Page 91 of Three Dark Kings and the Gilded Serpent

I test his resolve, inching closer to him while we keep moving forward. He doesn’t edge away this time.

He’s gleaming with sweat, barely clothed and wearing only the scorched remains of what might have once been pants made from some kind of ochre-colored leather. His feet are bare. Much of his muscular form is on display, but while he seems overly concerned about coming near me, he appears completely indifferent about his near-nakedness.

“As inspiring as that is,” he says, “you’ll forgive me if I don’t want to turn your world to flames.”

“Assuming you could.”

Sudden heat fills Maxim’s dark-brown eyes. “I know I could.”

My brow furrows.

His smile returns.

Until he seems to realize he’s veered even closer to me.

“Fucking moth to a flame,” he mutters.

“Flame to a moth,” I correct him, my eyebrows arched.

He doesn’t back down, putting extra space between us. “You are the furthest from a moth of any creature I’ve ever seen, Thyra.”

I’m not sure that’s a compliment.

Up ahead, the white glow is a little stronger now that we’re marginally closer to it, but at this pace, I’d guess we’re still hours away from our destination.

Miriam’s suggestion of commandeering Maxim’s serpent wasn’t a bad one.

“What is your serpent’s name?” I ask.

“I don’t know.”

“You haven’t named him?” Something Maxim and Antony might have in common, given that Antony didn’t name Azul until I insisted.

Maxim’s voice is suddenly tight. “Naming him is not my place.”

Not the place of a king?

“I’m new to your customs,” I say, edging toward him, testing once again if he’ll let me close the gap between us. “Will you explain that to me?”

The tension in Maxim’s voice eases. “Every golden serpent is named once, and only once. Their name matches their soul. To change a serpent’s name is highly disrespectful.”

“So when you said you don’t know his name…”

“This serpent slithered out of the sand and presented himself to me two years ago,” Maxim says. “That was after ten years of other serpents refusing to carry me for fear of my fire. I hadn’t seen him before, but he was already fully grown. He already had those scars. Can you see them?”

His question might not be rhetorical, given how dark it is. I’m certain Maxim will assume I’m struggling with my vision right now. Certainly, his pupils are dilated. He’ll be accustomed to living in an overly bright environment.

“I see his scars.”

“My people assume I inflicted those burns, but I didn’t,” Maxim says. “Those wounds, along with his age, mean he’s already seen battle and must already have a name. I asked my sister, my cousin, and even Miriam, but with all their connections, they couldn’t tell me if this serpent carried a warrior before me or what the serpent’s name might be. So here I am, calling him Serpent and nothing more.”

The stiffness has returned to Maxim’s voice and now I attribute it not to anger, but to frustration.

“I take it calling him Serpent is one step down from insulting him with a new name.”

Maxim gives a heavy exhale. “For an animal as loyal and fearless as this serpent is, he deserves to be called by his soul-name. I wish I knew it.”

“What about giving him a title?”