Page 107 of Between Two Kings

“What do you mean, Caspen?” she insisted. “What am I unwilling to do?”

“What has to be done.”

Tem stared at him, trying desperately to understand what he was saying to her. What, in Caspen’s eyes, needed to be done? She tried to think like a basilisk, to see things from his perspective. Comprehension dawned.

Leo was bound to her. Tem was the only one who had the power to influence his choices. It was a horrible power—one she wished she could give back—but a power nonetheless. Caspen wanted her to use that power. It’s what any basilisk would do.

“You want me to give him an order?”

Caspen didn’t reply. He didn’t have to. Of course that’s what he wanted—of course he considered Leo to be so far below him that he deserved to be commanded like a child.

“He’s a person, Caspen. Not a toy. I can’t just order him around.”

“You can tell him to stop the bloodletting.”

“I’m not telling him that, Caspen. It won’t solve anything. Evelyn will still—”

“It will solve everything, Tem. Everything.”

But Tem just shook her head. She couldn’t believe Caspen was even suggesting this. To give Leo an order would be to abuse the power dynamic created by the crest. Leo trusted her not to tell him what to do—Tem herself had promised him she would never give him another order. She remembered how horrible it felt when she’d told him to calm down and he’d obeyed. Tem never wanted to make him feel like that again.

“I won’t do it,” she said quietly but firmly.

“Then do not tempt me to do so myself.”

Tem froze at the anger in his voice. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she whispered.

“It means”—Caspen leaned closer—“that while you may be unwilling to do what is necessary, I am perfectly willing.”

Tem’s blood ran cold. “He drank my venom,” she said. “He wouldn’t obey you anyway.”

“Would he not?”

In the devastating silence, Tem remembered what Caspen told her about his father, the former Serpent King: He is the only basilisk with enough power to crest anyone he wants. As the new Serpent King, that power now fell to Caspen. It didn’t matter that Tem had given Leo her venom—it was protection from being crested by another basilisk, but Caspen was the one basilisk who could override that protection. If he crested Leo, the human king would be bound to Caspen instead of Tem. If he gave him any order, he would have to obey.

Tem looked up at him. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“It is my right.”

“Your right?” Tem stepped backward, floored by his words. This was a side of Caspen she did not know: a side that scared her. “You can’t just do anything you want,” she whispered. “You’re not a god.”

Fury flashed over Caspen’s face. “Am I not? He should thank me for my benevolence.”

“He’s not a plaything, Caspen. He’s a person. You can’t just—”

“He exists because of me.”

Caspen’s girls were always chosen. He had trained Leo’s mother. And his grandmother, and his great-grandmother. He’d been given the nickname Serpent King for his achievements, and he had earned it. Caspen—and Caspen alone—was responsible for Leo’s existence. Without him, Maximus never would have married Leo’s mother, and they never would have had children.

Caspen was right. Leo existed because of him.

They stared at each other with an intensity Tem could barely stand. They were far beyond negotiating now. Something had broken between them—something vital. The truth, as it so often did, had forced its way to the surface at last. Caspen expected her to make a choice—to fall in line. It did not matter that she was half-human, half-basilisk. He would force her to choose the same way she’d just forced Leo.

But Tem would not be tamed. She could not control who she loved, and she did not care to try. Caspen, in his infinite, ancient wisdom, would have to bear that. She looked him in the eye as she said, “That doesn’t give you the right to control him.”

Caspen lifted his chin, looking down at her. He was so regal in that moment—so deeply powerful—that Tem nearly shivered. “I created him.”

“Your father created you. Does that mean he had the right to control you?”