Page 8 of Trial of the Cursed Egg

“I guess I didn’t have to go rescue her,” Ziggy mutters beside me, his voice low, almost amused. His eyes stay locked on her as Balor leads her off the platform, and I can feel the weight of my relief settling into something heavier, more complicated.

I nod, my mind elsewhere, already calculating my next move. My feet carry me toward Lysander without a second thought, and I tilt my head in a silent signal for him to follow. We move swiftly through the corridors, the familiar scent of ink and parchment mixing with the cold stone walls of the Malivore Conservatory. Inside his office, the door clicks shut behind us, the sound echoing like a finality.

Lysander sits, his face unreadable, a mask of calm that hides the sharp mind beneath. “I take it this has something to do with the Bladesong girl,” he says, his tone casual, though his eyes are fixed on me with quiet intensity.

“She’s my betrothed. My mate.” The words feel heavier when spoken aloud, a truth that shifts the air between us. Lysander stands abruptly, his eyes narrowing as he steps closer, his gaze searching mine as if he’s trying to see beyond the surface of my confession.

“Are you certain?” His voice is low, a dangerous edge creeping in as he tilts his head slightly, glancing at his desk before returning his attention to me.

“Positive. I used our fragile bond to tug her toward the exit,” I admit, knowing full well that this could disqualify her, could throw everything into disarray. But he needs to understand. She’s more than just another contestant.

Lysander exhales slowly before calling for his familiar. “Lemon,” he says, and the fruit bat flutters down from its perch, landing gracefully on his shoulder. “Go watch over Miss Willamina Bladesong. She’s very important to me.” His words hang in the air as Lemon takes off, vanishing into the shadowed halls.

“We need to adjust your schedule so you’re close to your mate. But I can’t make those changes until she passes the intelligence test tomorrow.” His voice is pragmatic, but there’s a flicker of something in hiseyes—understanding, maybe, or even caution—as he rifles through the papers scattered across his desk. He hands me her initial schedule, and I scan it quickly, committing it to memory.

“I appreciate this.” I pass the schedule back, but my mind is already spinning with the possibilities, the dangers.

“She’ll sit with us at the main table tonight for dinner, so no funny business is tried. As far as I’m concerned, she passed the hardest test today; there’s no need for her to finish the trial.” Lysander’s voice is firm, and he sends a missive to his staff with quick, precise movements. “Go get ready for dinner. She’ll be close to you. Don’t worry.”

I nod again, but the knot of tension inside me remains, twisting tighter. There’s more at stake here than anyone realizes, and I won’t let her face it alone.

My heart races as I adjust the final necklace, letting it settle against my chest. My black tunic clings perfectly to my frame, and my slacks have been tailored to fit just right, but it’s the shimmer of my claws at the apex of my wings that gives me a sense of readiness. My wings are scrubbed and oiled to perfection, and yet the tension in my body refuses to ease. The banquet is looming, and the stakes are high. I reach up, adjusting the necklace one last time, before glancing at the mirror again. The reflection stares back, but my mind is elsewhere—onher.

“Come on, pretty boy. She’s going to be more nervous at that table with the headmaster if others aren’t with her.” Leander’s voice snaps me out of my trance. He shoves Balor and Ziggy towards the door, both grumbling under their breath.

I grab the small locket box from the dresser and tuck it into my pocket. My nerves tighten at the thought of what I’m about to do. My sister is the only one I trust to deliver it, and even then, I know she’ll have something to say about it. “Rebel,” I murmur, summoning my raven familiar. He swoops in, his dark feathers rustling against the air as he perches on my shoulder. “Find Cora and bring her to me.”

Rebel takes off, disappearing into the dimly lit hallway. Ziggy gives me a sideways glance, his eyebrows raised in suspicion. “What are you doing?”

“I need to give her something.” I pull out the white satin box, turning it over in my fingers. It feels like a weight of more than just gold and metal—this is a piece of me, a promise. My dragon rumbles with impatience inside me, eager to see it around her neck.

Ziggy shakes his head. “This will not be a fun four years.”

Before I can respond, Cora rounds the corner, her hands on her hips, staring at me with that look she inherited from our mother. “I just finished braiding Mina’s hair. What could you possibly want?”

I hand her the box, my dragon’s eyes narrowing as I stare down at my sister. “Give this to Mina.”

She glares at me, but I know she’ll do it. “Demanding drake. Fine...” She snatches the box and leaves without another word.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, following Ziggy into the banquet hall. The grand hall is filled with chatter and laughter, the atmosphere thick with anticipation. My gaze immediately finds her—Mina. She’s seated between Balor and Leander. Her face lit up as she laughs, animatedly recounting her experience with the gauntlet. Every head at the table is turned towards her, hanging on her every word.

I take my seat on the other side of Leander, my attention solely on Mina’s voice. She’s fierce, and her tale of the gauntlet only solidifies what I already know—she’s as deadly as she is beautiful. Balor, who once doubted her, now watches her with fresh eyes. I can see the respect forming, the recalculation of his earlier judgments.

Almost on cue, Cora appears at the head table, holding the box I gave her. My heart thunders in my chest as she approaches Mina. “I was asked by your betrothed to deliver this to you.”

Mina takes the box, raising it to her nose and sniffing it, a habit I find endearing. When she opens it, the locket gleams within, the gold chain catching the light. Inside the locket, the inscription reads:Until death.

A soft smile plays on her lips as she scans the room, searching. My heart pounds harder—does she know I’m watching? But she turns to Balor instead, holding the locket out. "Mind putting it on me?"

She turns her back to him, and I feel my dragon’s possessiveness stir. Balor’s eyes lock with mine, asking for permission, and I give him a barely perceptible nod. He fastens the locket around her neck. The sight of it resting against her skin makes something inside me settle.

Then Cora clears her throat, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Would you like to send something back to your betrothed?"

Mina pauses, glancing down at her hands. Then, with a smile, she reaches up into her hair, pulling down a single, thin braid. She cuts it free, carefully rebraiding it, then securing it with a small band. "Please give this to him, with my gratitude for all that he’s gifted me so far." She kisses the braid and hands it to my sister.

My breath catches—she’s all in. To be given the hair of one’s mate orbetrothed is more valuable than any treasure. My sister smirks, undoubtedly heading off to leave the gift in my room.

The conversation shifts back to Mina’s performance in the gauntlet, and I find myself entranced. She’s as vicious as a green dragon, as fierce and unrelenting as an iron. Balor’s expression mirrors my own pride—he sees it now. She isn’t just a pretty face; she’s power wrapped in a deceptively small frame. And she’smine.

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