Page 157 of Between Two Kings

“I have made my stance on petrification crystal clear. Do not pretend you do not understand.”

Tem shook her head. “It’s not safe for me not to know how to petrify. Apollo said so.”

“I do not take Apollo’s opinion into consideration when making my decisions. And neither should you.”

“But this was my decision. You wouldn’t teach me, so I—”

“There is a reason I did not teach you, Tem,” Caspen cried, and Tem flinched at his tone. “I did not want you to kill your own kind. It is a terrible thing—”

“To take a life,” she finished for him, her voice a mangled whisper. “Trust me, I know.”

“Trust me,” he snapped, stepping closer. “You do not. You are half-human, Tem. This will haunt you. The basilisk side of you may accept it, but the human side never will.”

Tears welled in her eyes. He was right. She was already experiencing the aftermath of the petrification: burgeoning power mixed with horrifying guilt. Caspen had tried to protect her from that. And he had failed.

“It’s already done, Caspen. I can’t take it back.”

He only shook his head, his gaze returning to the fire.

Caspen was furious, that much was clear. But about what, exactly? He seemed far angrier that she’d petrified someone than about the fact that Apollo had helped her orgasm. Tem looked at the fire too, and for a moment, there was silence. Then Caspen whispered, “What will your little prince think of what you did?”

A chill ran down Tem’s spine. Little prince. It was his most demeaning nickname yet. And it was also the first time Tem thought about her actions in the context of Leo. What would Leo think of what she’d done tonight? He would hate it. As he should. She had violated the truce; she had taken a human life. Leo would be horrified if he found out she’d killed a man.

Tem grit her teeth. “He’ll never know.”

Caspen turned to her slowly. “Won’t he?”

His eyes bored into hers. Tem knew he wouldn’t tell Leo she’d petrified someone. It would put her in danger, and Caspen would never allow that. She understood what he was really saying: that the truth would always come out—that she would not be able to keep this secret forever, especially from someone who asked her not to lie to him.

Before she could think of a response, Caspen brushed past her, heading for the door.

“Caspen,” Tem cried after him. “Don’t leave me. Please.”

Caspen’s jaw tightened. His voice was deathly quiet as he said, “And why should I stay? I have no doubt you can find company if you desire it.”

“The only company I desire is yours.”

“I find that difficult to believe.”

Tem stepped closer. He was not the only one who was angry here. “You don’t take me hunting anymore. You’ve given up on me.”

“I have not given up on you,” Caspen snapped. “I would never do that. But I cannot take you hunting when I require it far more often than you do and it clearly strains you to transition.”

There it was. The truth that neither of them wanted to face. Tem could barely transition anymore. Only now she knew it was because of Leo—that her inability was no mere matter of will, that it would continue to strain her until she consummated the crest. But to Caspen, she just seemed incapable.

“And now I find myself wondering whether it truly strains you at all,” he said.

“Excuse me?”

“You must transition in order to petrify. Were you able to do so?”

Tem opened her mouth, then closed it. What was he implying? That she was purposefully being a burden to him but not to Apollo? That she was using her weakness only when convenient, wielding it like a weapon to pit brothers against each other? The accusation made her want to scream. She’d just learned that she had to consummate the crest—she was protecting Caspen by not doing so. The only reason she’d sought solace with Apollo was because she hadn’t been able to seek it with Caspen. He was the one who had driven her into his arms.

Tem squared her shoulders, preparing to defend herself. “It’s not my fault that Apollo taught me what you wouldn’t.”

A moment passed. Then, to her surprise, Caspen relented. The anger left his eyes, and his fists unclenched. He took a step closer. “You are right,” he said quietly. “I should have taught you how to petrify. It is no surprise that you sought that knowledge elsewhere. And it is certainly no surprise that my brother was so eager to provide it.”

“He didn’t mean to—”