CHAPTER TWO #2
Daphne shifted. They’d been standing on the hard stone for what felt like hours.
The basilisk noticed the movement, his eyes flicking to her feet. “You should sit,” he said.
She blinked. “Where?”
The cave was empty save for a mat in front of the fireplace. Too late, Daphne realized that was exactly where he thought she should sit.
“I’m not sitting on that,” she said bluntly.
The basilisk raised one eyebrow. “And why not?”
“Two reasons.”
His eyebrows rose farther. “Which are?”
“First, it’s probably dirty.” That was her main concern.
Daphne had no intention of touching a mat upon which generations of women had been taught how to have sex.
She rather doubted it was regularly cleaned.
There were bound to be…stains. “Second,” she continued, “if I sit there, you’re going to try to fuck me. ”
The basilisk actually had the audacity to laugh. Coming from such an imposing figure, the sound was downright terrifying. “You have made your stance quite clear,” he said.
“So you’re not…going to…make me?”
To her surprise, the basilisk looked supremely offended. “Of course not. You must come to this willingly. Otherwise it is not sex.”
“What is it?”
“Assault.”
For some reason, the word chilled Daphne.
She knew that the creature before her was monstrously strong.
He could overpower her in the blink of an eye if he chose to.
She found herself suddenly grateful he had answered with such vehemence.
If he wanted to assault her, he could do so easily.
It wasn’t lost on her that she was unharmed because of his decision—not hers.
“I have no desire to fuck someone who does not want to fuck me,” the basilisk continued. “If you learn one thing about me tonight, let it be that.”
Daphne blinked. That wasn’t what she’d expected him to say.
Then again, no part of this conversation had gone the way she’d expected.
Her gaze fell to his trousers, where his cock was half-hard, creating a tantalizing bulge.
She resisted the instinct to run her hand over it.
Daphne had just told the basilisk her boundary, yet when such temptation was placed before her, it was difficult to adhere to her word. She was only a woman, after all.
“I wouldn’t say you have no desire,” she whispered.
There was an extremely fraught silence. Then the basilisk smiled. It was a slow smile. Cunning. It made Daphne want to smile back. Before she could, he turned and crossed to the fireplace, taking a seat on the mat. He looked back at her expectantly.
Daphne crossed her arms. Basilisks were infuriating creatures.
His smile widened. “Come here.”
She stared at him. Part of her wanted to follow his order. There were worse things to do with her evening than spend time with someone who was already hard for her. With a sigh, she crossed to the mat, lowering herself gingerly. There were definitely stains.
“Is it not more comfortable than stone?” he asked.
She could be mistaken, but it sounded like he actually cared about the answer.
“Yes,” said Daphne begrudgingly. “It is.”
“Good.”
True to his word, he did not care if they sat in silence.
And sit they did—Daphne with her arms crossed, the basilisk with his hands clasped calmly in his lap.
It was uncannily warm in here; the fireplace crackled cheerfully, lending a cozy atmosphere to a decidedly un-cozy situation.
The basilisk stared at her the entire time, his eyes narrowed.
It was not a threatening stare. It was thoughtful, and despite herself, Daphne stared back, attempting not to look down at his cock.
The silence went on. Did he seriously expect them to spend their sessions like this?
It could be weeks before the prince chose a wife—that was a long time to stare at each other in a cave. They might as well have a conversation.
“What’s your name?” Daphne asked presently.
At first she thought he might not reply. But after a significant pause, the basilisk said, “Kronos.”
“Oh.”
“Oh?”
“Sorry—it’s just not a name I’ve ever heard before.”
The basilisk shifted, causing the muscles of his forearms to ripple.
Daphne had always been weak for forearms.
“And what is your name?”
“Daphne.”
“Hm.”
“Hm?”
“That is a name I have heard many times before.”
Daphne pursed her lips. Of course he’d heard it before—he was probably a thousand years old. Surely he’d met hundreds of Daphnes. For some reason, the thought bothered her. She wanted to seem unique to him.
“What’s your last name?” she asked.
“Seneca.”
That was sort of sexy, she supposed.
“And yours?”
“Verus.”
“Daphne Verus.”
Despite herself, a shiver ran down her spine when he said her full name. She liked the way it sounded, how the syllables were melodic, nestled in his baritone voice.
“Kronos Seneca,” she said back.
