Page 52 of Henrikk’s Secret

“That’s a lot of perhaps’,” Asher said. “Have you considered that you might be grasping at straws?”

“On the contrary, I believe I’m demonstrating my excellent deduction skills.”

“And a penchant for self-flattery.”

“Some things never change.”

“No,” Asher agreed. “They don’t.”

Henrikk stepped closer, backing him into a tree. His expression was intense, his torn clothes and cut face adding a fearsome quality to his sharp features. His voice was dangerous when he spoke, the air crackling with tension. “Why did you take the blame for my son, Asher?”

“You already know the answer to that,” he murmured. “It was to protect him.”

From you.

Asher didn’t say the last part out loud. He didn’t have to.

Henrikk’s grip on his shoulder became painful, his nails digging in as his eyes swam with angry tears. “You let me think you had betrayed me.”

“You believed it so readily,” Asher countered.

“I did, at first. I suspected you weren’t acting alone. But I believed you were colluding against me. I thought… I thought so many things.” Henrikk shook his head in exasperation. “Not that it matters, but you don’t even know where that blasted witch is, do you?”

“No, I do not,” Asher admitted.

“But you let me think that you’d betrayed me. You let me punish you…”

“I did. I figured it better you suspect me than your son.”

Henrikk bowed forward, his forehead landing on Asher’s chest.

Asher wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close.

“I’m sorry,” Henrikk said, his words muffled. “There are no words except… I’m… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…”

“Shh, it’s all right.” Asher hugged him tighter, wishing he knew what to say to console him. This was not the Henrikk who had commanded armies of vampires both natural and made, and held the throne of Wintermaw Keep. It was also not the Henrikk of their yesteryears; confident and carefree, driven by ambition with grand plans for his future.

This was a tragically broken man, one who’d made more mistakes and committed more atrocities than anyone Asher knew. How many scars could a soul bear before it hardened to stone?

He didn’t know the answer, but he was relieved to find that Henrikk’s soul had somehow, miraculously, survived. Scarred and bruised, yes, and he’d long lost his innocence, but there was a soft vulnerability that drew Asher in.

Just like it had, so many years ago.

“Enough,” Asher finally said, and Henrikk nodded and pulled away.

There were no tears on his face, but his features were expressionless and stiff, his wide eyes haunted as they stared into a faraway void.

He’s in shock.

“Let’s go treat those injuries,” Asher said, guiding him to the camp. “And let me see if I can’t wrangle some lemonade out of those limes.”

“Limeade,” Henrikk smiled.

A touch of sugar wouldn’t have hurt, but the sharp bitterness seemed to bring Henrikk back to the present.

“That’s utterly disgusting,” he said as they sat around the unlit campfire.

“It is, a bit,” Asher conceded. “Shall I have the butler bring us something else?”