Page 105 of Hellbound

The memory of Bohdan’s lips and body upon hers dragged sinister fantasies to the forefront of her thoughts: like fucking him to pieces, then burying her dagger into his throat. Watching the life leech from his eyes after she met her needs.

She resented how much she thought about him.

She selected a deep black velvet gown with a boned corset. The squared neckline dipped low and the puffed sleeves clung to the edges of her shoulders. Her freshly healing wound was still an angry red divot against her clavicle, and she wanted him to see it.

An ornate gold-embroidered trim ran down the center front, and a slashed design on the sleeve showed a deep wine-red underneath. It transitioned to long, fitted sleeves with a delicate floral pattern. A full, gathered skirt in the same black velvet flowed from her body in heavy, luxurious pleats.

At her neck, she wore a golden choker with a ruby teardrop pendant.

This dress wouldn’t be suitable for combat, but would instead lay a trap for her prey to come willingly to her.

She followed Petra down the long hallways through Hearth until they reached the dining hall.

Pointed arches lined the walls, framing the stained-glass windows. A ribbed stone vaulted ceiling soared overhead, dotted with crystal chandeliers.

A black wooden table dominated the center of the room, its mirrored surface adorned with candelabras and lanterns, each with dripping red wax.

Bohdan was already seated at the table; most of the heavy wooden chairs sat empty. Their high, straight backs with pointed arches and pinnacles matched Hearth’s exterior spires.

Most notably, the head of the table was empty. A fireplace crackled behind it with a thick marble mantel supported by carved lions and bears.

Petra gave a clumsy curtsy in Bohdan’s direction. “Good evening, Captain.”

"Petra." He didn't look up from the wine he was turning slowly in his goblet, but the corner of his mouth lifted a fraction.

Petra beamed at her, and Ksenia couldn’t help but smile as the servant girl took her leave.

Bohdan rose from his chair and gestured for her to sit across from him. She caught his gaze, dragging down her body. With long, languid strides, he walked around the table and pulled the seat out for her.

The chivalrous action reminded her of Varka’s banquet dinner, and her cheeks grew hot.

He pushed in the chair behind her once more before returning to his.

“Just us this evening?” Her voice echoed in the expansive space.

“The king had other matters to attend to,” Bohdan said as he reached for his goblet. “But he is looking forward to your pledging ceremony tomorrow.”

“Ceremony.” Ksenia let the word sit in her mouth, as if she would spit it out. “That seems excessive.”

“The Sevrant is a private position, not a public one, but you’ll still need to openly pledge your loyalty to the king.” Bohdan’s darkened eyes surveyed her over the rim as he drank. “I thought that was understood.”

Ksenia smiled. “Of course.”

Her gaze sharpened on his mouth, stained wine-dark.

“Starting tonight, I will begin your combat training.”

“I already have a regimen with Varka.” Her knife screeched across the porcelain.

“Then you will add another. My approach is more precise than hers.” He swirled his wine leisurely.

“Your approach, Captain”—steel crunched through gristle—“is to take something functional and complicate it until it answers to you.”

She dragged her finger through the sauce on her plate and licked the tip, her eyes fixed on his.

His chair slid against the worn flagstone as he stood and wiped his mouth on his napkin.

She tracked him in her peripheral vision, taking a long sip of water.