TWENTY YEARS LATER
Caspen awoke soaked in sweat.
That was not unusual; most of his nights were spent participating in sweat-inducing activities.
But tonight, on a fleeting urge, he had retired to his chambers early and fallen asleep alone.
Now he sat up, running a hand through his damp hair.
The dream had been short, and undeniably sexual in nature.
That was not unusual either. But unlike most of his dreams this one had not been about a basilisk.
Caspen was well-versed in reading energy. All basilisks could sense a human, even in the darkness, the same way a predator could sense its prey. But the young woman in the dream had not felt like prey. She had felt like his equal. His superior, even.
But that was impossible.
It was a blasphemous thing to imagine. Basilisks answered to no one.
They were the most powerful creatures to walk the earth.
Humans and animals alike cowered before them.
Yet there was something different about the woman in his dream.
Something…new. Or perhaps ancient. There was a fine line between the two, and it was difficult to tell the difference.
Caspen stood, crossing to the shelf and selecting a bottle.
Alcohol did not get him drunk, but he had always enjoyed the sweet taste of wine.
He poured a glass and stared into the fire as he sipped it.
Dreams were significant to basilisks. He briefly considered finding someone to confide in but discarded the idea immediately.
The only person he could consult was his father, and he had no desire to speak to him.
The king had been impossible as of late, losing his temper at the slightest provocation.
Caspen knew it was due to the tension between the quivers.
The Senecas had been restless for years now.
More Senecas had been captured for bloodletting than Drakons, and the discrepancy had contributed to great turmoil.
It was becoming impossible to coexist under the mountain.
Caspen could not remember the last time he had walked through the passageways without receiving scathing glares from anyone outside his quiver.
He could understand their anger. He had crested Rowe’s father, and that action was unforgivable.
But it was done now, and he could not take it back.
There would be no redemption for Caspen. He had accepted that long ago.
The fire was nearly out, but he did not bother to stoke it. Instead, his thoughts wandered to the council meeting he had endured earlier that week. The meetings were becoming more frequent now, a clear indication of the turbulent state of things.
“You all know why we are here,” his father had begun. “We are looking for a solution to the unrest.”
Caspen’s eyes flicked to Adelaide’s. It was unusual for a basilisk who was not a member of the council to attend a council meeting.
She was from the Seneca quiver, and she was unmarried.
Caspen had slept with her before, although that was to be expected.
There was only one reason why she would be here, and he was quite sure they were about to hear it.
“It is imperative that we coexist peacefully,” his father continued. “There is no need for strife. We are all on the same side.”
Assorted sounds of disagreement peppered the room. They were not all on the same side. Even the table was divided—Senecas versus Drakons. The quivers were dangerously close to all-out war, and it fell to Caspen to unite them. A burden he had never asked to bear.
“There is a simple way to resolve our problem.” His father’s gaze went to Caspen, then to Adelaide. “My son and Adelaide will wed.”
“What?” Adelaide cried.
Caspen had no such reaction. He had expected this; it was the logical course of action. Caspen’s betrothal had always held weight, and with the quivers at odds, a marriage was the natural solution to join the two. Nevertheless, it was not ideal.
“I would prefer not to wed,” Caspen said.
His father glared at him with pure vitriol. It was unwarranted. Caspen had killed for the king. He had done his duty to his quiver and this was his reward? An arranged marriage? It was a punishment, nothing else. There was no justice in this decision. No decency.
“You will do as I say.”
Caspen stared rigidly ahead.
“I would prefer not to wed either,” Adelaide snapped.
The king turned to her. “You both come from good families. It is a worthy match.”
Another murmur of dissent. Perhaps Adelaide came from a good family, but Caspen’s name was marred by his actions. Actions that were unlikely to be forgiven by an engagement.
“Caspenon is a traitor,” Adelaide said. “You insult me by implying we are equals.”
Some latent part of him was offended by her words.
But another part of him agreed with her.
Caspen could understand her anger. She deserved far better than him.
