CHAPTER TWELVE
Caspen
Caspen had not expected to find Agnes in the presence of a human, much less the very same human that Kronos had been watching during the Showing.
If Daphne was brave enough to come underneath the mountain, it meant her relationship with her teacher had progressed to a worrisome point.
If it progressed to the point of love, their connection would make Kronos even more powerful than he already was.
Caspen could not allow that to happen. It was imperative that Constance won the competition—that the Drakons remained in power.
The only way for him to counteract Kronos’s advantage was to establish one of his own.
He headed for his cave, irritated that the confrontation with Agnes had made him late for tonight’s training session.
It did not matter; Constance would surely wait.
Sure enough, she was in the cave when Caspen arrived, sitting on the mat, already nude. That was good. Less work for him.
Her face shone brightly with eagerness. Caspen was almost flattered.
If he cared about Constance’s opinion of him, this might be a pleasurable moment.
Instead he gave her no commands, nor did he even speak to her.
Caspen simply sat on the mat, leaned in, and kissed her.
A moment later his trousers were off and she was on his cock.
Immediately, power began to build inside him.
Smoke filled the cave, seeping from his skin with every thrust. Any basilisk who had fucked a human knew this feeling well.
It was like touching a flame, like drinking water from a mountain spring.
It was ultimate clarity and strength. Predator dominating prey.
Caspen had her twice, and then a third time for good measure.
The final time Caspen simply lay there, allowing her to ride him, letting his mind wander as she pleasured herself.
Constance truly was an eager student. There was no trace of shyness in her.
She rode him with a confidence he had not taught her, which meant that she possessed it already.
It was a trait that would surely serve her well during the competition, especially this week, when the girls would participate in the Frisky Sixty.
Presently, Constance came. The surge of power Caspen experienced as soon as she finished was undeniable, and in the wake of her pleasure, he experienced his own orgasm.
He released himself inside her, not bothering to pull out.
All girls who participated in the training took the infertility herb, and even if they did not, it was impossible for a basilisk to impregnate a human.
His father’s belief that there were such things as Hybreeds was a rare and useless hope.
Caspen sent Constance on her way. Not a single word had been exchanged.
He made his way back through the passageway feeling significantly better than he had earlier. Before he could reach his chambers, Bastian appeared.
“How goes the training, Caspenon? Is your girl winning?”
Caspen stopped in his tracks. Only one of those questions was safe to answer.
He could not lie to his father, yet to tell him the truth would be to disclose that Kronos might soon be in the lead.
The Seneca’s connection with his student might one day rival what Caspen had with Harmony.
The information would only enrage his father.
“The training goes well.”
His father’s eyes narrowed as he immediately sensed his evasion. “Is your girl winning?”
Caspen sighed. They might as well get this over with. “No.”
Bastian raised his eyebrows. “How can that be?”
“The prince favors another girl.”
“Whose?”
Caspen remained silent. The last thing his father needed was more reasons to be paranoid about the Senecas. Keeping relations peaceful was going to quickly become something Caspen could not do.
“Give me a name, Caspenon,” his father snapped.
There was no point in hiding it—the vials would reveal it anyway. “Kronos.”
“The orphan?”
Caspen did not respond. It was true that Kronos was an orphan, although there was no reason that should be held against him. No one seemed to remember who his parents were or if they existed at all. His origins were strange, but ultimately of no concern to Caspen.
“His girl cannot win, Caspenon,” Bastian snapped.
“Do you think I do not know this?”
“It is an outrage. How is his girl beating yours?”
“I already told you that the prince favors her.”
“That is unacceptable.”
“I agree.”
“You need to do something about it.”
“Such as?”
“Crest Kronos.”
Caspen’s mouth fell open. He could not possibly have heard his father correctly.
What he was suggesting was forbidden. Basilisks did not have laws, per se, but to crest another basilisk was strictly against their values.
Cresting a human was a way to gain power, but cresting a basilisk was murder.
