversation for hours on end; to have a small, but honest chance at exploring the something that had formed between them.

But he never got the chance. Because the study was not empty when they arrived, and Henrikk didn’t share, not even with himself. Especially not with himself. If there were two of him, one of them had to be superior, and he was quite certain that the one lounging at his desk wasn’t ‘it’.

Our desk.

The sight of himself doing Henrikk-like things in a Henrikk-like manner was dizzying, but he tried to pretend it was all perfectly normal for Asher’s sake.

Inside, however, he was rightfully annoyed that his duplicate, inferior as he was, hadn’t had the sense to hide as he’d been commanded to. Asher wasn’t meant to find out that there were two of him like this. It was meant to be a delicate conversation, away from the congregation of servants and healers who had milled outside the dining hall.

They’d quite sprung it on him.

Poor Asher kept asking which one of them was the real Henrikk.

Me, obviously, Henrikk wanted to say, but annoyingly, the other Henrikk held the same opinion. They’d already argued and agreed to disagree before leaving the dragon’s gloomy underwater chamber.

The two Henrikks exchanged cool glances now, taking turns to answer Asher’s questions as unhelpfully as possible whilst giving him sweet, simpering smiles. Henrikk had never felt the need to compete for Asher’s affections, much less against himself.

He didn’t much like the experience.

And as much as he didn’t like the Copy, there was no denying that he was perfect in every way: handsome, with flawless skin and hair; he was also immeasurably tall—although Henrikk was sure that he was taller, and he would have liked to have compared their height—amongst other things—just to be sure.

The Copy was clearly inferior, he decided. That being said, there was also a certain something in the Copy’s manner of not-giving-a-flying-fuck that made him rise in Henrikk’s esteem by a generous quarter of an inch.