Page 160 of Hellbound

Bohdan pressed his finger against Kovar’s arm. “Valdren Kovar was assassinated no more than a few hours later, judging by the rigidity of his body and the pooling of blood in his extremities.”

He turned to Ksenia. “Did anyone see him entertaining guests last night?”

“No, nearly all of our guards were managing Kindling, so security patrol was sparse within the castle, and servants were busy with food and drink at the ball.” Ksenia kept her gaze neutral, cocking a hip.

By my design.

Bohdan pinched his brow, then reached to press Valdren’s face away, revealing a nondescript puncture wound behind the collarbone. “Effective.” He clicked his tongue.

I know.

“Guards reported you leaving shortly after Valdren.” He began rolling his sleeves, unhurried. “Explain.”

Her eyes tracked the movement, his fingers folding the fabric over his taut forearms with that infuriating precision before she caught herself and looked away.

“If I must.” She sat back against the edge of Valdren’s oaken desk, arms crossing over her chest. “You tore my corset while you were being unnecessarily rude. I couldn’t spend the rest of the evening clutching it to my chest.”

He stilled, one hand hooked in his pocket.

“Though I’d suspect you’d find that entertaining,” she said, tossing the papers on the desk behind her without looking. “So, I left.” A flask appeared in her hand. “Ask Lev, we had quite the conversation about it before I turned in for the evening.”

Bohdan traced the sallow skin of Valdren’s forehead, blistered with that same calling card, then held her gaze before he moved past her to the door.

Click.

Curiosity tilted her head.

“Empty your pockets.” He turned to face her.

Better put on a show.

She laughed, then raked a hand through her hair. Her fingers grazed the nape of her tunic collar as they settled at her neck, closing on the maker’s mark tucked there.

She let it drop into the back of her tunic as her hand fell away.

“What?”

“Everything on your person.” His eyes roved her body. “Pockets. Whatever you have tucked in that corset.” He stepped closer.

She slowly set her flask on the table behind her. The mark pressed warm against her spine, nestled between her tunic and the top edge of her corset.

“Since you asked so nicely, Captain.”

He stilled.

She bit the fingertips of her lambskin gloves, yanking them off one by one before presenting her hands front and back with theatrical innocence.

Then, she unbuttoned her cuffs.

“Be careful to avoid cutting yourself on that,” she said sweetly, setting Caromir on the table.

She fixed her half-lidded golden orbs upon his with a bemused smile.

A throwing knife. Poisoned needles arranged in a neat row. A pair of dice. A playing card from the winning hand at the Crooked Lantern. An unlabeled vial of blue powder.

His green eyes narrowed fractionally.

Chin tilted toward her waist. “The corset.”