Page 185 of Hellbound

But she forced herself still before the butcher king. He didn’t deserve any reaction from her.

A collective held breath rippled through the audience.

They folded in unison, a wave of bowing bodies, the rustle of fabric echoing as hundreds of knees met stone.

Hundreds of bodies bent in submission to their king, their heads touching the cold floor, not daring to move until he gave word.

His eyes were full of mirth as he settled into the gaudy throne, his fingers steepled against the armrest as he regarded Ksenia with the thinly veiled patience of a parent disciplining a child.

The numbness in her body shattered like glass as their eyes locked.

A fire ignited in the core of her being, where the ice had pooled. It burned in her skull and settled behind her eyes as she imagined him painted in blood once more.

He had turned her love for Danika into a weapon, her body into a tool, and her very existence into an abomination.

Every detail of his smug face was etched in her mind. Her muscles coiled tight like steel.

Despite her chains and the multiple guards holding her in place, she inched forward, fighting to rip him to pieces.

Her stare was predatory as she silently promised what she would do if the shackles ever broke, how she would tear him limb from limb and force him to relive the violation he had forced upon others.

He was right.

She was wholly herself now, distilled into something pure, terrible, and utterly magnificent.

He chuckled, low. “Hail, demon.”

“Hail, butcher.” Her smile stretched, all teeth.

“I find myself once more in a remarkably good mood this morning.” He leaned his head against his hand, studying her. “A final courtesy, if you will, to utilize the strength and wit I know still reside in you.”

He stood in front of the stone basin to face her.

“Kneel before this throne—not in death, but in partnership. Pledge yourself to my service once more, and I will grant you not only mercy, but elevation beyond your wildest dreams.” His voice dropped low, to a whisper only she could now hear. “Imagine what we might accomplish if we turned our power to this entire continent. Not as master and bloodhound, but as sovereign and right hand.”

His smile was thin and paternal.

Ksenia could sense the stiffness in Bohdan’s shoulders, but he stared dutifully forward, awaiting the decision whether he would see her walk free or be forced to take her head.

The silence stretched taut like fraying rope, every thread snapping at its breaking point.

Ksenia’s lips curled into something akin to a smile.

Then, she drew her head back and spat in his face.

A deliberate, wet sound echoed through the hall.

Gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd as he bemusedly wiped it clean with his silken handkerchief.

She lifted her chin, the chains rattling as she fought forward. The guards behind her dug their heels into the ground as they strained to hold her back.

“I would rather burn in the deepest pit in hell,” she began, “than spend one more moment as your blade.” Her eyes bored into his with the intensity of molten steel. “My only regret is that I won’t be the one to drag you screaming into those flames.” A cruel smile twisted on her lips. “But I’ll be waiting for you there, Karsan Saranov. That much I promise.”

He rubbed his chin, wistfully, taking in her words before pivoting on his heel to sit upon his throne.

“So mote it be.” He beamed coldly at her. “Ksenia Drazan, by my decree and the laws of this land, justice shall be served to you this day. You kneel before me to answer for the crimes against the kingdom: charged with attempted regicide and the premeditated murder of thirty-four people, including your own sister.”

A low, uneasy rumble of a hundred voices swelled into an ocean of noise.