Page 46 of Trial of the Cursed Egg

I hide my grin as I pull the hood off my head, letting my hair cascade down. Gasps ripple through the crowd of students. My hair is the same deep green as my father’s scales, an unmistakable marker of who I am. The boy shoots, his arrow landing in the third ring from the bullseye. He smirks, pride rolling off him in waves as his friends cheer.

“Beat that,” he says, turning back to face me—then freezes, his face paling. Recognition flickers in his eyes, and I see the exact moment he realizes who I am.

“Hmmm … it’s approximately sixty yards to the target, right, Havock?” I call out, using Abraxis’s last name. He stiffens, his eyes narrowing at me, but he nods, the wind shifting slightly, carrying the crisp scent of pine.

“Sixty-five, to be exact. North wind at five miles an hour, low dew point.” His voice is low, a warning in it meant for me, but I ignore it, drawing an arrow from my quiver.

I unzip my jacket from shoulder to wrist, exposing the emerald and iron-colored scales that emerge to cover my left forearm down to the first knuckle. The courtyard falls silent. All eyes are on me as I draw back, my fingers resting against the riser.

The arrow flies straight and true, hitting the bullseye with a solid thud. I don’t even pause before nocking a second arrow. This one splits the male’s in two, the pieces falling to the ground with a dull clatter. The silence is thick, stunned.

“Okay, I’m warmed up. What do you want me to practice today, Havock?” I unzip the high collar of my armor, exposing the mark at the base of my throat. Abraxis’s mark seared into my skin. The possessiveness flares in his gaze, and I see the male who spoke earlier swallow hard.

“Anything you desire, my mate.” Abraxis’s voice is steady, pride lacing every word as he strides over to retrieve my arrows. He hands them back, his fingers brushing against mine before he cups my face, pressing a soft kiss to my lips. “Perhaps use the throwing knives and axes today. It’s been a while since you practiced.”

“Of course.” I flash the third-year a smile as Abraxis turns back to his class. “One day, you might be half as good as my mate,” Abraxis says, his voice carrying a dark promise.

I take my place, picking up the weight of a throwing knife and spinning it between my fingers. My gaze never leaves the male who challenged me as I take aim, my smile sharpening when he flinches. It’s going to be a long day for him. And for once, I think it might actually be fun.

The alcove is quiet, save for the soft hum of my breath and the satisfying thunk of metal meeting wood. I throw another knife, watching as it flies through the air, perfectly straight, before burying itself dead center in the target. The knives are more than weapons—they’re an extension of me. With each throw, I feel a sense of release, like I’m shedding layers of the anger and hurt that cling to me like a second skin.

“Has anyone seen Willamina?” Callan’s voice breaks the silence, carrying across the courtyard. I stiffen, my fingers gripping the handle of the next knife. Slowly, I pull my hood back up, concealing myself in the shadowed alcove. The egg carrier presses against my chest, itsweight familiar, grounding. I slip back, deeper into the darkness, merging with the shadows until I’m all but invisible.

“She was just…” Abraxis trails off, eyes sweeping the range as if I’ll suddenly materialize in front of him. He knows better than that. I hold my breath, willing myself to disappear entirely.

A faint whisper brushes against my ear, and I suppress a flinch. “Who are you hiding from?” Ziggy’s voice is as soft as the wind rustling through leaves.

“Who do you think?” I reply, arching a brow as I glance back at him. His lips twitch with restrained amusement, but he doesn’t comment further. Instead, he watches me slip on my black leather gloves, the dark fabric blending seamlessly with the shadows cloaking me.

“He’s here because of the painting,” Ziggy murmurs, leaning closer as we move along the shadowed alcove. “That, and Balor threatened to beat his ass if he didn’t straighten up his act.” His barely contained laugh reverberates through me, almost making me smile.Almost.

I watch from the darkness as Callan stands in the open courtyard, his shoulders slumped, eye cast down. He kicks at a few stray rocks, frustration and regret radiating off him in waves. “Can you convince her to come to dinner with me? I want to take her into town.” His voice sounds hollow, almost defeated.

“Class dismissed!” Abraxis calls out, his tone sharp and controlled. The students scatter, leaving the courtyard empty except for the three of us and Callan. Abraxis rounds on him, the low growl in his voice a clear warning. “You fucked up, man. I’m not forcing my mate to do anything. You should be able to sense her if you didn’t damage thebond so badly.”

Callan flinches, his jaw tightening. “I know! I know I fucked up. Help me fix it. Please…” His voice cracks, raw with desperation.

I clutch the egg carrier closer, feeling its faint hum pulse in time with my heartbeat. I rest a hand on it, and a calming warmth spreads through me. It’s been doing this more and more lately, responding to my moods, comforting me when I need it the most.

“When did it start that?” Ziggy asks, his gaze flicking to the egg.

“Last week. It’s … comforting. Like it knows when I’m upset.” I let out a soft sigh, watching Callan through lowered lashes.

“Mina, come out, please.” Abraxis’s gaze locks on mine, his eyes pleading. I draw in a deep breath and step out of the shadows, pulling my hood back. My hair tumbles down in a dark wave, catching the light as I lift my chin to meet his gaze.

“Please hear him out. Whatever you decide, I will support you one hundred percent.” Abraxis looks torn, the conflict clear in the tense lines of his face. He wants to be there for me, to stand by my side, but Callan’s his friend, too. It’s a delicate balance.

I keep my eyes on Abraxis for a moment longer, letting the silence stretch. Then I turn my gaze to Callan, taking in the slump of his shoulders, the raw desperation etched into his features. He’s a mess. But it doesn’t move me. Not anymore.

“Dinner on Saturday, five p.m.,” I say finally, my voice steady and cold. I see the flash of hope in his eyes, the way he straightens just a fraction, but I don’t linger on it. Instead, I glance at Ziggy. “Take me home.”

His hand comes up, and I grasp the bow case and quiver just as the world blurs around me. There’s a tugging sensation, a rush of cold air, and then everything shifts. The courtyard vanishes, replaced by thefamiliar dark wood and soft glow of my quarters. I let out a slow breath, the tension slowly unraveling from my shoulders.

Ziggy’s presence hovers behind me, silent and steady. “You okay?” he asks, his voice gentle.

“Yeah,” I murmur, though the words feel hollow. My gaze drifts to the egg carrier still cradled against my chest. “Just … tired.”

“Right.” He doesn’t push, just nods once before taking a step back. “If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

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