Page 4 of Henrikk’s Game

Maybe it was all in his head.

It was a horrible thought, and Asher leant heavily against the wall, sinking deeper into his thoughts as he racked his brain.

What if the green rug had always been there, and he simply hadn’t noticed it before?

What if the legs of the chair had always been made of twisted wood?

What if this is all in my head?

“Fuck,” Asher grunted, kicking the wall.

His shoe collided with something heavy in the fireplace that shifted, and he swore again. He bent down to massage his foot and found himself glaring at a block of firewood that had definitely not been there before.

It was half-sitting in the shallow firebox, which was almost flush with the facing, the rest of the wood resting on the hearth.

Asher was simultaneously disturbed and relieved.

It was evidence that he wasn’t crazy, and that was a good thing.

But it meant that Henrikk was tampering with his environment to mess with him. If Asher wasn’t careful to guard his mind, the king would soon drive him insane.

Asher scoured the room over the next hour, trying not to second-guess himself as he poured over the details. He spent longer than he cared to admit sitting cross-legged on the floor, staring at a satin throw pillow and wondering whether it had always been a muted mauve—he recalled it being violet.

Asher tried the grey interior door’s handle, snatching his hand back the moment he registered the searing heat. Despite the icy chill in the room, they were always hot, but only to the touch. Hovering his hand close, he felt no radiating heat at all, confirming that it was enchanted.

He’d tried kicking the door in—once.

He’d doubled over in pain immediately, as if the door had kicked him in the balls, and he hadn’t tried to force entry again.

It made him immensely curious. What was beyond the door? And had it really been Barbara who’d sealed it off?

It was a question that had nagged at Asher: if Nathaniel had been hastily trying to get Barbara out of the castle, why on earth had they taken a detour upstairs? What was worth the risk?

Unless Barbara escaped via the tower.

Witches could fly with magical broomsticks, but it still didn’t explain why the suite had been modified. Windows that were too high to give a view of the surrounding castle and grounds beyond. A fireplace that could not be lit. A frigid temperature that didn’t vary even at the height of midday. At least it didn’t get colder at night.

Asher sat in the armchair and used a whetting stone to hone his weapons. They were already sharp, but the task focused his mind on something more productive as he tried to acclimatise to his surroundings.

He would have to be observant. Henrikk could have someone enter his room at any time, which meant Asher could not take anything for granted, including any weapons he left in there.

He was about to leave his room when a servant arrived and laid several outfits on the bed. They were all flamboyant gentleman’s costumes bearing frills, ruffles, and literal bells that jingled in different colours.

“Your choice of colour, sir,” the servant explained. “For tonight’s masquerade ball.”

“A ball?” Asher asked dryly. “I don’t believe I’m invited.”

The servant wrung his hands nervously. “Oh, but you are expected to attend, sir!”

“Mandatory, is it?”

“Oh, no, sir. Not mandatory. But the king will be disappointed not to see you there.”

‘Not mandatory’, my ass.

“These clothes were commissioned by the king himself, sir. You are to wear one of them to the ball tonight. May I suggest the green and silver for your complexion?”

Asher made a noncommittal sound as he perused the gaudy outfits and feathered masks, each one brighter and more eye-catching than the last. Each one was a death sentence. Even in a room full of partygoers, his chances of sneaking up on Henrikk were slim.