CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN #4
Every instinct in his body told him not to move.
It was impossible not to remember the gruesome stories, the terrifying legends of the basilisks.
But the creature before him was not scary.
It held the shape of a man and a weak one at that.
So Maximus stepped forward, passing his father so he was standing inside the cell mere feet from the basilisk.
Without prompting, he knelt. The snake before him opened his eyes.
“Hello,” Maximus said out of instinct alone.
The snake did not reply, and he felt immediately stupid for saying anything at all.
But it held Maximus’s gaze, golden eyes meeting gray ones.
In those eyes Maximus saw nothing but pure hatred.
It was a strange thing to see. Up until moments ago, he hadn’t known what was happening down here in the dungeon.
But these snakes had been suffering a long time, and they blamed him.
As they should, he supposed. His family was responsible for this.
Disgust simmered deep in his chest, but to his surprise, it wasn’t for the snake before him. It was for his father.
Maximus stood. “Doesn’t this violate the truce?”
Augustus crossed his arms. “Of course it does. But we have a right to defend ourselves.”
He said nothing else, and Maximus did not inquire further.
The royals made their own rules. That had been drilled into him since birth—that he was better than everyone else—how the guidelines of morality that others must abide by did not apply to him.
It was a tenet he had always savored. But now, standing in the dungeon surrounded by prisoners, he was not so sure he savored it anymore.
“Do they have to be kept like this?” he asked.
“Like what?”
“In manacles, on the floor?”
His father frowned. “How else shall we keep them? In the spare bedrooms, in the east wing?”
Maximus sighed. He should have expected such an answer. “It just seems…harsh,” he said quietly. Harsh was the very least it seemed. This was inhumane, although such a word seemed strange to use when describing basilisks. Still, Maximus had developed enough of a conscience to know this was wrong.
“It is harsh,” Augustus snapped. “That is the point. The basilisks need to know their place, just as you do. You are meant to usher in a new era for our kingdom, an era of power. If you do not do it, there will only be more of this”—he raised his hand to encompass the cells around them—“and the possibility of war will be imminent.”
“It’s always been imminent.”
“And it is even more so now. Things have been difficult for a long time, Maximus. You do not inherit a kingdom of peace. You must be careful to control it, or else the balance may falter. And if it falters, there will be consequences.”
Maximus stared at the snake, at the wires puncturing its fingers. Gold seeped from its skin into the metal, traveling up the wires and through a gap in the ceiling. He thought about all the gold in the castle, how the cutlery was made from basilisk blood. His stomach turned.
“How long will they stay here?” he asked.
His father shrugged. “Until they die.”
Maximus couldn’t imagine dying in such a place.
He never wanted to be trapped here, removed from the daylight.
Somehow it seemed too cruel a fate, even for the snakes.
But then Maximus thought of the way Kronos had looked at Daphne, coveting her.
If you had asked him this morning, he would have said that an eternity of torture was no less than the basilisks deserved.
Still, Maximus wanted no part of this responsibility. It was too heavy—too real.
“If we do not subdue the snakes,” his father continued, “we risk revolt. We risk another war. We cannot let that happen—it is unacceptable.”
Maximus stared at the floor.
“I don’t think I can do this, Father,” he whispered. “It is…too much.”
Augustus turned to him, placing this hands firmly on his shoulders. “Being king is not about keeping everyone happy, Maximus. Being king is about doing what needs to be done.”
Father and son looked into one another’s eyes. Maximus stared at the man who had created him—the man who was responsible for everything he was and everything he would become. Unless he chose a different path.
“What if I cannot do what needs to be done?”
Augustus’s grip tightened. Maximus’s breath caught in his chest as his father leaned in, speaking slowly and deliberately. “You will do what needs to be done, or you will face war in your lifetime. It is that simple.”
When he said it like that, there was no other choice.
“The Passing of the Crown is soon,” his father continued. “It is time for you to step into who you were meant to be. You must prepare yourself for this responsibility, and you must do it with a proper wife at your side.”
Finally, Maximus understood why his father was showing him this. It was a message; Augustus was telling him that it was time to take his future seriously. It all came down to the competition—to Constance and Daphne. He knew he needed to make his father proud. But he also needed to follow his heart.
He thought of what he had promised Daphne mere minutes ago. Was this what it meant to be a good king? Surely, such cruelty would disgust her. It certainly disgusted him.
“Stay here,” his father said. “Until you understand what is at stake.”
With that, Augustus left Maximus alone in the dungeon.