Page 3 of Henrikk’s Secret

“By your servants, maybe. And the guards. But not by you.”

Henrikk did not wince. Did not bat an eyelid. But he felt the precariousness of the situation, the importance of Asher’s prying questions. He wanted to be convinced that Henrikk was lying, concealing a heart of warmth and love.

It was time to drive the point home.

Intending to catch Asher off-guard, he gave no warning before announcing, “I slept with Melody last night.”

The lie came easily, and Asher flinched so violently he nearly fell out of his chair.

“You…you didn’t,” he said with a horrified expression.

“I did. I went to her guest chambers and bedded her.”

“Liar.”

“She was unwilling at first, but by the end she was screaming my name.” Asher flushed a pretty shade of red.

“I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true.”

“After what transpired between us?”

The words hit him, but he forced himself to smile. “Revenge.”

Asher glared at him. Then, he leant back in his chair. “If you say so, Henrikk.”

The mocking words irritated him, and Henrikk felt his smile falter. He hastily took a sip of his wine—or tried to. Of course, the goblet was empty.

Fuck.

He rose and banged a fist on against a hidden compartment on the wall, using more force than necessary. The cabinet door sprang open, revealing several bottles of alcohol. He took his time selecting; he was not ready to look Asher in the face and insist upon the lie.

Hate me, Asher. Loathe me. End this madness, once and for all, and kill me. I want you to be the one to do it. There is no one I trust more than you.

A brandy would be perfect. Or a strong whisky to burn their throats and give them courage.

But there was nothing quite as symbolic as a bottle of dark red wine.

“Let us drink,” Henrikk said, finally facing Asher.

“Allow me.” The general scooped up his goblet as he stood and approached. His slow measured steps made Henrikk feel both safe and nervous at the same time, and he stayed absolutely still as Asher followed the length of the table. The walls seemed to shrink as Asher drew closer, and Henrikk felt sweat dampen his grip on the bottle, his heart beating faster.

Asher stopped directly before him and took the bottle from his hands, uncorking it without fuss or flourish like a man who knew what he was about. Heat flared to life in Henrikk’s core, and he stood a little straighter, his cock twitching with interest.

“A final drink?” Asher asked quietly.

“A final drink,” Henrikk agreed, watching Asher turn his back on him to pour. Both goblets were on the table, Asher’s body partially blocking them from view.

He was Clever. Discreet. Subtle. Henrikk never saw the small, green vial of poison—if Asher used it at all. The poison had been hidden amongst the weapons and had been one of the items that the guards had informed him were missing when they took inventory of the weapons room.

He listened for the sound of droplets, and thought he heard a hissing sound as the poison hit the wine.

Henrikk stared intently past Asher’s back, craning his neck to see what he was doing. He caught the brief glint of green glass as Asher stowed something in his pocket.

The poison.

Henrikk’s stomach twisted. This was it. Death.