Page 11 of Henrikk’s Masquerade

Suddenly, the answer to Nathaniel’s question became clear: if Henrikk forced his hand, then surely, Asher would have to kill him.

I cannot allow Henrikk to marry Melody.

He will never love her.

And he’ll hurt her. He’ll use her, laugh at her, humiliate her for pleasure.

And then—his heart seized—he’ll divorce her through the most expedient means.

Death.

All because of his game.

Yes, it was definitely a trap.

But what choice did he have?

Taking a steadying breath, Asher stepped into the darkness.

Chapter 4

PAST REFLECTIONS

Henrikk

Which one amongst the sea of masks was Asher?

Henrikk’s eyes raked the crowd of masquerading nobles, searching for Asher’s wide shoulders, steady gait, square jaw, and telltale blond hair. Any one of the outfits he’d sent the general should have made him easy to spot. On the off-chance that Asher had neglected to wear a masquerade costume, he would have stood out all the more. But as the festivities unfolded around Henrikk, he didn’t see Asher anywhere.

Unless he’s not here.

He hated that possibility. None of the evening’s festivities held any appeal to him if Asher wasn’t here. The time spent sending letters back-and-forth wooing Melody would be all for nothing if Asher was absent.

Henrikk took a calming breath, then another.

No, Asher was here. He could practically sense Asher’s desperate yearning amidst the crowd of nobles, like a lost lamb amongst sheep, waiting to be sought out by the wolf.

It would have been entertaining to hunt such a lamb. But Henrikk had better things on his mind.

And he had the perfect way to draw Asher out of hiding: the woman in his arms.

Melody.

She danced well enough, but she was visibly nervous to be in his presence—which meant she was not as stupid as she appeared.

She was only twenty years old, and every sound that came from her mouth grated against his senses. Her language was too flowery, just as it had been in her letters. At least her penmanship was artful, showing an attention to detail that he could learn to appreciate in a wife.

Her response to his invitation to the ball had been dripping with eagerness, hinting at her delight to serve him in any way at all as his faithful subject. No doubt her father had been looking over her shoulder when she penned it, instructing her what to write. Her father would have deemed the letter too important—the chance to elevate his family’s status too great—not to interfere.

After all, it wasn’t every day that a young vampiress of the gentry, without so much as a drop of noble blood in her veins, received a royal invitation to the Vampire King’s ball.

And now here she was. Melody. Well-bred with fine clothes and polished manners. Appropriately smitten with him. She was a slight thing, pretty enough, with hair that Asher had once embellished as ‘hazel’ but was really just a dull shade of brown. Her dress offered a fair display of her bosom, which, admittedly, was pleasing. Less so was her suggestion that they play a duet together—true to her name, Melody could self-reportedly sing and play the piano, as well as several other musical instruments.

“No,” Henrikk said in response to her insistence that they play a duet.

“But Your Majesty, I heard that you are a most proficient virtuoso of the pianoforte!” Melody gushed. “I understand that your mastery of the keys is simply unmatched—”

“No,” Henrikk repeated firmly, and that was the end of that.