CHAPTER THIRTY #2
The rest of the ride was spent in silence.
When they reached the castle, his father stalked off into the parlor, slamming the door behind him.
Maximus ascended the stairs, checking on Lilly before shutting himself in his bedroom.
He removed the crown slowly, setting it on the mantel and staring at the intricate gold whorls.
Diamonds nestled in numerous nooks. It was a gaudy thing, not meant for personal use, its sole purpose to represent power.
The gold shone in the firelight. For some reason, the sight made Maximus sick.
Generations of kings in his family had worn this very same crown, passed down from their fathers just as his father had passed it to him.
How much basilisk blood had been spilled to make it?
It was an honor. It was a burden.
He ran a weary hand over the back of his neck, touching the raised scars there. They were supposed to tether him to his family—to his father, specifically. But most days they felt like a noose around his neck, ever tightening, unyielding. Being king is about doing what needs to be done.
What if he wanted to do things differently than his father had?
He was already well on his way to doing so.
There was only one person who was truly in charge of his future, and it was not the current king.
If he wanted to rule his kingdom his own way, he would.
And if he wanted to choose Daphne, he would.
That was the entire plan, after all. He had no desire to live in a world where she was not the center of his orbit.
In recent days he had dared to dream about a life with her.
He knew it was unlikely, if not downright impossible.
But he dreamed nonetheless. He pictured her in a white dress, walking down the aisle toward him.
He pictured her holding Lilly, like she’d done the first night they met.
He pictured her holding more children too, ones they would have together.
Maximus shook his head, crossing to the bar cart to pour himself a glass of wine.
He took a healthy gulp, then poured some more.
Did Daphne get away from the guards—from the basilisks?
His thoughts ran wild, spinning entirely out of his control.
What if the serpent woman had circled back for her and her brother had followed?
He couldn’t stand not knowing. Before he could decide what to do about it, there was a knock on his door.
Maximus frowned, sighed, downed his wine, and opened the door.
“Your Highness.” The last person he wanted to see. Constance.
“What are you doing here?”
“Your father sent for me,” she said, sweeping into the room before he could stop her. “He thought you might like some company.”
Maximus had neither the time nor the stamina to explain to her how wrong she was. If he wanted company at all, it certainly wasn’t hers. Constance was already crossing to the bed, sitting on the edge and looking up at him expectantly.
“Aren’t you going to offer me a drink?”
Maximus didn’t even hesitate. “No.”
“No?”
“Constance, darling. I can offer you nothing. I’m afraid you won’t find what you are looking for here.”
“But your father said—”
“My father.” Maximus crossed to the door, holding it open for her expectantly. “Was mistaken. I do not desire company tonight. At least, not yours.”
Hurt flashed over Constance’s face, but it had no effect on him.
Maximus was filled with a lightning strike of adrenaline that made him feel as if he could accomplish anything. Even this. He pushed the door open even farther. “I shall escort you out.”
Constance hesitated for a moment longer, her mouth twisted in displeasure. At last she stood, sweeping out of the room just as smoothly as she’d swept in. He walked her all the way to a carriage, not bothering to say goodbye. Then he climbed into one himself.
“Take me to Daphne Verus’s home.”
The footman frowned. “I don’t know where she lives.”
“Then find me someone who does.”
The footman bowed. “Yes, Your Highness.”
He scampered away. In his absence, Maximus stared out the window at the stars.
The Alpha Serpentis was bright tonight, shining now that the sky had cleared of rain.
Maximus had never felt particularly connected to the stars—the sky did not incite fascination in him the way it did in other people.
He never watched the sunset; he did not care for a sunrise.
But tonight it felt as if the constellation were pointing him in the direction of Daphne—as if the cosmos were spurring him on.
Perhaps he was becoming sentimental as he got older.
Or perhaps fate was leading him toward his future.
Either way, when a different footman returned and the carriage jolted into motion, he found himself oddly calm.
The journey was not a long one; before he knew it, they had reached a garden gate with a small cottage beyond it. Maximus approached slowly, spotting an older woman in the kitchen. Long, loose curls. The same freckled skin. This must be Daphne’s mother.
Maximus knocked on the front door.
The woman opened it, her eyes going wide the moment she saw him. “Your…Highness?”
“Good evening,” he said smoothly. “I apologize for disturbing you. I was wondering if Daphne was home.”
“She is at Ella’s house,” her mother said, still wide-eyed. “They were at the square together.”
“Ah. I see.”
Maximus hadn’t considered that. Of course Daphne would check on her friend. Mild annoyance filled him as he realized she hadn’t actually gone home like he’d told her to.
“You are welcome to wait for her,” Daphne’s mother said when the silence dragged on. “If you wish.”
“Thank you,” Maximus said. “I will do just that.”
An awkward pause followed, in which they stared at each other. Then Daphne’s mother stepped back, beckoning him into their home.
“Can I get you anything while you wait?” she said. “Something to eat, or perhaps to drink? We have plenty of wine. I…believe you sent it.”
Maximus smiled. “No, thank you.” He shook his head. “I just need to speak with her.”
“Very well. You can wait in her room.” She pointed at a door off the kitchen. “It’s just through there.”
With a polite nod, Maximus left her.
Daphne’s room was small—smaller than Maximus’s bathroom at the castle.
He stood in the middle, suddenly unsure what to do.
There was no chair, and it seemed wrong to sit on her bed.
A glass spray bottle was perched on her dresser.
Without thinking, Maximus crossed to it, picking it up and spraying it into the air.
It hardly smelled like anything—just the barest whiff of the sea.
But he recognized it instantly as the same scent he’d caught in Daphne’s hair when they were on horseback.
Maximus closed his eyes, breathing it in.
He sprayed it one more time for good measure.
Then he set it down, his gaze falling to a stack of paper tucked behind the bottle.
Letters.