Chapter 37 #2
Karsan stepped away from the chalice and ascended the raised platform to his throne.
The event coordinator from earlier stepped before him, presenting a couple of dozen red ribbons in her outstretched hands.
He shook his head and, with a wave of his hand, Bohdan stepped forth to accept the Threads of Grace.
The crowd took a collective breath, and Ksenia rolled her eyes at the giggles that burst forth from a trio of girls behind her.
He was dressed in a crimson velvet doublet, its collar edged with golden thread that caught the light with every movement.
The garment hugged his broad shoulders down to his tapered waist, fastened with gold buttons bearing the Saranov crest—beneath, a black silk shirt teasingly revealed his collarbone and scar.
His red Envorsen cloak had been replaced with an elegant black one, cascading over his shoulder in rich folds past his knees, secured with a gold clasp featuring a ruby cabochon.
His black breeches were tucked into polished, knee-high black leather boots.
Wordlessly, he drew his sword. The audience cheered as he did so.
He patiently waited as the ribbons were affixed to his sword, just above his crossguard. With his other hand, he gathered the ribbons and stepped to the center of the ballroom, parting the crowd as he walked.
As they had practiced, the twenty or so handmaidens floated in a single-file line, each grace prettier than the last. Each delicately grasping a ribbon within his outstretched hand.
Their blushing deepened at the slightest smile from his face.
Ksenia went last, struggling to suppress the vision of him fucked out beneath her and half-debating whether being punished for non-participation was worth the embarrassment of Bohdan being left with a single ribbon still.
She groaned as she joined the lineup. No doubt if she didn’t, some love-stricken woman from the crowd would eagerly take her place, further stroking Bohdan’s inflated ego.
Her chest constricted, heat rising in her face at the thought that these women could capture his attention.
A slow, predatory smile curved across Bohdan’s lips as Ksenia accepted the last ribbon. His green eyes glittered with barely concealed amusement.
His gaze lingered just a fraction too long on her face, drinking in the tension snapping through the lines of her body. Ksenia’s eye twitched, her jaw imperceptibly tight as she pulled her lips into a smile.
His fingers brushed against hers for the briefest moment as the ribbon transferred.
A jolt ran up her spine.
She found her place in the wide circle, ribbon in hand, heart hammering in her rib cage every time Bohdan’s eyes fell upon her. The orchestra swelled, the conductor whipping his baton with a flourish. Bohdan lifted his sword straight up, and the ribbons snapped taut like Ksenia’s spine.
Every other maiden turned to each other, and their delicate footsteps wove them in and out of the circle, the concentric rings of dancers swapping with every step.
Ksenia could hear the threads of the ribbons fraying, but it was nearly impossible to tell whose would snap after so many crossings and weavings.
A shearing sound accompanied the fluttering of a ribbon and the equally downcast look of one of the maidens in front of Ksenia. She exited the circle, ribbon dragging behind her.
With each snap of a ribbon and wind around the sword, the circle closed till only a few maidens remained.
Ksenia trained her eyes forward, focusing on her footsteps and fighting the burning sensation of Bohdan’s eyes on the side of her face each time she came back around.
The remaining maidens blew kisses in his direction, drinking in the audience’s attention as their excitement and clapping grew with each ribbon eliminated.
All noise in the room was heightened in Ksenia’s mind as she and only one maiden remained. She prayed to the gods for mercy.
Shhhhhhhk.
The last ribbon tore softly against Bohdan’s blade, and Ksenia’s shoulders slumped.
A beautiful woman with auburn hair and deep blue eyes stomped away with barely concealed disappointment, leaving her ribbon on the floor behind her.
And within Ksenia’s hand lay the last tether to Bohdan. The crowd erupted with excitement and anticipation of what was to come.
With every passing second, Ksenia looked more like a feral caged animal while Bohdan slipped into comfort like this was any other night.
“Just fucking kill me now,” she whispered to him.
He sheathed his sword with a wry shake of his head and proceeded to clasp his right hand with her left, and Ksenia’s pulse quickened.
Together, they tied the length of ribbon around their hands in a loose knot, symbolizing unity.
His hand steady, hers digging into his with half-moon indents.
“I should come clean now: I’m a terrible dancer,” she muttered under her breath, her face red.
“Oh, I know.”
She fought the urge to stomp on his foot.
“Do you ever yield?” His whisper ghosted against the shell of her ear.
Ksenia opened her mouth to answer.
“No.” He beat her to the punch. She scowled. “Let’s change that,” he said, voice low.
The music swelled once more, the conductor drawing out each note as his eyes watched the pair.
Ksenia focused on the steps, making her movements jerky and stilted.
“Let me lead.”
He swept her across the marble floor with ease, smoothing out her steps and making their dance look and feel effortless. The silken ribbons on her sleeve and corset fluttered behind her, the train of her dress fanning out across the floor.
The world narrowed, music becoming a living thing that pulsed through them simultaneously—every rise and fall, every turn, in perfect unison.
He signaled turns, dips, sweeping her to every corner of the ballroom, his gaze never leaving hers with a surety and confidence that comforted her and made her feel unnervingly exposed.
Who was leading and who was following faded from importance.
He led her through one last turn and into a dip as the last warbling note from the violinist came to an end. From the first floor to the top balcony, people clapped and cheered, a roar that returned Ksenia to reality.
With her hand still firmly in his, he gestured her forward, and she gave a sweeping bow followed by his.
The crowd joined them on the ballroom floor.
His lips met her open palm as his eyes found hers, and her heart was in freefall.
She had known every step up until now—suddenly, the floor was out from under her. Every nerve was awakened, and a sickening warmth spread from it.
The sensation was a catastrophic loss of control.
She had become entangled in the thought of them.
As she slipped back into the crowd, a flock of women sought out Bohdan’s attention.
She could feel his eyes on the back of her head, but she didn’t break her stride.
She needed air, and quickly.