Page 334 of Split or Swallow

Bastian smiled at her—a cold, calculating smile.

“I am saying that we cannot always get what we want, now can we?”

The same thing Caspen had said when she’d asked him to spare Jonathan’s life.

Like father, like son.

In the following silence, Tem’s heartbeat pounded in her chest. Bastian stepped closer, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Caspen step closer too.

“So, Temperance,” he said quietly. “Why don’t you tell me why I would let you become so powerful.”

Tem’s palms were beginning to sweat.

Bastian wanted war. He coveted war. The Serpent King had held power for too long, and he was not willing to relinquish it. There was no scenario in which this wedding ended with peace. Tem saw that now. The council meeting was simply a way to get the Senecas to fall in line—to get her to fall in line.

It was crystal clear to her.

Tem realized finally what the crest really was: a ruse. A false promise—a lie. Of course it was too good to be true. Of course there would be no peace. The crest did benefit Bastian after all. It was true that it would make Tem more powerful than him. But that was exactly what the king wanted. She was merely a tool—a vessel through which Bastian could ultimately take that power for himself. Caspen’s words came back to her suddenly:

“He is the only basilisk with enough power to crest anyone he wants.”

The inevitable truth dawned.

“You plan to crest me,” Tem whispered.

A slow, sick smile twisted Bastian’s lips.

“Clever girl,” he said quietly.

Her eyes flicked to Caspen’s. The question she’d asked him so long ago rushed suddenly through her mind:

“What happens to a basilisk when they’re crested?”

“They die.”

Tem looked back at the king.

“If you crest me, my basilisk side will die.”

“Yes,” the king replied calmly. “It will.”

Little did Bastian know it was dying already. Tem grabbed the golden charm around her neck, brandishing it between them.

“My engagement to Caspen is bound by blood,” she said. “His life is linked to mine.”

“Yes,” the king said again, just as calmly. “It is.”

She stared at him in disbelieving epiphany.

“You would sacrifice your own son?”

Bastian’s nostrils flared.

“My son—” he hissed, and Tem recoiled at the vitriol in his voice, “—makes irrational decisions. My son is ruled by his emotions. My son—” he leaned in, and the temperature between them rose, “—is clearly not ready to be king. And you, Temperance, are certainly no queen.”

The words were eerily similar to the ones Maximus had said about Leo. Two fathers. Two kings. Both with no faith in their sons. Tem had always known that Bastian was ruthless—that all basilisks were capable of cruelty. But this was despicable.

“And if I refuse?” Tem straightened. “If I don’t perform the crest?”