CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Caspen
Biting Kronos had taken mere moments. Caspen had left him in the forest and returned to his chambers to test his newfound power.
The well of power within Caspen was familiar; it was his own.
Now he reached elsewhere, searching with his mind for another source.
A moment later, he found one. Caspen knew immediately that it was Kronos; somehow it felt like him.
Without hesitating, Caspen pulled. Immediately, power came to him.
It felt nothing like his own—nothing like the power he had wielded all his life.
This power was dangerous. Unwieldy. Foreign.
Caspen gasped as the barest trace of it entered him, mixing with his to create a strange concoction that was difficult to control.
Caspen had never felt anything this powerful before.
Did all basilisks feel like this, or was it unique to Kronos?
And then, almost before it had begun, it stopped.
The source was closed; the energy was gone. Caspen could draw no more power.
He frowned. Kronos had not been that close to death.
It should not take just one siphoning to drain him of all his power.
That meant something had gone wrong. Either someone else had killed Kronos in the short time since Caspen left him or he had gotten an influx of power that was strong enough to heal the bite. His frown deepened.
Caspen stood, crossing to the fire and pouring himself a glass of wine. Basilisks could not get drunk on anything other than elixir, but he had always enjoyed the taste of wine. He sipped it slowly, staring into the flames.
This was a problem. Of that Caspen had no doubt. If he was unable to siphon from Kronos—if the Seneca had somehow figured out a way to counteract the bite—Caspen was left with fewer options than he had started out with.
By the time Caspen finally managed to sleep, he was worried.
By the time he woke up, he was in a state of panic.
What if the bite did not debilitate Kronos?
What if somehow it made him more powerful?
There was magic here at work—magic Caspen himself did not understand.
Perhaps it was the will of Kora. Or perhaps it was something else.
Something stronger. How had the Seneca managed this?
Caspen rose and quickly walked through the passageways, his mood growing darker with every step.
The vial room was packed full of basilisks; Caspen had to push through them in order to reach the vials.
His father’s vial was full to the brim, his blood dark and viscous, pulsing gently against the glass.
Caspen scanned the other vials, his heartbeat slamming in his chest. There was no question: the second highest belonged to Kronos.
Worse still, Apollo was right after him.
Caspen closed his eyes. It was a disaster beyond comprehension.
Whatever Kronos had done to protect himself from the bite had increased his rank. This was very very bad.
“You did not do as I said.” His father’s voice came from behind him. “You did not crest him.”
Caspen opened his eyes. “I could not,” he said simply.
“You would not. We are the choices we make, Caspenon.”
Caspen only shook his head. He did not want to be this choice.
Before he could reply, Apollo appeared. A slow, smug smile stretched his cheeks as his eyes scanned the vials, falling finally on Caspen’s. “Losing your touch, Caspenon?”
Caspen rolled his shoulders. Here, standing between his father and his brother, he was trapped.
“Not only are you ranked below Kronos,” Bastian continued, “but you are ranked below your own brother. Perhaps Apollo would be better suited for the task. Shall I ask him to take care of the Seneca in your stead?”
His words cut Caspen like a knife. He had always been the better brother, the more capable brother.
Apollo was not the one their father turned to in times of crisis—he was not the one who could get things done.
That had always been Caspen. He was the older brother—the one who was capable of great things.
Now he wondered whether that was truly the case.
Had he simply crested Kronos, this would all be over.
Had he simply done the thing he feared doing, they would not be having this conversation.
“You can trust me, Father,” Apollo said.
Caspen closed his eyes. This was unacceptable. There was no world in which Apollo would step up when he did not.
“Or perhaps,” Bastian continued, his voice cold, “I have raised sons who are incapable of doing what it takes to be king.”
The knife twisted. Caspen knew he had what it took to be king. But he was beginning to wonder whether the path there was worth traveling. He turned to Apollo.
“Is that truly who you wish to become?” Caspen asked, ignoring his father and speaking only to his brother. “Someone who kills their own kind?”
Apollo straightened. “The Senecas are not our own kind.”
Caspen shook his head. “As king, you would rule over both quivers.”
“And what do either of you know about being king?” Bastian interjected. “You cannot even obey your own father.”
“My father,” said Caspen pointedly, “asks the impossible.”
“My son is a coward.”
Tense silence fell. Apollo’s mouth was twisted into a smirk. Caspen knew he loved every moment of this.
“The next time I tell either of you to do something,” Bastian growled, “you had better fucking do it.” He disappeared, leaving Caspen and Apollo staring at each other.
“You disgrace our family,” Apollo said.
Caspen let out a blunt laugh. “And you disgrace yourself.”
“How? By offering to do what you cannot?”
“By being a sheep.”
Apollo snorted. “I am no sheep. Just as you are no leader.”
His eyes narrowed. “You forget your place.”
“My place is right here,” Apollo said. “Between you and the throne.”
“You do not deserve the throne if you are willing to gain it this way. Cresting another basilisk goes against our most fundamental rules.”
Apollo stepped closer, looking Caspen straight in the eye. “I make my own rules, Brother.”
Apollo turned to leave, but Caspen gripped his arm, pulling him back. “It will corrupt you.”
Apollo whirled around to face him. “Then let it.”
