Page 154 of Kneel Before Me

It was the confidence she was always wanting from him. Not if, but when. Harmony twisted her neck to look at him. Caspen stared into her eyes, seeing nothing but two bottomless pits of desire. There was no end to her want. Perhaps he would never satisfy her. It did not matter; he had accomplished what he needed to today. Carefully, he hoisted her off his lap. She stood slowly and arranged her hair over her shoulders before giving him another lingering look.

Well?

Caspen smiled. He held out his hand and she took it. They walked together through the passageway, heading for the vial room. A shallow stone basin had been placed at the base of the vials, a small stone knife resting on its edge. Caspen took it first, slicing his palm without remorse. A splatter of crimson spilled over the stone. He handed the knife to Harmony, who did the same. She placed her injured hand over his, combining their blood. Then Caspen leaned forward, tracing a name into the basin with his finger:

Harmony.

Their wounds healed a moment later. A moment after that, Harmony was gone. Caspen stood alone, wondering whether this was finally the year Kora would decide he was worthy of the throne. A glance at the basin told Caspen that Kronos had not yet chosen his guest.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Maximus

The Passing of the Crown was merely ceremonial—there was no need to be nervous.

The town square was filled with villagers wrapped in scarves and coats, their hands holding mugs of mead. Suddenly, Maximus spotted a swirl of curly hair. Daphne. Immediate relief swept through him. Part of him was afraid she wouldn’t come. The Passing of the Crown was exactly the kind of event that Daphne would skip. Maximus could hardly blame her; he rather wished he could skip it himself.

“Son,” his father said as they approached the stage. “Stand behind me.”

Maximus didn’t need to be told where to stand. But he obeyed anyway, positioning himself on the step below his father, a row of guards behind them. Maximus recognized that this was a momentous occasion for Augustus. By passing the crown to his son, he was symbolically ensuring his lineage remained in power. It was a testament to his ability to raise the future king. He was eye level with his father’s shoulders, which were thrown back proudly. Somehow, that same sense of pride was absent in Maximus.

He scanned the crowd for Daphne again. She was standing in the same spot as before, only now she was talking to someone, a woman with a baby in her arms. Maximus wondered whether that was Ella, her friend who thought he was a prat. He stood a little straighter, running a hand through his hair.

“Come,” his father said.

They ascended the stage together. The moment they did so the crowd cheered. Maximus stared only at Daphne, who was watching with her lips pursed. Why wasn’t she cheering?

They stopped at the edge of the stage.

“Thank you all for being here today,” Augustus began. “You honor us.”

Another cheer swept through the crowd.

“As you know, my son seeks a wife,” his father continued. “Once he is married, he will take on the responsibility of becoming king. It is a position of great privilege.” He turned to Maximus. “I know he will do what it takes.”

Another raucous cheer. The villagers were in good spirits; the mead was flowing. Maximus did not share their joy. He could think of nothing but what his father had shown him in the dungeon—how the snakes were kept in cells beneath their feet.

Augustus looked him straight in the eye as he said, “Kneel, my son.”

But Maximus couldn’t seem to move. To kneel would be to accept the crown. To kneel would be to accept a legacy he was not sure he wanted any part in. What would Daphne think of him if she knew about the bloodletting? He doubted she would ever look at him again. Daphne was compassionate and caring and kind—she would be horrified to learn what was happening in the dungeon. Maximus himself was still grappling with the knowledge, and he possessed a far worse opinion of basilisks than Daphne did.

Still, Maximus could not move.

He thought about how Daphne had treated the spider—a creature with less power than herself. She had urged him to consider the value of a life. Somehow, in the short time he had known her, she had become his moral compass. See how you like holding another creature’s life in your hands. He hadn’t liked it then, and he did not like it now. Maximus knew the bloodletting changed everything. It disrupted the laws of nature, turning predator into prey, victim into abuser. It was an incredible responsibility to continue such a practice. The very fact that Maximus did not want Daphne to find out about it made it something he had no interest doing. So how could he accept the crown when it meant accepting the bloodletting?

Maximus stared at his father, who stared right back at him.

“Kneel,” Augustus hissed.

Slowly, against the pull of his heart, he knelt.

Just as slowly, his father lowered the crown onto his head. Maximus was motionless as the cold metal slid over his hair, stopping once it reached the tips of his ears. He stared up at his father, at the face that was so similar to his, wondering if it would be him standing there one day, imploring his own son to continue the bloodletting. The thought made him shudder. Behind him, the crowd was cheering. At least, they were making noise of some sort.

Maximus frowned. It sounded more like screaming.

There was movement on the stage; the guards were running toward them. Maximus stood, watching as they ran right past him, leaping from the stage and into the crowd.

“What are they—?” he began but did not get to finish because his father grabbed his arm.