Perhaps she imagined it, but it seemed as if he liked the way she said his name too.
They lapsed back into silence after that, although it was no longer tense.
Now the space between them felt languid, like the calm waters of a lake.
Daphne studied him, and he studied her. She wondered what he thought of her hair, which was curly, and her dress, which was simple.
For some reason she hoped he liked what he saw. Daphne certainly liked what she saw.
“What did you promise your mother?” Kronos asked suddenly.
Daphne blinked. “I—what?”
“You said that you promised your mother something. What was it?”
“Oh—nothing, really. I just told her I would help her with the chores. She’s a bit overwhelmed at the moment.”
“Why is she overwhelmed?”
Daphne frowned. Why did he care? “Things have been difficult ever since my father left.”
“Where did he go?”
“To the bar.”
It was a joke, but just barely. Her father had left to go out drinking six months ago and never came back.
Now Kronos frowned. “That is the behavior of a coward.”
Daphne almost laughed. “You’re telling me.”
His frown remained. She wasn’t sure what to make of this conversation—wasn’t sure whether Kronos was simply filling the time or if he actually cared about the intricacies of her personal life.
It was hard for her to imagine that a basilisk could possibly be interested in the happenings of humans.
Either way, Daphne had questions of her own, and under the circumstances, she figured she might as well ask them.
“Am I the first woman to refuse the training?”
Kronos considered her. “As far as I know, yes.”
Daphne held this information close, letting it console her. At least in this way, she was special to him. “Would you refuse it if you were me?”
Kronos frowned. “I cannot say.”
“Can’t you try?”
He tilted his head. The motion was reminiscent of the snakes that occasionally slipped into the garden—the ones that slithered with ethereal grace. She was once again reminded that the man before her was not a man at all. It didn’t make her want him any less.
“The training is meant to help you win the competition. If I had no interest in winning, I suppose I would refuse it too.”
Daphne nodded, satisfied.
Silence fell once more as they stared at each other. She decided she wouldn’t be the one to break it, instead studying his face in the flickering firelight. His jaw was so sharp it may have been cut from glass.
Kronos broke the silence. “What are you thinking about?”
Daphne narrowed her eyes. “Can’t you read my mind?”
“Why would I be able to read your mind?”
She shrugged. “That’s what the villagers say.”
“Do you tend to believe everything you hear?”
“No. Just the interesting things.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “I cannot read your mind. That form of communication is only between basilisks.”
Despite herself, Daphne leaned forward. “So you can read minds.”
Kronos leaned forward too. “I can. But not yours.”
In that moment, she realized how close their faces were. His pupils were widening. His eyes—previously burnished gold—were turning black. The change was extraordinary.
“What else are you capable of?” she whispered. How dearly she wanted to know.
“You will have to narrow down your question.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean”—he shifted so they were even closer, and her chest tightened with anticipation—“are you referring to my mental capabilities? Or my physical ones?”
Daphne blushed. She had no doubt that he was capable of every physical act known to man. But she wasn’t here for those, as much as she might wish she were. “Mental,” she said firmly.
Kronos leaned back. So did Daphne. He regarded her calmly, as if they were talking about nothing more stimulating than the weather.
But his pupils were still blown wide—two orbs of deep, dark black.
His gaze was mesmerizing; she couldn’t look away.
And Daphne was acutely aware that those same eyes were capable of turning her to stone.
“What else do the villagers say about us?” Kronos asked. He was clearly avoiding her question. Daphne decided to let him.
“They say your blood runs black.”
The corner of his mouth twitched.
“Well?” Daphne insisted. “Is that another lie?”
Kronos lifted his hand. Before she could even blink, he slashed it across a jagged ridge of the stone floor, splitting the skin of his wrist.
Daphne gasped as dark red blood sprayed onto the cave floor.
He didn’t even flinch. Then, right before her eyes, the cut began to heal.
Daphne’s hand flew to her mouth as she watched flesh and muscle knit itself back together again.
Kronos remained perfectly still as the wound healed itself.
A moment later, his wrist was smooth once more. Blood still glistened on the ground.
“That’s impossible,” Daphne whispered. Yet even as she said it, she knew it wasn’t true. There was no mistaking what she’d just seen with her own eyes.
“For you,” he said. “But not for us.”
Daphne tried to imagine what it would be like to have the ability to heal herself. Certainly day-to-day life in the village would be easier.