It was the worst crime one could commit—an abomination only to be performed under extreme circumstances.
Apparently his father thought their circumstances were extreme enough to warrant it. But Caspen did not agree.
“You cannot be serious.”
Bastian seemed to loom larger in the dim passageway. “Of course I am serious. This is a serious matter.”
“If I crest him, it will kill him.”
“Exactly.”
“Why would I do such a thing?”
“Why would you not?”
“Because he has done nothing to deserve it.”
“He threatens the throne.”
“It is forbidden.”
“Do not be naive, Son,” Bastian growled. “It is what anyone would do in your position.”
No one—not even someone as powerful as Caspen—would dare to crest a fellow basilisk. It was a horrible, cursed thing to do.
“You have lost your mind, Father.”
“Perhaps you have lost yours.”
“It is a suicide mission.”
“Only if you fail.”
“I would become a pariah if I succeeded.”
“No. You would not.”
“How?”
“People respect those they fear.”
Caspen shook his head. He did not want to be feared. That was no way to lead. “I will not commit murder upon your request, Father.”
“It is not a request. It is an order.”
The world went silent around Caspen. He was at a crossroads.
Duty dictated that he follow his father’s order, yet his conscience dictated he not do so.
Caspen had never crested another basilisk.
He had never seen it done, nor did he wish to.
There was a reason the basilisks drew this one moral boundary.
Yet he had also never defied his father.
He was not sure he would even survive it if he did.
His father was a cruel man, and that cruelty extended to his children.
It had been evident Caspen’s entire life, and it was only more evident now.
“Father,” he said, his voice low. “You know the rules of our people. I will be cast out—the Drakon reputation will be ruined.”
“Basilisks respect power,” Bastian insisted. “And they will respect this.”
Caspen did not agree. He could not agree less.
It was true that basilisks respected power, but only when that power was gained through sex.
Any other method was abhorrent to them. There was no point in voicing this—his father had clearly made up his mind.
Caspen was not shocked that Bastian was willing to stoop so low in order to gain power, although he was surprised he would use his own son to do so.
“If I do this there will be serious consequences,” Caspen said. “Not only for you, but for me.”
It was an understatement. The majority of the consequences would fall on Caspen. It would not matter that Bastian had been the one to give the order; it would only matter that Caspen was the one to carry it out. He would be hated. Perhaps even injured or killed.
Bastian turned to face him. “The consequences if you do not obey me are far more serious. Think about it, Caspenon. Would you rather have the Senecas in charge?”
Caspen would rather not commit murder. Yet his father was beyond reason, and Caspen had nothing more to say anyway. He recognized the look in Bastian’s eyes. His father would do anything to avoid relinquishing the throne, including destroying their family’s reputation. Including destroying him.
“Do this, Caspenon. Before the prince chooses his girl.”
Without another word, Caspen walked away.
He slept restlessly until morning and spent the next day in the courtyard, desperate for a distraction.
All around him, basilisks kissed and fucked and drank elixir, the evening heightening into its usual fervor.
Caspen took part in none of it. He was a man unmoored, circling the courtyard in a fugue state.
It was not until he had passed the fountain for the fourth time that a voice broke him from his stupor.
“Brother.” Apollo’s hand was on his shoulder. “What ails you?”
Caspen could not answer. He knew without a doubt that it would not be wise to tell Apollo what their father had ordered him to do.
There was a reason Bastian had chosen Caspen for this unimaginable task.
Apollo did not have what it took to take the life of one of their own.
Perhaps their father viewed that as a weakness. To Caspen, it was an admirable quality.
“Nothing you can help me with,” Caspen said firmly. It was the truth; the words came easily. He expected the usual reaction from his brother: incredulity, perhaps, or even scorn. Instead Apollo’s grip tightened, forcing them both to a stop in the middle of the courtyard.
“Burdens are easier to bear when shared,” Apollo said softly.