Page 162 of Hellbound

Every stroke was delicious agony. It shouldn’t have been possible for her to feel the sensations, more so with layers of fabric between his skin and hers.

She prayed with every fiber of her being that he didn’t feel that she was hot. Or worse yet, slick.

He crouched lower, running his hand teasingly over the backs and fronts of her thighs and calves, and into each boot, thorough and unhurried as her pulse thrummed through her body.

“Dismissed?”

He’d found nothing.

Of course.

He looked at her for a long moment. Every hair stood on end as she turned to face him.

“Dismissed.”

King Karsan brandished a clean painter’s brush against the damp paint on the canvas, diffusing the harsh edges around his subject.

His touch was delicate and gentle, smearing the paint lightly to create a glow reminiscent of candlelight.

The octagonal throne room hung heavy with the stench of fresh blood, hitting Ksenia like a hammer.

She fought the urge to cover her nose as she ventured inside.

Most potent of all was Radegast’s presence. It punched her in the gut like a physical force, the deep, thrumming resonance disturbing the pressure in her body. An overwhelming discordant note pressed against her eardrums with such intensity that her balance wavered.

“Ah, Sevrant. Welcome.” He dabbed his brush into the palette in his other hand, his eyes twinkling.

His subject was a freshly hunted black stag, its blood pooling on the floor from the wound in its rib, blending perfectly with its dark, glossy coat.

And freshly impaled upon its horns was an older servant dressed in a drab, gray tunic, his mouth gaped open in horror. The pitter-patter of blood echoed in the room, pooling on the checkered marble floor. Karsan probably selected him because he was convenient, expendable, and the right height to balance his composition.

“What do you think?” he asked, rapping the wooden tip of his brush against the canvas. “I call it ‘A Study in Loyalty.’”

Around him, the court was frozen, their faces white with shock. No one moved or spoke.

She swallowed, her jaw tight. A fine white cloth was discarded on the table next to Karsan, bright red blood still seeping through the threads.

She unstuck her tongue from the roof of her mouth, meeting his pale eyes. In his younger days, some would have called him handsome, in a hawkish way. But all Ksenia saw was the gaze of a tyrant whose veneer was cracking, unsure who he could trust.

“I’ve never seen a better example of combining education and art, Lord King.”

His eyes crinkled with delight.

“Lord King, I bring an update on the investigation.”

“Naturally.” Karsan stepped delicately away from the widening puddle of blood. “Valdren is the latest. Serafin before him. Each one was killed in locations where they should have been safe.”

He turned his cold, pale eyes to Ksenia. “Someone is dismantling my court, piece by piece. I could use some good news.”

“We’re still ruling out suspects.”

Karsan’s jaw ticked.

“I believe it’s someone with insider knowledge, someone who knows our rotations and vulnerabilities,” Ksenia continued.

“You mean, it’s someone I’ve let near me.” Karsan’s thumb traced Radegast’s hilt absentmindedly.

“Possibly. We haven’t ruled out anyone in your inner court.” Ksenia’s eyes drifted over the courtiers.