CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Maximus
Rage permeated Maximus the likes of which he had never felt before.
It had taken him less than an hour after leaving Daphne in the dungeon to realize that once again, he had taken the wrong tactic with her.
Daphne did not respond to anger—she was not swayed by aggression.
He’d retrieved his grandmother’s ring and resolved to try again.
But his proposal could not have gone more wrong. Aggression was the only answer now.
Daphne wanted him to be good. But it was far easier to be cruel.
Maximus was an empty shell. If he could not have Daphne, he did not care to have anyone at all.
It pained him to think of her with someone else.
It pained him to think of her at all. How could she love a snake?
How could she procreate with one? It was a disgusting development.
An aberration, a sin. Maximus could not believe the basilisk had managed to bewitch her so.
And now she carried his child. He wanted to kill it.
There was once a time when Maximus had longed for love.
But love was not of interest to him anymore.
At some point, love became a liability. Love was terrifying.
Debilitating. Dangerous. Love was a chain, a shackle around his neck that choked him into submission.
If that was love, he wanted no part of it.
Love was for fools.
Maximus was back in his room, a bottle of red wine deep, when a knock came on his door. For one wild moment, he thought it might be Daphne. Instead he opened it to see his father.
“The Serpent King wishes to meet with you.”
Maximus blinked. Perhaps he’d had too much wine. He must have misheard him. “What?”
His father bristled. “This is part of your duties, Son. I have met with him before.”
“But…why?”
“He wishes to discuss an amendment to the truce.”
Maximus raised his eyebrows. An amendment to the truce? It was unheard of. “I didn’t know that was possible.”
“Anything is possible when you are in power.”
He frowned. His father’s words implied that the basilisks were also in power. “What is the amendment?”
“I do not know. I’m sure the Serpent King will tell you.”
“Are you going to…be there with me?” Maximus hated the fear and hesitation in his voice. It made him feel pathetic to want his father in the room. But he had never negotiated anything on his own, much less an amendment to the truce with the Serpent King himself.
“He requested to meet with you alone.”
Augustus clenched his teeth as he said it. Of course his father would not be pleased with such a request—it meant he was being sidelined.
“Very well,” Maximus said with as much confidence as he could muster. “When is he arriving?”
“You will meet him in the study. Go right now.”
His father swept from the room. The moment he was gone, Maximus made for the study.
He wouldn’t dare be late to a meeting with the Serpent King.
When he arrived, the study was mercifully empty.
Maximus poured himself another wine before sinking into one of the armchairs by the fireplace.
The last time he was in this room, it had been with Daphne.
The thought made him irate. She was probably gallivanting around the caves with Kronos right this very moment.
He stared at his wine, resisting the urge to drown himself in it.
The next thing he knew, there was a knock on the door.
He leapt to his feet, placing the wine on the mantel before clearing his throat in what he hoped was an authoritative manner.
“Come in,” he said.
In walked the most formidable basilisk he had ever seen.
He was tall and muscular, wearing some sort of wrapped contraption that Maximus strongly suspected was a bedsheet.
Despite his unconventional garb, he was terrifying.
He also looked oddly familiar. It took a moment to place him, but as soon as Maximus did, the resemblance was obvious.
He was an older version of Constance’s basilisk—the one who had given him attitude during the elimination process.
The one who seemed to care disproportionately that he choose Constance as his wife.
Before Maximus could wonder about this, the Serpent King spoke.
“My name is Bastian.”
He did not extend his hand, as a human might. Instead he simply stood there. Unsure how to proceed, Maximus nodded.
“My name is Maximus,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Bastian’s eyes narrowed. “Do not lie, Maximus.”
“I’m—I’m not—”
“It is not a pleasure to meet me. You are afraid.”
Maximus opened his mouth to protest again, then shut it. Bastian had a point. He was terrified. So he simply nodded, not trusting himself to speak again. The Serpent King continued unprompted.
“For years, the royals have taken my people captive to turn their blood into gold.”
Dread twisted Maximus’s stomach. “How—how do you know—?”
“Do not be naive. You think I am unaware of what goes on in my own kingdom?”
What the hell did that mean? His kingdom?
“Any basilisk who ventures within the wall is in violation of the truce,” Maximus said cautiously. “They are not protected here. You cannot hold us responsible for how we react to a breach of—”
“There is no need to explain the truce to me,” Bastian snapped. “I know very well what is a violation and what is not.”
Maximus fell silent again. Any buzz he’d felt from the wine was long gone.
