Page 115 of Hellbound

I’m not a man given to impulse, yet I find myself penning this note for the third time, unable to capture what I wish to say. Simply: I would like to see you—

Ksenia tore the note in half, then half again, letting the pieces flutter in the air before they hit the floor.

Damn Bohdan to hell for putting her in this loathsome position.

She would sooner cut Chancellor Valdren’s pudgy hands off than ever feign interest in him.

The servant women busied themselves with her hair, brushing out each tangle and snarl until it loosened and formed curled ringlets on her shoulders. They gathered the strands from her face, pulling her locks into a half-up hairstyle.

The diadem was nestled into her hair to complete the illusion. She might’ve won the role of Sevrant, but the position meant operating in the shadows.

Ksenia blamed the stifling corset for the churning in her stomach. Not the fact that she was conflicted about verbally pledging allegiance to the monster on the throne.

Her steps felt stilted as she followed Petra through the halls of Hearth.

It’ll be over and done with soon, she repeated.

She rubbed her sweaty hands, clasped as she stood before the wooden doors of the throne room.

On the other side, she could hear light chatter and the shuffle of feet.

At her belt, she had tucked Caromir into its sheath. She trailed a finger over the hilt, and it rumbled with a reassuring warmth.

She was ready to step into the den of vipers.

The doors groaned open before her.

At the back of the octagonal throne room, sitting in a high-backed chair on a raised dais, was the butcher king himself. His washed-out blue eyes were half-lidded as they studied her. His circlet was slightly askew on his brow, and on the arm of his throne sat Lady Milena. Her sharp cheekbones and nose caught the light from the braziers in the room, the shadows dancing across her face.

The remainder of his court formed a half-moon shape around him, with the crescent points open toward the door where she stood.

They looked at her with identical expressions painted: impassive, expectant. One shining brighter than others: Chancellor Valdren’s watery eyes gleamed and creased as he spotted his gift upon her brow.

Now he would truly believe she felt genuine attraction for him. She forced a smile on her face.

The room had pillars at each corner, forming structural ribs that converged overhead. On the ceiling, a grand tiled mosaic depicted kings and queens from long ago.

Against each wall, prominent noble houses were displayed with a flourish of jewel-toned colors and intricately embroidered insignias. Directly behind Karsan was his own royal banner: a crimson flag with a spread raven heading skyward.

The room was silent, save for the splintering of wood in the braziers and the wet sounds of Ksenia’s throat swallowing as she crossed the threshold.

A presence materialized at her side.

Bohdan’s tall figure followed her as she stepped forth into the center of the crescent, where a velvet-tufted kneeling bench awaited her.

If this were not her pledging ceremony, she would have assumed it was her execution.

She flinched as Bohdan guided her to the kneeler, his hand burning her skin despite his light touch.

With each step, the organ-like sound grew louder in her mind. A sound too vast to be called music. Radegast’s presence was so thick it displaced every thought she had.

As she knelt onto the bench, she leveled her eyes on the sword that lay across Karsan’s lap.

Tension snapped through the line of her shoulders as she then forced her stare up into his unblinking gaze.

Bohdan’s voice cut her like steel dressed with silk. “By blood and bone, you are sworn to serve the crown above all else. From this day till your last, you are bound.”

He unsheathed a dagger from his hip.