Chapter 28
Dawn arrived, and the clouds painted the sky pewter through a steady mist of rain.
Ksenia had packed her meager belongings from Beranek Manor. The Sevrant’s position was by the side of the king, and that required moving to Hearth, deep in the belly of the beast.
It was everything she had worked up to, and yet, she was woefully underprepared for what was to come.
She had earned a powerful seat as the king’s hidden blade, but she still felt like a lowly peasant. After she had won the competition, there had been no word or acknowledgment from the king.
She crossed over the stone bridge that separated Hearth from the rest of the kingdom. As she reached its apex, the mist and rain parted temporarily, and she spotted a small sloping garden tucked against the castle’s side, full of flowering bushes and climbing roses.
A thin man with wheaten-blond hair and a crown upon his brow was tending a simple gravestone there. With a brush and pick in hand, he dusted the polished surface clean and carved out the grime that had embedded itself in the engraving.
Karsan turned, brushing off his hands. Their gazes locked before the mist took hold, obscuring him from view.
“Welcome to Hearth, Lady Senka.”
The servants and staff bowed deeply to her and led her to her quarters in Hearth’s southern wing. The doors were deliberately unmarked and appeared plain from the outside, with rounded tops and iron bands.
But as Ksenia pushed through, she could see that the neighboring doors were false.
Her new quarters were twice the size of her childhood home.
The walls were covered with rich crimson-and-gold tapestries and hunting-landscape oil paintings.
A large oaken desk dominated one corner, along with ample bookshelves.
A floor-to-ceiling rack of weapons lined one entire wall, displaying a wide array.
Beside it, a fireplace with a great stone mouth opened wide enough to fit three of her comfortably.
In the center of the room, arranged on embroidered rugs, was a sumptuous bed with thick oak posts rising toward the ceiling, topped by a canopy. Arched lancet windows served as a glassy, colorful headboard behind it.
A muffled giggle came from behind the curtains.
Ksenia’s hand flitted to Caromir, then stopped.
A slow smile crawled to her face as she made a show of checking her new quarters.
She dramatically unfolded the bed coverlet, tossing the pillows.
Another stifled sound from the curtains.
Ksenia noisily checked beneath the bed, then wrenched open a wooden trunk at its foot. Every wrong guess drew a louder giggle from the drapes.
Finally, Ksenia pulled the curtain back.
Petra shrieked and burst out. “That took you forever!”
“I almost gave up. Nearly left.”
“No, you didn’t!” Petra swatted Ksenia’s sleeve.
“You’re right, I didn’t.” Ksenia crouched down to the little heathen. “But I got close.”
Petra beamed, bouncing on her heels excitedly. “Senka! The captain has requested you join him for dinner tonight.”
Ksenia’s stomach lurched.
“And I’m going to be your servant girl from here on out!” Petra swung her hands back and forth with a little skip.
She ruffled the little girl’s hair as she watched her leave.
She was the Sevrant now, but she still had a carefully orchestrated part to play at all times.
She opened her wardrobe and found an assortment of finery. Her closet was well stocked with gowns and clothing suitable for all occasions, a wide range of form and function.
Some of the gowns even had hidden sheaths and pockets for weapons and vials of poison. She would be expected to do her job regardless of how she looked.
Her mind of late had been blissfully clear and free of Vornaya’s intrusive words and hallucinations, thanks to her triple murder. But one person in particular had begun lounging freely in the recesses of her mind.
The memory of Bohdan’s lips and body upon hers dragged sinister fantasies to the forefront of her thoughts: like fucking him to pieces, then burying her dagger into his throat. Watching the life leech from his eyes after she met her needs.
She resented how much she thought about him.
She selected a deep black velvet gown with a boned corset. The squared neckline dipped low and the puffed sleeves clung to the edges of her shoulders. Her freshly healing wound was still an angry red divot against her clavicle, and she wanted him to see it.
An ornate gold-embroidered trim ran down the center front, and a slashed design on the sleeve showed a deep wine-red underneath. It transitioned to long, fitted sleeves with a delicate floral pattern. A full, gathered skirt in the same black velvet flowed from her body in heavy, luxurious pleats.
At her neck, she wore a golden choker with a ruby teardrop pendant.
This dress wouldn’t be suitable for combat, but would instead lay a trap for her prey to come willingly to her.
She followed Petra down the long hallways through Hearth until they reached the dining hall.
