Page 266 of Kneel Before Me

“You all know why we are here,” his father had begun. “We are looking for a solution to the unrest.”

Caspen’s eyes flicked to Adelaide’s. It was unusual for a basilisk who was not a member of the council to attend a council meeting. She was from the Seneca quiver, and she was unmarried. Caspen had slept with her before, although that was to be expected. There was only one reason why she would be here, and he was quite sure they were about to hear it.

“It is imperative that we coexist peacefully,” his father continued. “There is no need for strife. We are all on the same side.”

Assorted sounds of disagreement peppered the room. They were not all on the same side. Even the table was divided—Senecas versus Drakons. The quivers were dangerously close to all-out war, and it fell to Caspen to unite them. A burden he had never asked to bear.

“There is a simple way to resolve our problem.” His father’s gaze went to Caspen, then to Adelaide. “My son and Adelaide will wed.”

“What?” Adelaide cried.

Caspen had no such reaction. He had expected this; it was the logical course of action. Caspen’s betrothal had always held weight, and with the quivers at odds, a marriage was the natural solution to join the two. Nevertheless, it was not ideal.

“I would prefer not to wed,” Caspen said.

His father glared at him with pure vitriol. It was unwarranted. Caspen had killed for the king. He had done his duty to his quiver and this was his reward? An arranged marriage? It was a punishment, nothing else. There was no justice in this decision. No decency.

“You will do as I say.”

Caspen stared rigidly ahead.

“I would prefer not to wed either,” Adelaide snapped.

The king turned to her. “You both come from good families. It is a worthy match.”

Another murmur of dissent. Perhaps Adelaide came from a good family, but Caspen’s name was marred by his actions. Actions that were unlikely to be forgiven by an engagement.

“Caspenon is a traitor,” Adelaide said. “You insult me by implying we are equals.”

Some latent part of him was offended by her words. But another part of him agreed with her. Caspen could understand her anger. She deserved far better than him. But his father’s plan was not ridiculous; it was logical. Inherent value had always been placed upon Caspen’s eventual partnership, and it would seem that the day had come to determine it.

I do not want this. Adelaide’s voice popped suddenly into his head.

Caspen’s eyes shifted to hers. And you think I do?

You would be lucky to wed me. It is I whose name will be tarnished.

Adelaide held his eye contact. She was a strong woman, which was admirable. But strength would not help her here.

If you feel so strongly about it, you may refuse.

You and I both know that is not an option. Your father has already made up his mind.

My father does not control everything.

He controls you.

Insults were sharper when they were true.

Caspen had no weapon to wield. He had crested Rowe’s father because his own father had asked him to. It was simply the way things were done. Fathers expected loyalty of their sons. But afterward—in the cold, lonely hours of the night, in the slippery ether of his own mind—Caspen had known regret. It was not an emotion he felt often. But the more he considered his actions, the less he could justify them. He did not blame Adelaide for her disgust. In a way, he shared it.

At his sides, Caspen’s hands clenched into fists so tightly his fingernails drew blood. He stared down at his palms, watching as the half-moon marks healed themselves. It was futile to fight the engagement. Adelaide was a suitable match. She was attractive. Intelligent. Caspen could think of far worse women to wed. But it was not his choice, and thus it was not acceptable. If Caspen could not choose his mate, he did not care to marry at all.

What would you have me do? he asked.

There was a long pause. The council was silent, and Caspen knew they were watching their moment of shared communication. In the pause, Caspen and Adelaide observed one another. If they were to wed, it would not mean immediate peace. But it would be a step closer to the possibility of peace, and Caspen knew such a chance was worth pursuing. Adelaide knew it too, because finally, she said, I would have you do what is right for your quiver. And for mine.

It was a noble sentiment, albeit a naive one. Caspen was under no impression that a mere engagement would fix the bad blood between the quivers. Sometimes what was right was not what was effective. But they had no other choice.