Page 55 of Trial of the Cursed Egg

But everything changes after the egg.

The first painting in that series is a castle perched on the edge of a cliff, a place only a creature with wings could reach. Several paintings down, the same castle is engulfed in flames, crumbling down the mountainside. My breath catches as I move along the wall, seeing the progression. Emerald-green and iron scales appear in the next set of paintings, belonging to her dragon, the silver-steel edging on the ridges glinting like freshly sharpened blades. Then Abraxis’s dragon—a massive beast of black scales with brass edging where Willa’s are silver.

She’s even painted a close-up ofmyfeathers, the iridescent browns, and golds shimmering as if I could reach out and touch them. But how…? “Did she ever see your shift?” I ask Balor, my gaze shifting to his own image: the matte-black scales of his basilisk, slick with some dark substance.

“Not that I’m aware of,” he mutters, shaking his head, his confusion clear.

I move on to Leander’s Nightmare, the eerie fire of its mane captured perfectly against the black of its fur. I glance at him, but he’s already shaking his head. “How is she painting creatures she hasn’t seen?” I whisper, the words almost choking me.

“Maybe my mate is a seer…” Abraxis murmurs, staring at the newest painting. The silence that follows is suffocating. He steps closer, pointing to the dragon in the reflection of the larger beast’s eye. “This is Klauth. At least, what heshouldlook like, based on accounts from the hundred-year war.” His finger traces over the canvas, his hand trembling. “And that … that’s definitely Abaddon in his eye’s reflection. I’d bet a year’s salary on it.”

His words slam into me, each one landing like a punch to the gut. I look at the paintings again, my pulse hammering in my ears. My gaze locks onto the depiction of Klauth, his eyes blazing as if he’s staring right back at me. And there—caught in the reflective surface—is Abaddon, the unmistakable dark form of her father.

“Holy shit … I think you’re right.” My voice is barely a whisper, the weight of what that means settling over us like a shroud. If Mina has seenthis… if she’s painted the hatching of Klauth and the death of Abaddon… My chest tightens painfully, the breath rushing from my lungs.

“If she’s truly a seer, then she’s more valuable than any treasure hoard in the world,” I say, the realization heavy and terrifying. A silence falls over us, the air thick with unspoken fears. Because if Klauth knows she’s seen his future … then she’s in more danger than we ever could have imagined.

Mina

I wake up with a start,just like I do most nights lately. Heart racing, pulse pounding in my ears, I struggle to separate dream from reality. Shattered images dance behind my eyes, haunting me with shadows of violence and loss.Am I losing my mind?The vivid scenes of war and bloodshed feel so real that I almost expect to find the scent of iron lingering in the air.

Carefully, I slip out from between Abraxis and Callan, their warmth grounding me even as I force myself to move away. I need to see Iris. My bare feet barely make a sound as I pad across the room, each step careful and quiet. A soft glow emanates from the corner of the room where my little faerie dragon, Iris, curls protectively around the red egg. Her iridescent wings shimmer softly in the low light, a living shield. She stirs slightly as I approach, but doesn’t wake—her soft snore filling the silence like a comforting lullaby.

My mates did everything they could to exhaust me before bed. But it didn’t help. Their touches and whispers were a temporary solace against the storm brewing in my mind. I still dreamed of blood, ofbetrayal, ofhim. A shudder runs through me, and I quickly grab a robe, slipping it on to ward off the chill that has nothing to do with the temperature.

The suite is cloaked in silence. I cross the room and notice the familiar sight of one of the guys asleep on the couch, like always. Tonight it’s Balor, his broad frame taking up most of the cushions as he sprawls awkwardly. His brow furrows even in sleep, a look of concern etched deep. I bite back a sigh.Why are they so afraid? What aren’t they telling me?Every night, one of them insists on keeping vigil outside my door, like they’re expecting someone—or something—to come for me. But they won’t tell me what has them so spooked.

I make my way to the small kitchenette, the soft hum of the fridge and the faint ticking of a clock the only sounds in the quiet. I pour water into a kettle and set it to heat, grabbing a handful of dried herbs to steep into a tea that I hope will soothe my restless mind. Maybe tonight I’ll actually get some sleep, but I doubt it. I’m not even sure Iwantto sleep anymore. Not if it means seeing those things again.

Why am I seeing them?The images, the flashes of things I shouldn’t know, events that haven’t happened yet. My fingers tighten on the edge of the counter as I stare blankly at the steam rising from the cup. I haven’t told the guys about the assassination attempt I saw before it happened. At first, I thought I was insane—seeing myself being attacked in vivid detail. Or when I knew which eggs would light up for mebeforeit actually happened. That’s not normal. But then again, what about usisnormal?

From everything I’ve read, mates are supposed to grant each other gifts with their bites. But what did Callan and Abraxis get from me? I sip at the tea absently, barely feeling the heat on my tongue. Did I pass this curse onto them? Did my mind-shattering visions somehow infect them? A low growl of frustration vibrates in my throat as I headto the recliner across from Balor, curling into its soft embrace. His chest rises and falls steadily, a comforting reminder he’s here.They’re all here.I should feel safe. Idofeel safe … from everything but my own mind.

I summon my scales out of habit, feeling them ripple across my neck and ribcage, adding a layer of protection that has nothing to do with trust. It’s not that I don’t trust my guys—I do. It’s everyoneelseI don’t trust. Arista and her nest don’t respect the accords, not like they should. Once an egg chooses someone, they’re not supposed to be attacked until it either hatches or goes dormant. But that didn’t stop Arista’s nest from breaking the accords multiple times. Lysander fined them and their parents heavily, but it doesn’t feel like enough. It’sneverenough.

A soft yawn escapes my lips, the tea’s warmth finally seeping into my bones. I close my eyes briefly, sending a silent prayer up to Bahamut.Please let me sleep and not dream.But even as I say it, I know it’s futile. Those dreams are a warning, a grim glimpse into the future. And if I don’t figure out what they mean, the blood I see in my nightmares might become a reality none of us can escape.

Cora’s voice slices through the peaceful fog of sleep, grating on my last nerve. “Come on, Mina. Time to wake up. We have a math test today.”

Ugh. I groan, burying myself deeper beneath the blankets. But it’s a futile effort. Her persistent voice digs into my skull like a drill, and I can practically see her standing by the door with that insufferably cheerful smile on her face.

“It’s pointless to go,” I mutter, tugging the covers over my head. “I’m going to get another hundred and five because of the bonus question, and you’re getting an eighty-seven.”

Silence. For a blissful second, I think I’ve won, but then—whoosh—the blanket disappears in one swift yank, exposing me to the chilly morning air. I shiver and scowl at her.

“Wanna bet on it?” she teases, her voice dripping with mischief.

I crack an eye open and glare at her. “What’s the point?”

Just as I’m considering snatching my blanket back, I hear Leander’s door creak open. “Bet on what?” he asks, strolling out of his room, shirtless and barely awake. His hair is a mess of wild curls, and he blinks sleepily at us before making a beeline for the kitchenette.

“Mina thinks she can predict test scores,” Cora chimes in, practically bouncing on her heels.

“What’s the scores?” he asks, his voice still husky as he reaches for the coffeepot. I can hear the steady drip of his morning addiction as it fills the room with its rich aroma.

“A hundred and five for her and eighty-seven for me,” she replies smugly. I don’t need to see her face to know she’s smiling.

A floorboard creaks, and then I hear more doors opening—Abraxis and Callan coming out of my room. My gut twists. I know what’s coming next. Before I can even react, muscular arms wrap around me, and I’m suddenly airborne.

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