Page 44 of Hellbound

“Grand Chancellor Valdren Kovar will be attending, most notably. I’m telling you this because he will expect you to know who he is.” Varka rolled her eyes.

“Why are you entertaining him to begin with? You clearly don’t seem excited about it.”

“Because it’s part of the job.” Varka’s words weighed on Ksenia.

She had spent entirely too long in her room preparing for dinner. The servant women who helped her dress were surgical with their deft fingers. But moreover, Ksenia couldn’t stop looking at herself in the floor-length mirror of her bathroom.

Her heart hollowed. This was a new game she was forced to play, one in which burying her old identity was essential, and she could feel herself slipping behind the mask.

Ksenia was late to dinner by the time she worked up the courage to leave her chambers. She smoothed her sweaty palms down the front of her dress, then caught herself. A smooth dress reflects a smooth demeanor, Varka had said.

Her gown swept the floor, a vision of deep teal embroidered with peonies and roses in gold, amber, rust, and green. The flowers flowed over the fitted bodice, heavy skirt, and dramatic bell sleeves. Beneath the outer sleeves, fitted inner sleeves of lighter teal silk clung to her arms, ending in loops that delicately slipped around her middle finger. She kept wringing her wrists, trying to loosen the fabric.

The gown’s square neckline sat straight and low across her chest, the expanse of open skin drawing the eye to a glittering ruby choker that lined her throat. It bobbed every time she swallowed.

A ruby teardrop pendant dangled at the center of her forehead, completing the ensemble. She became acutely conscious of it as she descended the grand staircase, and she straightened her spine and lifted her chin from the irrational fear that any wrong angle would send the gem toppling down her face.

She slowed her steps as she reached the center of the staircase; being late meant that all eyes settled upon her, the lone figure entering the party now.

Her cheeks pinked.

A sea of curious faces looked up at her.

The manor was awash with color as ladies in embroidered dresses hung on their counterparts, who in turn wore structured doublets and silken vests.

Her heels softly clicked on the marbled floor as partygoers made space around her, their whispers carrying to her ears.

The crowd bustled with questions and presumptions. They wished to know who she was, who she’d come with, and why they had never seen her at court.

The attention made Ksenia flush like a little girl, but a small flame of confidence also stoked within her: she looked the part.

She followed the throng of people into the dining room, which had been transformed. The dining table was gone, replaced by three longer ones arranged along the periphery, leaving an open ballroom floor in the center, with the roaring fireplace directly behind it.

Varka beckoned her over, and the whispering reached a fever pitch as she approached the middle table.

All eyes cut between Bohdan and Ksenia, back and forth.

He was magnetic.

The bastard prince wore a doublet of deep teal, so finely woven it had a sheen that accentuated his strong shoulders and chest before tapering at his waist. Gold-and-rust embroidery traced the edges and seams of his silken vest. At his shoulder, a familiar cloak was pinned with his golden brooch.

His eyes were a beacon, gleaming with something gentle and teasing that drove a pressure close to anger in her face.

Ever the gentleman, he drew out her high-backed seat as she approached. With a short bow, he was the definition of grace as he gestured for her to sit and then pushed the chair in behind her with practiced ease.

The realization hit her like a bucket of cold water: Varka had dressed her to match him—coordinated colors and complementary embroidery so they looked like a couple.

Humiliation bloomed hot in her face as she took her seat next to the man who had dragged her to her death, forced to make polite dinner conversation while rage simmered beneath her skin.

She wanted to drive her fork into his thigh till he told her exactly where Danika was.

Sitting on Varka’s opposite side was a man built like a barrel and dressed to match with brushed gold buttons the size of coins running down the front of his brown doublet. His breeches were black, his hose striped. A massive gold signet ring adorned his pinkie finger, and it winked at her as he brought his hand up and rubbed at the gray stubble covering his chin.

He had a face paunchy from rich food and sagging with age, and his ornate sapphire brooch was nearly engulfed by the folds of his neck. His watery eyes momentarily drifted toward Ksenia’s chest before they fixed back on her pointed stare.

“It’s been so long since we’ve had something like this—I completely forgot to introduce my friend.” Varka wiped her mouth on a napkin.

“Grand Chancellor, this is Senka.” Varka enunciated his title, her eyes flitting to Ksenia’s briefly.