Page 128 of Kneel Before Me

Apollo snorted. “I am no sheep. Just as you are no leader.”

His eyes narrowed. “You forget your place.”

“My place is right here,” Apollo said. “Between you and the throne.”

“You do not deserve the throne if you are willing to gain it this way. Cresting another basilisk goes against our most fundamental rules.”

Apollo stepped closer, looking Caspen straight in the eye. “I make my own rules, Brother.”

Apollo turned to leave, but Caspen gripped his arm, pulling him back. “It will corrupt you.”

Apollo whirled around to face him. “Then let it.”

It was a step too far for Caspen. Without thinking, he swung at Apollo, his fist crashing into his brother’s cheek, forcing him to double over. By the time his brother righted himself, he had already healed the bruise.

“How dare you hit your own brother?” Apollo spat. “Have you no respect?”

“You are no brother of mine,” Caspen spat back. “And I do not respect you.”

His words were the truth; he could not stand anything about Apollo in this moment. He was tempted to hit him again. But there was no point to this fight; it would end the same as all their other fights: with Caspen as the victor.

For once, Caspen was in no mood to prolong it. For once, Apollo was.

His fist came at Caspen like a comet; there was barely any time to dodge it before Apollo’s other fist was headed Caspen’s way. Caspen dodged punch after punch, becoming more irritated with each one. Apollo’s assaults were juvenile and predictable. They were no longer fighting about their father’s orders. This, like everything else between them, transcended to another meaning. Harmony.

“Boys.” A woman’s voice cut between them. “Cease this at once.”

Brother stepped away from brother. Caspen turned to see their mother storming toward them, her face twisted in anger.

“I raised you better than this,” Deltene said as she reached them.

“Apparently you did not,” Apollo snapped.

“Enough,” she hissed, looking only at Caspen, her eyes aflame. “Is this the behavior of a king?”

Caspen turned to face her. “I am not a king. Father made that quite clear.”

“You are not a king yet,” his mother snapped.

The hurt on Apollo’s face only deepened at her words. It threw their parents’ favor into sharp contrast. Not even Deltene considered Apollo a worthy successor. It was a wound that had festered for centuries. And now, under the pressure of their parents, it was bleeding.

“You must conduct yourself with care,” Deltene continued. “Especially in public.”

“You are not one to talk, Mother,” Caspen snapped.

Deltene froze. Her secret sat between them.

Apollo frowned, eyes darting between Caspen and Deltene, his brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

Caspen did not answer. Neither did his mother.

Instead she backed away slowly, her chin raised in defiance. Caspen knew he should not have said that. But he was furious with her, and now, he was also furious with himself. They were both failures; perhaps it was genetic. His mother was unable to resist the pull of her heart, and Caspen was unable to resist the same. He could not kill his own kind; he could not follow his father’s orders. He might as well hand Apollo the crown.

Before he could say another word, his brother disappeared. Caspen did not bother wondering where he would go—they would cross paths again soon enough. He was just debating returning to his chambers when a soft voice sounded behind him. “Family troubles?”

Caspen did not have to turn around to know it was Harmony. He could smell her—sense her, even in the crowd.

“My father is angry with me.”