“I am not here to punish you,” Bastian continued. “I am here with a proposition.”
The implication that Bastian could punish him was not one Maximus was in the mood to entertain. Negotiation was certainly preferable. “In that case… What do you propose?”
For the first time since he’d arrived, Bastian paused. He looked into the fire, and Maximus watched as his sharp jaw clenched. “I will provide you with basilisks for the bloodletting.”
Silence fell. Maximus did not know how to respond. He was not yet king himself, but he knew enough about royal duties to know that giving up your own people for torture was probably frowned upon, even in basilisk culture.
“Why would you want to provide me with your own kind? How does that benefit you?”
“They are not my own kind,” Bastian said darkly.
He didn’t answer the second question.
“But… What do you want in exchange?”
Bastian merely looked at Maximus as if he were very stupid. “I want your discretion in exchange. My people cannot know I did this.”
Maximus nodded. The only person he would have told was no longer speaking to him.
“As far as you and I are concerned, this meeting never happened,” Bastian continued. “Do not expect the next Serpent King to do something similar. My son is not willing to take the same steps I am.”
His son? That piqued Maximus’s interest. For the first time, he realized there was something bigger at play here.
Bastian was not here just to settle some personal vendetta.
This was somehow tied to the succession of the crown.
Perhaps things were not going smoothly under the mountain.
The thought brought Maximus immense joy.
“When would you like to provide them?” he asked.
“Tonight.”
Maximus nodded. “Very well.”
“They will be left just inside the wall. You need only collect them.” Bastian turned to leave.
“Wait,” Maximus said.
The Serpent King paused, his eyebrow raised. Maximus couldn’t believe the words that were about to come out of his mouth. But they came anyway. “In exchange for my discretion, I want a certain basilisk.”
Bastian raised his eyebrows. “Who?”
“His name is Kronos.”
The Serpent King froze. He looked like he had just realized something. Then his expression smoothed over, and he said, “Very well. You shall have him.”
“Good.”
Bastian turned once more. Just before he reached the door, he looked back at Maximus.
“I have told no one I came here. If anyone from my quiver finds out I did this, I will know you were the one who leaked it. If that happens, there will be consequences for you and for your family. Do you understand?”
Again, Maximus nodded. He thought of Lilly upstairs, knowing he would never breathe a word of this to anyone.
“Good.” Bastian regarded him thoughtfully. Maximus shivered beneath his gaze. Almost as an afterthought, he said, “You will make a good king.”
Then he was gone.
Maximus stared at the empty doorway, unable to shake away the chill.
You will make a good king. Bastian had said it as if it were a compliment.
So why did it feel like an insult? Perhaps he didn’t want to be a good king.
Not if being a good king meant sacrificing his morals.
But what morals was he sacrificing? There was nothing left that was sacred to him.
Daphne was gone. He could not claim her; she would never be his.
So what reason did he have to try to be a better person?
Maximus understood on a fundamental level that life as he knew it was over. There had been before Daphne, and after Daphne. He existed only in the after.
When he left the study, his father was nowhere to be found. Maximus traipsed up to his room alone, returning to the wine he’d abandoned in front of his fireplace. Something was changing within him—something deep and terrible.
You have become hollow. It is a shame to see.
He knew he could not win Daphne back. She had never been his in the first place.
But he could make her as miserable as he was.
If Maximus had to face a future without the love of his life, so would Daphne.
He stared into the flames, his jaw tight.
His fingers undid the clasp of his trousers, relieving the sudden pressure on his cock.
The more he thought about inflicting pain on whoever held Daphne’s heart, the harder he became.
Rage mixed with arousal. He slid his hand between his legs and began to stroke.
Daphne.
Another stroke.
Daphne.
His strokes reached a feverish pace.
Daphne.
Cum pooled in his palm, seeping between his fingers.
Maximus had never finished so quickly before.
He stared into the fire, his fist clenched, his entire body numb.
The only woman he cared to see had just walked out of his life forever, and the future was dark without her.
He would have to marry Constance now. There was no other option.
Then again, perhaps there never had been.
His father would be overjoyed at this turn of events.
If he was going to do this, he would commit to it without remorse.
He’d once told Kronos to kiss the ground Daphne walked on or else he would bury him in it.
It was time to hold up his end of the bargain.
Maximus would be a man of his word. The basilisk had not kept her safe; he had impregnated her and torn her away from Maximus. He would pay for that.
There would be no mercy in his strike. Only precision in its execution.