Page 143 of Hellbound

Present moment.

Ksenia laced her fingers behind her head, her gaze pensive. “Anyone could have that sort of weapon. Thin daggers are commonplace.”

She leaned back on her palms, posture loose. “Did you see anything else distinguishing about them?”

Bohdan’s gaze cut from the parrying dagger at her hip back to her amused face. His eyes bore into hers, searching for cracks in her expression, and came up empty.

He loathed the relaxed sprawl she adopted; it reminded him of how she had peered up at him as she challenged his authority in the library just a few nights earlier. The same infuriating half-smile was playing at her lips.

“I only recall that they were slender and on the shorter side. I couldn’t discern more past their cloak.”

Ksenia tilted her head, her wavy black tresses slipping over one shoulder. Bohdan’s eyes darkened at her movement, and she wondered if he was welcoming intrusive thoughts of his fingers tangled in her hair, wrenching it back to expose the column of her throat for a kiss or to rip out.

Without the murder weapon, she knew he had nothing but a vague description of a cloaked figure and a dagger wound that could’ve been made by a few dozen blades in the castle.

It was barely plausible.

She observed him with an equally sharp gaze, drinking in the conflict written across his face.

She was driving him higher up a precipice. Either she was his loyal ally, caught in a tragic situation beyond her control, or she was the most dangerous person in the castle whom he was foolish enough to get closer to.

“We’ll have to increase security. Kindling is in two nights, and we can’t afford any more high-profile assassinations.” He rubbed his jaw.

He unfurled a schematic across the morgue table, his finger tracing the layout of the crystal conservatory. “Guard stations at every choke point—some in disguise, others not. Primary gates here, here, and here.”

Ksenia hopped off the far table and came closer, noticing his throat bob on a swallow.

“Floaters in the crowd,” he continued. “With these specific circulation routes, allowing them to cover the entire space without obvious patterns.”

“And sight lines?” She scanned the plan.

“Hidden archers.” He tapped the positions on the balconies and upper galleries. “These positions have overlapping fields of fire.”

Cute.

She poised the delicate point of her elbow on the table and rested her cheek in her palm, a smile quirking her lips as she surveyed him.

“Something amusing?” His jaw tightened imperceptibly.

“Permission to speak, Captain?”

“As if you’ve ever asked for it before?” His eyes narrowed infinitesimally.

His irritation was so rewarding.

“The illusion of control seems important to you, so I try to indulge.” Her smirk tilted higher. “Glass walls, glass ceilings, crystal chandeliers, polished floors—all this stupid opulence.” She retrieved a flask from her hip.

“Are you going to impart new knowledge upon me, Lady Sevrant? Or continue wasting my time.” He rolled his sleeves up his taut forearms.

“Patience, Captain,” she cooed, taking a deep drink. “This entire event is ripe for an assassination because of the ridiculous structure and the decor within it.”

Then, she set the flask down on the parchment.

His eyes flicked to it.

Gods, she lived for this.

“Due to the afternoon winter sun, those western and southwestern panes of glass will become blinding mirrors outside, and combined with the reflective decor will make it near impossible to see inside.”