But his father’s plan was not ridiculous; it was logical.
Inherent value had always been placed upon Caspen’s eventual partnership, and it would seem that the day had come to determine it.
I do not want this. Adelaide’s voice popped suddenly into his head.
Caspen’s eyes shifted to hers. And you think I do?
You would be lucky to wed me. It is I whose name will be tarnished.
Adelaide held his eye contact. She was a strong woman, which was admirable. But strength would not help her here.
If you feel so strongly about it, you may refuse.
You and I both know that is not an option. Your father has already made up his mind.
My father does not control everything.
He controls you.
Insults were sharper when they were true.
Caspen had no weapon to wield. He had crested Rowe’s father because his own father had asked him to.
It was simply the way things were done. Fathers expected loyalty of their sons.
But afterward—in the cold, lonely hours of the night, in the slippery ether of his own mind—Caspen had known regret.
It was not an emotion he felt often. But the more he considered his actions, the less he could justify them.
He did not blame Adelaide for her disgust. In a way, he shared it.
At his sides, Caspen’s hands clenched into fists so tightly his fingernails drew blood.
He stared down at his palms, watching as the half-moon marks healed themselves.
It was futile to fight the engagement. Adelaide was a suitable match.
She was attractive. Intelligent. Caspen could think of far worse women to wed.
But it was not his choice, and thus it was not acceptable.
If Caspen could not choose his mate, he did not care to marry at all.
What would you have me do? he asked.
There was a long pause. The council was silent, and Caspen knew they were watching their moment of shared communication.
In the pause, Caspen and Adelaide observed one another.
If they were to wed, it would not mean immediate peace.
But it would be a step closer to the possibility of peace, and Caspen knew such a chance was worth pursuing.
Adelaide knew it too, because finally, she said, I would have you do what is right for your quiver. And for mine.
It was a noble sentiment, albeit a naive one. Caspen was under no impression that a mere engagement would fix the bad blood between the quivers. Sometimes what was right was not what was effective. But they had no other choice.
Very well. We will do this for the good of our families. Are we agreed?
We are agreed.
“We will marry,” Caspen said aloud. “As long as there is no blood bond.”
His father shook his head. “A blood bond is preferable.”
“Not for me,” Caspen said.
“Or for me,” Adelaide said.
His father shook his head again. “It would be prudent to—”
“Do not speak to me of prudence, Father. You cannot force a blood bond. They are based on love, and we do not love each other.”
Despite the truth of his statement, a flash of hurt crossed Adelaide’s face. It was quickly replaced by resolve. “Exactly,” she said. “And we never will.”
If Caspen had the energy to be insulted, he would have been.
As it stood, he was already weary of this discussion and wanted nothing more than for it to be over.
It did not matter to him whether he pledged himself to Adelaide.
Centuries of life had taught him that everything, even engagements, marriages, and wars, would eventually pass. One day he would be free again.
His father frowned. It did not surprise Caspen that he preferred a blood bond.
The permanence of a blood-bound engagement would be seen as a gesture of good faith.
But it was impossible to complete one when neither party loved each other.
No basilisk, no matter how willing, could force such a bond without love.
“Very well,” his father said finally. “But you will wed by the end of the week.”
Basilisks did not have weddings like the humans did. Engagements bound by blood were sealed when both parties created a token for the other to wear. Engagements without a blood bond were even simpler. A formal blessing by the Serpent King was enough to legitimize the union.
The king looked at Adelaide, who nodded. Then he looked at Caspen, who nodded too.
And so it was done.
Caspen had spent the rest of the week in a state of barely controlled chaos, sleeping with anyone that moved.
Like all basilisk marriages, there would be no expectation of exclusivity with Adelaide.
The only way to be unfaithful as a basilisk was to be unfaithful with your heart.
Falling in love with someone who was not your betrothed was forbidden, but there would be no danger of that with Caspen.
He had no interest in falling in love. Instead, he had his fill of what felt like every basilisk under the mountain before finally retiring to his room, alone, to sleep. Then the dream had come.