Page 8 of Henrikk’s Masquerade

“Yes. Anyone else would have assumed I was dead. No one should have survived a fall like that.”

You’re a tough bastard, General, I’ll give you that, Henrikk had said appreciatively.

That was when the thunderstorm had hit. Henrikk had stayed with him that night, his arms wrapped around Asher as they huddled together, shivering. It had been a long night, their proximity as close as could be—or so he’d thought at the time. The temperature plummeted in the early hours, and Henrikk had pulled Asher closer into his lap. Neither of them spoke, but Henrikk’s erection had been impossible not to notice. The evidence of his arousal had warmed Asher that night in a way not even a warm bed by the fireplace could have. It had felt like the beginning of something promising.

When the morning came, Henrikk had disentangled himself without a word, and the two of them had never discussed that night again.

Gradually, Asher’s hope that something might flourish between them had faded.

Asher took a steadying breath as his thoughts returned to the present. He gave Nathaniel a meaningful look. “There was a time when vampires fought amongst each other.”

“Yes, I’ve read the history books,” Nathaniel said with a note of indignation, reminding Asher that he was still an adolescent. “Vampire in-fighting has existed for as long as there have been vampires.”

“Yes. And importantly, your father was the first vampire in history to successfully unite our people.”

Even if the cost was high.

Even if he used his army to do terrible things.

Even if he continued to do terrible things after he came into power.

Even if he does terrible things to me now, without justification. And I'm desperate enough for his attention to accept it.

“He united us,” Asher repeated, echoing the old words that had kept him loyal to Henrikk for so long. “That’s not nothing.”

“No,” Nathaniel agreed coolly. “That is not, as you say, nothing.”

Another silence. The prince had lingered for too long. People were looking their way, gossiping. They’d no doubt figured out who he was, the masked vampire whom the prince seemed to take so much interest in.

“You think you can save him, don’t you?” Nathaniel finally asked.

Asher did not answer. He would not make promises he couldn’t keep.

“For the record, I think it’s a mistake to stay.”

“My place is here,” Asher insisted. For better or for worse. “I threw my lot in with your father a long time ago. I intend to see things through.”

His words sounded more defeated than he’d intended.

“I hear your father isn’t exactly a cup of tea either,” Nathaniel said, startling Asher.

His body went taut for a moment before relaxing. It was alright, his father was not here. “You’ve met my father?”

Nathaniel’s lip twitched. “Thankfully, I’ve not had that pleasure. But his parties are famous. Or infamous, depending on your views…”

Asher was not entirely sure what Nathaniel’s views were on the world, but his implication gave Asher the confidence to admit what he rarely told anyone. “My father and I are not on good terms, nor do I support his parties.”

Nathaniel raised his glass introspectively. “And yet…here you are. At a party. Pining after a man who’s done twice as many terrible things than your father could even dream of aspiring to.” His sharp eyes snapped to Asher’s, an eyebrow raised pointedly. “Funny, isn’t it?”

Asher blinked in stunned silence.

Nathaniel drained his glass, set it down on a tray that a servant conveniently appeared with, and gave him one last piercing look, his expression unreadable. “Enjoy the party, General.”

Nathaniel walked away. As if drawn by an invisible thread, the pack of whispering vampiresses who’d been hovering nearby followed him.

Minutes passed, but they felt like hours. Asher felt like his body was not his own as he wandered closer to the edge of the dancefloor.

Henrikk was dancing with the same woman in the turquoise dress. Diamonds sparkled in her hazel hair, the shade of which reminded him an awful lot of…