Chapter Thirty-Eight
For a moment, no one spoke. It felt like a mirror of when Caspen had found them in the grotto. That night had ended in orgasm. Somehow Tem doubted this one would too.
“Tem,” Caspen said again. The word was slurred. That’s when Tem noticed the goblets in his hands. He’d already started drinking.
“Brother,” Apollo said. “Steady.”
Tem raised her eyebrows at the warning. She had never heard Apollo chastise Caspen before. Caspen’s narrowed. “Do not command me.”
The air seemed to go cold. Tem couldn’t understand how things had taken such a quick turn. One moment, she was having a conversation with Apollo, and the next, everything felt wrong.
“What are you doing here with her?” Caspen asked.
Apollo rolled his shoulders. “Am I not allowed to speak with whom I wish?”
“There is no reason for you to speak with my wife.”
“Possessiveness is unbecoming, Caspenon.”
“I did not ask for your opinion on the subject.”
“She is not your property.”
“She is mine.”
Here it was again—the implication that Tem belonged to Caspen. He had said it many times before, and it had always been true. But it wasn’t the whole truth. She belonged to Caspen, yes. But not only him.
Caspen’s eyes slid to Tem’s. They were turning black. “Unless…” he said slowly, setting the goblets down and crossing his arms. “She is not.”
Tem crossed her arms too. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I saw what happened at the tournament. I saw you hesitate.”
Tem’s stomach dropped. How long had she stood in the arena, making her choice? She’d hoped that her moment of crisis hadn’t been obvious. But if Caspen saw it, that meant everyone did.
“I saw you hesitate,” he said again. “And now I find you here, with him.”
Tem blinked. “What are you saying?”
“You love my brother.”
“What? Why would you think that?”
“Because it is obvious.”
Tem almost laughed. Nothing could be less obvious. “I don’t love—”
“You can admit it, Tem. It will not hurt me.”
Tem stared at him, her mouth open. Of course it would hurt him.
But it wasn’t true—not even remotely. She did not love Apollo.
She loved Leo, and it was going to be the death of them all.
“I don’t love Apollo,” she said. Beside her, Apollo shifted.
Tem had no idea whether she had hurt his feelings by saying that.
But his feelings were the least of her worries right now.
Caspen’s jaw tightened. “Do not lie to me.”
“I never have.”
“You are lying right now.”
“No,” Tem said firmly. “I’m not.”
In the silence that followed, they both stared at each other.
Tem couldn’t understand why this was happening.
It was ridiculous. Caspen had been completely led astray—he’d interpreted everything incorrectly, drawn all the wrong conclusions.
But the truth was so much worse. Falling for Caspen’s brother would be understandable—acceptable, even.
Caspen had said so himself. To jump from one brother to the next was not only socially acceptable, it was expected.
Tem wished she were in love with Apollo.
That would make everything easier. But she was not.
And Apollo knew it. And soon, Caspen would know it too.
“I don’t love Apollo,” she said quietly but firmly, every inch of her spine pricked with anticipation as she gathered the courage to say what she knew Caspen needed to hear: “I love Leo.”
A deadly silence fell.
In it, Caspen looked at her with a curious expression on his face, as if he were realizing something for the very first time. Even Apollo did not speak. He glanced between the two of them, clearly bracing for impact.
“You told him to find Evelyn.”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t love him.”
“You sent him away,” Caspen said.
“Two things can be true,” Tem whispered. She had sent him away. And she loved him still.
“You concealed this from me.”
“No. I didn’t.”
“You did. You lied.”
“I told you that I—”
“You did not tell me the whole truth.”
Tem fell silent. She had never seen Caspen like this.
He was angry, first and foremost. But he was also drunk—she could see the effects of the elixir manifesting on his body.
Smoke curled over his shoulders and down his arms, streaming from his fingertips.
His eyes were completely black, boring into hers.
His next words were a dangerous whisper:
“You did not tell me it was real.”
“I was completely honest with you,” Tem whispered back. “You were there. You agreed to share me.”
“I only agreed because I knew I would lose you if I did not.”
Tem’s mouth fell open. Was this the truth at last? If they were speaking of lies, this was one of them. It was just as great a sin for Caspen to withhold this from her. It was not what they had agreed upon, and it was not fair.
