Page 5 of Henrikk’s Game

“Green and silver may be more subtle,” the servant said over his shoulder. “But…”

The servant trailed off.

Asher shot him a quizzical look. “What?”

The servant scratched the side of his nose in an exaggerated way. “The red may be the most subtle.”

Asher’s eyes widened incredulously, and he jerked his finger at a bright red doublet with gold details. “This one?”

Fucking ‘subtle’, you say?

“It’s reversible,” the servant whispered.

Asher frowned down at the red outfit. Sure enough, the reverse side was a dark purple that was almost black, with silver stitching and brass buttons. Elegant enough to fit in amongst nobles, but not eye-catching enough that Henrikk would spot him from across the room.

“With this masquerade mask,” the servant added, his words barely audible as he pointed to a silver mask. “All the servants in attendance tonight are to wear silver.”

Which will help me blend in if I follow suit.

“Who decided that?” Asher asked curiously. “Because I gather it wasn’t King Henrikk.”

The servant gave a squeak of fright. “I really must get on, sir!” he yelped, bowing low and scurrying for the door.

Asher clamped his hand down on the young man’s shoulder, taking notice of him for the first time. Plain face, brown hair, eyes that might have been any colour. There was nothing distinctive about him, except that he was on the ganglier side. “What is your name?”

The servant tried to slip out of his reach.

Asher’s grip tightened. “Who are you?”

“I’m not important, truly,” the servant jabbered. “It’s who I work for who’s important.”

I figured that out for myself already.

Asher fixed the servant with a stern look that would have made any of his soldiers sweat. “And who is it you work for, pray tell?”

To the servant’s credit, his throat bobbed with a swallow—once, twice—before he drew on some inner strength he’d kept hidden and met Asher’s gaze. “Forgive me for saying so, sir, but you should already know the answer to that.”

“Tell me explicitly,” Asher commanded. “Just so there’s no confusion.”

Because only a fool assumes anything.

But the servant shook his head profusely, finally freeing himself from Asher’s hold and disappearing.

It left him wondering…who’d sent the servant?

The outfits had been commissioned by Henrikk…but the servant’s furtiveness had come from another source.

Unless the servant had been sent by Henrikk, and there was something wrong with the red outfit. Lined with poison, perhaps.

Asher returned to examine the costumes, running his hands over each one carefully. If there were any poison, he’d rather find out now.

He half expected to break out in hives or a rash, but nothing happened.

A letter arrived with lunch.

My Dear General Asher,

You are cordially invited to the Vampire King’s Midnight Masquerade Ball. This illustrious event promises an evening of enchantment and intrigue—etcetera, etcetera.