Page 16 of Trial of the Cursed Egg

“Which ones do you have?” She tilts her head at me in almost a challenge. She hops to her feet with an unsettling ease just as Balor arrives, listening in.

“What does who have?” he asks, his eyes darting from me to the blood-soaked gauntlet, then back to Mina. His expression screams. How the hell did she pass this?

“Weapons. Abraxis asked what weapons I’ve trained with. I asked him which one’s does he have.” Mina accepts a bottle of juice from Callan, but before drinking, she pauses, sniffs at it, and gives him a side-eye. “Really? Already trying to poison me?” She rolls her eyes and downs the entire bottle in one smooth motion.

We all lunge at her, shouting, “No!” But it’s too late.

“We have to get you to throw up. Then we’re heading to the healer.” I move to grab her, but she effortlessly evades my grip, side-stepping as though she’s done this a thousand times.

She fixes me with a look that’s almost condescending. “I took after Dad. I’m immune to poison. It’s the only reason he allowed me to become a shadowblade.” Her gaze shifts to the racks of weapons lining the courtyard, while I just... stare.

“Immune?” The word stumbles out of my mouth, my brain lagging behind what she’s just said.

“Yes, immune. I’m also immune to acids and most fire.” A laugh, dark and twisted, escapes her lips, though she tries to look innocent. “Best of both worlds. Dad was smart, choosing Mom as his female. I took the most important traits from both parents.”

I glance at Callan, whose jaw has practically hit the floor. “What?” I grab his shoulders, shaking him, demanding answers.

“Think about it,” Callan breathes, eyes wide. “Iron dragons are immune to things greens aren’t, and vice versa. She’s got the coloring of a green, but her scales... her scales are as hard as an iron’s. She’s as lethal and cunning as a green, but as logical and pragmatic as an iron.”

The pieces snap together in my mind like a trap closing. If they had a son... he would’ve been a weapon of mass destruction. But Mina... Mina is more. “Female dragons are bigger...” I say aloud, the words heavy with realization.

Callan, Ziggy, and Balor freeze, processing the implications.

“He created a war machine,” Lysander mutters as he turns slowly, his eyes locking onto Mina like she’s a ticking bomb.

“I almost feel sorry for the first person who pisses her off when she can shift,” I say, a genuine smile tugging at my lips for the first time in what feels like an eternity.

Almost.

In my mind, I count down the days to her twenty-first birthday. It can’t come fast enough.

Fingers snap in front of my face, and I blink down at Mina, her fiery eyes locking onto mine. She’s smirking, that same reckless spark dancing behind her gaze as she hands me a sword. “Gonna stare, or are we going to spar?” Her laugh is sharp, almost teasing, as she glances around the training yard. “Looks like class is over for a bit, or it’s going to end up being one-on-one training for a while.” There’s a certain edge to her voice that makes my stomach tighten. I can feel the weight of her challenge. The next few sessions might push us both to the brink.

I grit my teeth, remembering the letter her father sent me. That bastard wasn’t exaggerating. The grueling training, the relentless drills he put his daughter through—it was all true. She’s not just skilled; she’s a weapon. I grip the hilt of my sword and swing first, testing her reflexes. She’s quick, faster than I expected, and each time our blades meet, it’s like a jolt of electricity shooting through me. Every time the steel sings, every time the blades dance, I lose myself to her a little more.

We move in sync, anticipating each other’s attacks and counters. There’s an intensity between us, a growing rhythm that pulls us closer with every strike, every parry. She watches me, eyes flicking over my movements, studying me like I’m a puzzle she’s determined to solve. I can almost feel it—an unspoken tension humming between us. It’s like she’s feeling the beginnings of the bond, the fragile thread connecting us, though she might not understand it yet.

Only four more weeks until her twenty-first birthday. Four weeks until she might sense it on her own, if I can keep her close. If I can stayin her orbit, maybe she’ll come to me willingly. That would be ideal. If she doesn’t … I glance at her again, the way she moves, the fire in her eyes, and my drake stirs beneath my skin. The bond is already there, fragile but undeniable, and I know … he won’t be gentle if I have to take matters into my own hands. Even if I ask him to be.

Mina

Two weeks later…

Basic education classes at the main campus feel like a slow burn of my patience, each hour stretching into an eternity. I clench my jaw, my nails biting into the palms of my hands. Today, though, it’s worse. I can feel my mood shifting, sharper, darker. And of course, Cora picks up on it, nudging my shoulder with a knowing smirk. “You’re pissy as all hell today. Someone needs male attention.”

I roll my eyes, glancing sideways at the poor fourth-year male who practically shrinks into himself as we pass. He looks one wrong word away from running. “Seriously?” I scoff, turning my attention to the expansive Shadowcarve campus, its ancient buildings casting long shadows over the lawns. The ever-watchful eyes of the academy lurk behind every corner, no doubt reporting back to the headmaster and the riders of the apocalypse masquerading as trainers. “I’ve got babysitters reporting my every move. The odds of sneaking into a guy’s room to let off some steam? Slim to none.”

I lower my head, letting out a long, frustrated sigh. “Besides, my betrothed is skulking around somewhere. In two weeks, he gets to play the big reveal at that stupid masked ball we’re required to attend for Royal Protocol class.”

Before I can sink any deeper into my irritation, a shadow passes over us. Iris, my familiar, swoops down, a scroll clutched tight in her talons. I grit my teeth as she lands with precision, offering up the inevitable message. With a resigned sigh, I untie the scroll and glance at the familiar seal. Lysander has already reported my victories to my father—of course he has.

“Dad’s proud of me,” I mutter under my breath, shoving the scroll into my pocket before Cora can get a good look. “And next week, he’s sending a car to take me dress shopping.” I wrinkle my nose at the thought, tugging absently at the stiff fabric of my uniform dress. “And if you think I don’t have leggings under here, you’re daft.”

Cora chuckles, looping her arm through mine as we start walking again. “Mom’s taking me shopping for the ball, too. Maybe we can meet up and shop together? It won’t be so awful if we suffer through it together.”

She squeezes me in a playful hug, batting her eyes up at me with that pleading look that always gets me. I sigh. “Fine. I was hoping to avoid the whole thing, but if you’re going…”

Cora giggles triumphantly, but my gaze is already ahead, fixed on the looming gates of Shadowcarve. “Time to head back to class.” I huff.

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