Page 163 of Hellbound

He was quiet for a long moment, studying her face intently.

“I dismissed half of my personal guard,” he said finally.

“Lord King, reducing your protection—”

He whipped Radegast out of its scabbard.

Courtiers screamed. Ksenia held her breath, the tide lines on the steel shaft close enough for her to count.

“It isn’t a reduction, more so a refinement.” His smile was wry. “Find this assassin soon. I sleep better when I know exactly where my enemies lie. Preferably dead, in the ground.”

“Absolutely, Lord King.” Her breath misted on the steel.

He lowered Radegast and picked up the stained cloth, rubbing at the blade’s surface.

His paranoia was spreading like the blood at his feet.

He was wavering at the precipice; all he needed was one last push.

Ksenia would have to move quickly.

39

Her final mark.

Karsan’s chambers were less opulent than Ksenia had anticipated.

No garish displays of wealth, just a measured elegance in his trademark crimson. Heavy curtains framed the balcony doors, and a bed that was double the size of her own dominated the center of the room. The headboard bore the Saranov crest in gold inlay.

The floors were cold, polished obsidian. So dark that they reflected the candlelight and the fireplace like still water on the black lake.

A sprawling mosaic consumed the entire ceiling, depicting historic battles and coronations with gemstones and glass.

Ksenia pressed herself into the shadows behind the headboard and waited.

Lady Milena’s nightly ritual was as predictable as the sunset. She would descend to the royal wine cellar personally—trusting no servant with the selection—and return with a bottle specifically chosen to match her observations of Karsan’s mood that day.

Then, she would prepare the chambers: light the candles, draw back the bed linens, and artfully arrange herself to greet Karsan when he arrived from his evening councils.

The bedroom door opened with a soft click.

Milena glided in with that same glacial grace that Ksenia had almost bumped into at Kindling. She set down a bottle of deep burgundy vintage on the fine writing desk before stripping off her fur-lined cloak and gloves.

Her brunette hair was partially down, silvered threads catching in the firelight.

She began uncorking the bottle with practiced efficiency, her back to Ksenia.

Ksenia crept forward, Caromir vibrating with excitement in her hand.

Milena whirled, the corkscrew’s jagged spiral missing Ksenia’s face by inches.

“So, you’re the assassin,” Milena snarled. “I knew it was a matter of time before I was targeted.”

Her eyes darted to the door.

“The guards? Don’t bother. I changed the rotations.”

Milena’s chest rose and fell more quickly.