“You were willing to share me,” she whispered. “What changed?”
“Your feelings for him.”
“Those have always been the same.”
Caspen just shook his head, smoke still curling around him.
“Well, what did you think I felt for him?” Tem cried.
Caspen spread his arms wide. “Infatuation. Lust. Either of those I could tolerate forever. But true love is something else entirely.”
“I told you I loved him.”
“You did not. You told me he meant something to you.”
“It’s the same thing—”
“It is not.”
“I said ‘I love you both,’ remember? You were there.”
“It is not the same.”
Tem took a step backward at his words. She couldn’t understand this.
“How is it not the same?” she whispered.
Caspen sighed, arching his neck. He closed his eyes, as if it were easier to speak without looking at her.
“You can love many things, Tem. Many people. You can love your family and your friend Gabriel. But if you are telling me that what you feel for the human king is the same as what you feel for me”—the muscles in his neck flexed—“that is another matter entirely.”
What he meant was that it was an insult. Caspen could not accept that, in her heart, Leo held the same standing, that the two kings were equal.
“There must be a solution,” Apollo said finally.
Caspen just shook his head. “There was a solution. She crested him, and she sent him away.”
Only Apollo knew that the crest was no solution at all.
Only Apollo knew the implications of that crest—that it had to be consummated, or Leo would die.
Perhaps that would be ideal to Caspen, Tem thought suddenly.
Perhaps he would be thrilled to learn that Leo might soon be out of the picture.
But Caspen knew better than that. Caspen knew that if Leo died, Tem would never be the same.
A race won by default is no true victory.
A darker thought occurred to Tem: a world in which Caspen was never on board with their arrangement, that his intent had never been to share her but to encourage her to crest Leo so he became nothing but her servant.
It was too horrible to even consider. She refused to believe Caspen could be so cruel.
He had sworn to protect the people she loved—that included Leo.
“Caspenon,” Apollo said quietly. “You know better than anyone that you cannot control who you love.”
Something unspoken passed between brothers. A part of their shared history—a part Tem did not know about.
Then Apollo whispered, “She is in pain, Brother.”
Caspen let out a bitter laugh. “She is pain, Brother.”
“She does not want this. It is killing her.”
Wrong. It was killing Leo.
Caspen’s eyes narrowed suddenly. He stepped toward Apollo, who subtly angled himself so that Tem was behind him. “And what do you know of it?”
“I know there are things you do not understand.”
“Such as?”
It was the first time Tem had seen Caspen be the last to know—a position usually reserved for her. He stepped closer.
“What exactly do I not understand, brother?”
Now Apollo looked at Tem. She knew what he was asking—knew he was seeking permission to disclose what he had discovered during the tournament.
But if he told Caspen her secret—that she had to consummate the crest—Tem was afraid of what might happen.
It was bad enough such a secret existed.
Worse still that they had kept it from Caspen.
Tem held up her hand. This was her burden to bear. She would not hide behind Apollo, now or ever. “When I crested Leo, it formed a bond,” she said quietly.
Caspen swiveled to look at her. “I am aware of that, Tem. I am the one who told you to crest him.”
Tem pursed her lips. “I know. But what neither of us knew was that bond came with a condition.”
“What condition?”
“We must consummate the crest.”
A pause. And then:
“You have to sleep with him?”
“If we don’t consummate the crest,” she continued, raising her voice above his, “I will never be able to transition again.” She dropped her voice, the last words causing her physical pain. “And Leo will die.”
In the silence that followed, Tem watched as Caspen processed this revelation in real time. She saw confusion, then disbelief, then pure fury cross over his face. When he finally spoke, it was not the words she expected.
“I do not believe you.”
Tem stared up at him. “You have to.”
“You are lying to me. You are—”
“I’m not lying. My father told me. He has seen it before.”
“Why have I never heard of this?”
“Because it’s uncommon,” Tem said. “How many basilisks do you know who are in love with the humans they crest?”
Of course Caspen hadn’t heard of this. No one had. Her own father only knew about it because he’d experienced it himself.
But Caspen shook his head. “I do not believe you,” he said again, quietly this time. But Tem knew that he did. He reached for the goblet on the ground, picking it up and downing its contents. Tem looked questioningly at Apollo, who simply shook his head.