Page 123 of Hellbound

Her thoughts turned cruel and dark as she devised her payback.

A soft knock at her door snapped her back.

Big brown eyes peered at her before Petra darted past and clambered onto the sumptuous bed.

Ksenia tsked. “Silly girl, did Bohdan leave all this for me earlier?”

Petra nodded, bouncing on the mattress. Then stopped. “Oh! He also sent me to tell you to prepare for an audience with the king in an hour.”

Ksenia’s mind went blank, her schemes disappearing, and in their place, cold dread.

This was an inevitability after she swore her oath to the king.

Her gut twisted at the reminder that she would have to keep up the appearance of being under his compulsion. And that involved doing whatever heinous thing he asked without reasonable question.

She recalled the contentment that had fallen over his court when he asked each one to pledge fealty in exchange for their safety.

Their vapid, jovial, downright agreeable faces.

Karsan’s compulsion planted his suggestion into their minds as if they conjured the thoughts themselves and believed it wholeheartedly.

Bohdan always obeyed Karsan without question, but his behavior struck her as different from the herd.

She had never known him to be anything but sharp and acutely aware, even in the presence of his father.

Had he ever bloodlet to pledge fealty? Or was he telling the truth that his loyalty to his father was so unshakeable that Karsan trusted him without question?

She rubbed the back of her neck unconsciously as she climbed the staircase to Karsan’s study.

His sacred retreat occupied a corner tower of Hearth, its walls dominated by tall, diamond-paned glass that wrapped around the chamber’s sides.

No one except Karsan had a key.

Her footsteps were heavier as she scaled the black flagstone stairs one by one.

One moment, she was within that tower; the next, her mind was pulled into a vivid replay of the past.

She fisted her hands at her sides, nails digging into her palms as she fought off the intrusive memories of Karsan’s hand pressed to her windpipe, and the sharp, smooth slice of Radegast through her chest.

Her heart clenched spasmodically, as if speared by the blade still. She steadied herself against the wall.

The past has teeth, but it feeds on the present. Do not let it feast, Vornaya counseled.

A shallow comfort arose in the thought that, although Karsan had killed her once, he was utterly unaware of her new face and body, enough to let her claw her way into his inner court.

After another moment’s reprieve, she wiped the sweat from her forehead and neck and continued her climb, reaching the landing.

The door to his study was utterly unremarkable—plain, dull brown planks, outfitted with a simple-looking iron lock that matched dozens of other service doors throughout Hearth.

A soft but bright chime resonated from it.

Unmistakable.

Ksenia’s hand hovered over the curved black iron door handle. She could feel Radegast’s pulsation on the opposite side.

The handle twisted of its own volition, and the door swung open to reveal Bohdan’s figure. His expression was as impassive as stone.

He gestured for her to come through, one eyebrow lifting the barest fraction.