Page 85 of Hellbound

Rolling thunder sounded in the distance, and the air was damp and charged.

The squeak of the carriage door swinging open was her only warning before she was lifted onto a soft, cushioned bench. This was undoubtedly nicer than she had expected.

He blew out a long sigh as he also entered the carriage and the seat creaked opposite her.

Ksenia flinched as his knee brushed against hers, tucking closer to the edge.

He spread even further.

Silence fell between them, stilted and tense.

Fssssssssht.

A match was struck, sending a deliciously spiced haze wafting through the space.

Ksenia tilted her head. That smell—she hadn’t assumed he was the type.

A long, slow sucking sound filtered through the carriage. Through her burlap sack, she could faintly make out the ebb and wane of the ember at the tip of his cigarette.

“So, the perfect captain does have some vices.”

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” He exhaled smoke toward her covered face.

“Mm.” She laughed darkly. “What a gentleman.”

“Speaking of secrets, how did you know it was three?” His fingertips drummed on the polished wooden arm. Each tap disrupted her attention, his question swirling in her mind.

“Three?” She tilted her head.

“Three men who were murdered. That’s what you said last week, right? That those ‘three’ deserved it…but we never disclosed that three people were killed. Only Dmitri.”

She stopped breathing.

“You assigned me a decorative yet invisible position,” she said evenly. “Servants talk. Guards talk. The nobles are the worst for it.”

But she was dancing on a knife’s edge. A dangerous balancing act of being a spymaster candidate, treasonous bondsmith, murderer, and would-be-assassin of the king and his bastard son before her.

He hummed again, then let her anxieties consume her for the remainder of the trip, enjoying his cigarette in silence.

Through the burlap sack, she could feel his eyes rake her like coals.

Finally, the carriage came to a halt.

It shifted back and forth as Bohdan stepped out before his hands and arms returned, pulling her tense body close. Like a lover, but more likely her executioner.

She lifted her head and listened, detecting voices and raucous noise in the distance.

His feet carried them closer to the source. Rain began to fall, puckering the flagstone path on which he walked.

It seeped through the bag and matted her hair to her face as she blinked the water from her eyes.

Several bolts clicked and then humid, stale air washed over her as heavy doors groaned open.

Noise assaulted her from every direction: jeers, screaming, yelling, and catcalls blended with the banging of metal on metal, and the stamping of feet.

A prison.

She shifted uncomfortably, and he readjusted her with a chuckle. “You’re not getting out of this one.”