Page 23 of Henrikk’s Secret

Asher drained the glass, following the movement of Henrikk’s hand as he took it from him, their fingertips grazing, and set it down on the table.

Henrikk was still in his space, and he rather liked it.

“Kissing,” Henrikk prompted, concern and amusement warring on his face. “Explain.”

“True love’s kiss is the antidote to Cupid’s Arrow.”

A troubled frown crossed Henrikk’s features. “No.”

“Yes. It’s an enchanted potion. Or cursed. I forget the terminology.” Barbara had chatted while she worked, whether Asher liked it or not. Much of what she’d said was useless reminiscing of the past, but Asher had tried to pay attention to the more interesting anecdotes on magic-casting and potion-making. “The properties are magical, not herbal,” he clarified. “A kiss would reverse the paralysis and dissolve the curse.”

“I kissed you on the forehead,” Henrikk said slowly.

“That is not how lovers kiss.”

“And how is it that lovers kiss, precisely?” Henrikk’s gaze grew sharp and intense, penetrating into his soul. Mocking him. “Is there another place you would like me to kiss you?” His lip curled, and his gaze drifted down towards Asher’s crotch.

Infuriating man.

Asher leant in a fraction of an inch.

Henrikk registered the movement, his eyes snapping up to lock onto Asher’s. He did not lean away.

Asher reached up and placed his hand on Henrikk’s arm, which was still on his shoulder, to steady himself. He leant another inch closer.

Or maybe it was Henrikk who leant closer to him.

Henrikk’s pupils dilated, and he licked his lips nervously.

Asher’s breathing turned shallow at the sight.

He’s not moving away.

They were breathing the same air, their lips almost touching, and Henrikk was waiting for him to kiss him.

Or maybe Henrikk would kiss him first.

Henrikk leant in, his eyes drifting shut.

Asher cleared his throat as a worrying thought occurred to him. “Wait.”

Henrikk drew back. “What is it?”

“You truly didn’t kiss me?”

The king’s eyes dropped, and he dropped his hands and straightened. Asher’s shoulders felt cold without them there. “No…I did not.”

The inkling of worry expanded. “Then, how am I alive?”

Henrikk gave his head a small shake and turned to stare at the blank wall as if the answer was written there.

Asher slid off the edge of the table, his feet bearing his weight without trouble. He was dimly glad to feel the strength pulsing through his body despite his brush with death, but Henrikk’s secretiveness troubled him.

“Henrikk, what did you do?”

The king glanced at him guiltily—a very un-Henrikk-like expression that Asher hadn’t seen in a long time. But his dismissive answer was typical. “None of your concern.”

Asher grabbed Henrikk’s shoulder and forced him to face him. “No more secrets. Just tell me.”