Pointed arches lined the walls, framing the stained-glass windows. A ribbed stone vaulted ceiling soared overhead, dotted with crystal chandeliers.
A black wooden table dominated the center of the room, its mirrored surface adorned with candelabras and lanterns, each with dripping red wax.
Bohdan was already seated at the table; most of the heavy wooden chairs sat empty. Their high, straight backs with pointed arches and pinnacles matched Hearth’s exterior spires.
Most notably, the head of the table was empty. A fireplace crackled behind it with a thick marble mantel supported by carved lions and bears.
Petra gave a clumsy curtsy in Bohdan’s direction. “Good evening, Captain.”
"Petra." He didn't look up from the wine he was turning slowly in his goblet, but the corner of his mouth lifted a fraction.
Petra beamed at her, and Ksenia couldn’t help but smile as the servant girl took her leave.
Bohdan rose from his chair and gestured for her to sit across from him. She caught his gaze, dragging down her body. With long, languid strides, he walked around the table and pulled the seat out for her.
The chivalrous action reminded her of Varka’s banquet dinner, and her cheeks grew hot.
He pushed in the chair behind her once more before returning to his.
“Just us this evening?” Her voice echoed in the expansive space.
“The king had other matters to attend to,” Bohdan said as he reached for his goblet. “But he is looking forward to your pledging ceremony tomorrow.”
“Ceremony.” Ksenia let the word sit in her mouth, as if she would spit it out. “That seems excessive.”
“The Sevrant is a private position, not a public one, but you’ll still need to openly pledge your loyalty to the king.” Bohdan’s darkened eyes surveyed her over the rim as he drank. “I thought that was understood.”
Ksenia smiled. “Of course.”
Her gaze sharpened on his mouth, stained wine-dark.
“Starting tonight, I will begin your combat training.”
“I already have a regimen with Varka.” Her knife screeched across the porcelain.
“Then you will add another. My approach is more precise than hers.” He swirled his wine leisurely.
“Your approach, Captain”—steel crunched through gristle—“is to take something functional and complicate it until it answers to you.”
She dragged her finger through the sauce on her plate and licked the tip, her eyes fixed on his.
His chair slid against the worn flagstone as he stood and wiped his mouth on his napkin.
She tracked him in her peripheral vision, taking a long sip of water.
The dining hall echoed with the even clicks of his heels as he patiently circled the table to meet her on the other side.
His presence was warm at her shoulder.
Settling one arm like a snake over the back of her chair, he leaned in, dangerously close. She remembered the taste of his lips upon hers: blood-warm pomegranate.
“I held the security of this kingdom together single-handedly for the last few years without a Sevrant.”
His breath tickled her fresh scar in a painfully pleasurable way. That was a problem for a different night.
He brushed a loose strand back behind her ear. “And I was ready to continue with or without you.”
“And yet, you continued your search for one, year after year,” Ksenia quipped.
“What a comfort then that someone like you won,” he said, sticking the proverbial dagger in her side.
Her blood ran hot, mouth opening in retort.
“Oh, I’m not criticizing the effort—I’m just questioning the result.” He twisted the blade deeper.
A beat of silence.
Ksenia’s laughter was so light that it sounded unlike her. “You didn’t need someone obedient. You’ve already mastered that.” Her voice pitched low.
His head tilted.
“What you needed is a rule breaker to find your weaknesses.” She traced her wet finger over the rim of her glass.
His eyes snapped to hers. “You won’t find any.”
“Already have.” She pushed out of her seat, her front sliding up against him. She let him pin her hips against the table as she reached behind herself without looking.
Her slender fingers closed around his goblet instead of her own.
His half-lidded gaze darkened fractionally as she took an unhurried drink of his black currant wine.
“We start tonight in the sparring hall.” He turned and left.
“I’ve barely settled in—”
“Then fight tired.” His footfall receded. He was already done with her. “You have before.”
She stood, goblet halfway to her mouth.
A tremor in her hand.
The sparring hall was barren and cold. Ksenia rubbed her gloved hands together, willing her fingers to get ready for a difficult fight. She had changed into a sensible tunic tucked into leather breeches.
Iron braziers provided flickering light and some warmth between racks of weapons.
The mosaic glass-vaulted ceilings depicted a glorious battle between warrior saints and demons emerging from a fissure in the earth.
Raindrops puckered the windows, dappling the scant bit of moonlight that peeked between the storm clouds.
The hall smelled of iron, leather, oil, and the underlying tang of blood despite not a single trace being visible.