Page 233 of Split or Swallow

“Do you have something you wish to say, Rowe?”

Rowe only sneered.

“Speak,” Caspen growled. “Or lose your tongue.”

Rowe’s response was cold:

“Let us not waste time with pleasantries, shall we? We all know why we are here.”

“Rowe is correct,” Bastian continued as if the interruption was of no consequence to him. “There have been…tensions as of late,” his eyes slid first to Caspen, then to Rowe. “Today we hope to ease those tensions.”

The Drakons and the Senecas glared at each other from opposite sides of the table. Tem couldn’t imagine a world where the tension in this room was eased. Caspen pressed a kiss to her temple.

Be patient. We have barely begun.

Bastian steepled his fingers.

“I understand that many of you are no longer content beneath the Drakon rule. But we must honor the circumstances that granted us power. Otherwise we forsake Kora, and we forsake ourselves.”

There was a testy silence in which everyone looked at Caspen. Every basilisk in this room knew exactly which circumstances had granted the Drakons power.

“And why should the Drakons keep their power?” said Rowe, his jaw tight. “What have they done to earn it?”

Tem thought Caspen might say something in his defense. Instead, his hand went between her legs. A low hiss filled the room the moment he touched her. All the basilisks were staring at them—staring at Tem. It was then that she understood her role in this meeting. Caspen had said her presence contributed to his power. He was exercising that power now—drawing on their connection to bend the council to his will.

Tem couldn’t complain. What he was doing felt like heaven, and she allowed herself to lean into him, savoring the way he touched her. Caspen shifted his grip, pulling her legs open to display her. His fingers dipped slowly in and out, spreading her wetness until she was dripping onto the marble chair.

The hissing intensified.

Rowe’s eyes were fixated on Tem, who held his gaze. She could see the direct effect her bond with Caspen was having on him—his eyes were black, his hands clamped tightly on the edge of the table. He looked like a man who didn’t want to yield, but had no other choice.

Pride surged through Tem.

What now? she asked.

Caspen was impeachable, his hard features like slate in the warm darkness. His lips brushed her neck.

Now we begin.

Bastian was looking at his son with something akin to pride, and Tem knew his plan was working. If Caspen wasn’t turning her on right now, she’d feel indignant about being used. But his fingers were lulling her into a trance she had no desire to break, and she barely heard Bastian as he said:

“I propose we put the royals in their place.”

A disbelieving murmur swept across the table. Surely there had been talk of rebellion before—of reclaiming what the basilisks deemed to be rightfully theirs. But now that the king was the one sanctioning it, the proposition held legitimate weight.

“And how shall we put them in their place?” Rowe asked.

Bastian’s answer was simple:

“We crest them.”

Tem heard several incredulous sounds.

“The royals will attempt to resist us,” another basilisk said. “We cannot hope to crest them all.”

Bastian pointed at Tem.

“She can.”