It was a step too far for Caspen. Without thinking, he swung at Apollo, his fist crashing into his brother’s cheek, forcing him to double over. By the time his brother righted himself, he had already healed the bruise.
“How dare you hit your own brother?” Apollo spat. “Have you no respect?”
“You are no brother of mine,” Caspen spat back. “And I do not respect you.”
His words were the truth; he could not stand anything about Apollo in this moment. He was tempted to hit him again. But there was no point to this fight; it would end the same as all their other fights: with Caspen as the victor.
For once, Caspen was in no mood to prolong it. For once, Apollo was.
His fist came at Caspen like a comet; there was barely any time to dodge it before Apollo’s other fist was headed Caspen’s way.
Caspen dodged punch after punch, becoming more irritated with each one.
Apollo’s assaults were juvenile and predictable.
They were no longer fighting about their father’s orders.
This, like everything else between them, transcended to another meaning. Harmony.
“Boys.” A woman’s voice cut between them. “Cease this at once.”
Brother stepped away from brother. Caspen turned to see their mother storming toward them, her face twisted in anger.
“I raised you better than this,” Deltene said as she reached them.
“Apparently you did not,” Apollo snapped.
“Enough,” she hissed, looking only at Caspen, her eyes aflame. “Is this the behavior of a king?”
Caspen turned to face her. “I am not a king. Father made that quite clear.”
“You are not a king yet,” his mother snapped.
The hurt on Apollo’s face only deepened at her words. It threw their parents’ favor into sharp contrast. Not even Deltene considered Apollo a worthy successor. It was a wound that had festered for centuries. And now, under the pressure of their parents, it was bleeding.
“You must conduct yourself with care,” Deltene continued. “Especially in public.”
“You are not one to talk, Mother,” Caspen snapped.
Deltene froze. Her secret sat between them.
Apollo frowned, eyes darting between Caspen and Deltene, his brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”
Caspen did not answer. Neither did his mother.
Instead she backed away slowly, her chin raised in defiance.
Caspen knew he should not have said that.
But he was furious with her, and now, he was also furious with himself.
They were both failures; perhaps it was genetic.
His mother was unable to resist the pull of her heart, and Caspen was unable to resist the same.
He could not kill his own kind; he could not follow his father’s orders. He might as well hand Apollo the crown.
Before he could say another word, his brother disappeared. Caspen did not bother wondering where he would go—they would cross paths again soon enough. He was just debating returning to his chambers when a soft voice sounded behind him. “Family troubles?”
Caspen did not have to turn around to know it was Harmony. He could smell her—sense her, even in the crowd.
“My father is angry with me.”
“Why?”
“Because I would not crest Kronos.”
“You disobeyed your father,” she said softly.
Caspen could not hear that one more time tonight. “I made a choice,” he snapped, “and I stand by it.”
Harmony raised an eyebrow. “Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Then why are you so angry?”
Caspen rolled his shoulders. He was angry for myriad of reasons. But the primary one was “Apollo.”
“Hm.” Harmony touched his chest, trailing her hand down his torso. “What has he done now?”
Caspen just shook his head. There were no words to describe the situation he was in. “I do not wish to discuss Apollo.”
“Then what do you wish to discuss?”
He looked down at Harmony. Her hand was resting just above his cock. “The Ranking.”
She tilted her head. “What about it?”
“I require a guest.”
A sly smile twisted her lips. “Do you?”
“You know I do.”
Everyone knew that the Ranking consisted of a series of challenges and that each challenge required a partner. Every basilisk in the running to become Serpent King would need a guest who could help them compete.
“And who will you choose?” Harmony whispered.
Caspen nearly ripped her head off right then and there. She knew he wanted to choose her. She knew he could only do so with her consent.
“I want to choose you.”
“I am flattered. But your brother needs a guest too.”
She was not going to make this easy for him; she was going to make him beg for it.
Normally he would not mind, but the stakes for this Ranking were too high.
His guest needed to be someone he had a connection with and a powerful one at that.
Having Harmony by his side—the woman who had taught him how to have sex—was an undeniable advantage that Caspen could not lose to his brother.
Harmony looked up at him, her eyes wide and wanting. Her hand was around his cock. She began to stroke. “Why should I do this for you?”
Caspen bristled at her words. He had enough pressure from his family—he did not need it from her too. “Because you want to.”
“Do I?”
“Yes. You like being told what to do.”
Her face split into a smile. “You mistake me for you.” She was still stroking him.
“I will not convince you,” he snapped. “You should do it because if I am king, you will be my queen.”
Harmony raised a single eyebrow. “If is a weak word, Caspenon. Do you not feel confidence in your abilities?”
“What word should I use instead?”
Harmony stepped closer, brushing her lips up his neck and breathing a single word into his ear: “When.”
Irritation coursed through him. Must everyone in his life push him to the brink? “When I am king,” he said. “You and everyone else will wish you had never doubted me.”
Delicately, she trailed a single finger over his head, touching the drop of precum gathered there and raising it to her mouth. Caspen watched as she slid it along her tongue. When she had swallowed it, she whispered, “Shhh, Caspenon. I do not like you when you are irritable.”
Then she was gone.
Caspen did not bother watching her go.