Page 42 of Hellbound

Ksenia froze. Recognition gripped her heart painfully.

No. No.

That severe, devilish look in his eye, the way he’d stared through the painting and right at her soul.

Blood prickled to the surface of her cheeks and flushed down her neck.

The captain and bastard prince himself, how plucky, Vornaya chided, and Ksenia bit her tongue.

Underneath his black suede vest, his charcoal tunic was trimmed with dark silver embroidery. His slacks cut a clean line from his hip to the tops of his polished leather boots.

“Bohdan, dear baby brother, you should know your rank in this household. We may share blood, but you’re far from demanding anything around here.”

Ksenia’s blood turned to ice. Brother. Ksenia dug her nails into her grimy palms as her gaze cut between Varka and Bohdan. It was widely known that Bohdan was a bastard, but no one ever spoke of his mother, so the fact that it was the late queen-to-be, Iskra Beranek, boggled the mind.

The resemblance came into focus as a slow curl tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You never told her, did you?”

Ksenia’s eyes shot daggers at him.

Varka had made a fool of her—feeding her half-truths while hiding the fact that the king’s bastard shared her blood. She bit her curses back between clenched teeth.

“How rude of me, Bohdi,” Varka continued with a lazy wave of her hand, and his eyes narrowed a scintilla at the nickname. “You remember Senka, don’t you? My new champion for the trials?”

His laugh was sharp, brief. “Champion? Come now, she’s a thief. Turn her over.” He hooked his thumb into the pocket of his slacks, the picture of ease—as if he weren’t about to drag her to the executioner’s block, again.

“I think not. Senka is under my protection, and if I can’t have her remains, at least I now have her sword.”

Ksenia stiffened. Remains?

His shoulder sloped downward as he leaned against the wooden doorway, his eyes crinkling with faint amusement.

“I didn’t know you were so fond of family. Family over everything? Even our fealty to the king?”

“I will cut out your tongue if you speak of that man again.” Varka’s words dripped with vitriol, the emerald blade pointed at her half-brother.

The servant staff startled.

Bohdan raised his hands in fake acquiescence. “You could visit Hearth more often. My father asks about you all the time.”

Varka’s shoulders squared. “I’d rather go to hell.”

“There’s the stubborn sister I grew up with,” he drawled.

“We shared a nursemaid, hardly a home,” Varka spat.

“As for her—” Bohdan swung his finger at Ksenia. “Let the poor girl go. From what I’ve seen, she won’t survive a minute of the trials.”

“Says the man from whom I stole this blade,” Ksenia snarked.

Curiosity tilted his head.

“A mercy I won’t make the mistake of extending a third time.” His voice dropped a few degrees, and a chill crept up her spine.

He strode lazily past Varka and Ksenia, up the grand staircase, and disappeared to the western wing of the second floor.

Hot-blooded embarrassment flooded her system. Had he recognized her spying on him that night? Impossible. The peepholes were well-concealed. But if he had grown up here and knew the manor as well as Varka…

A frustrated scream broke at the back of her throat.