Page 22 of Trial of the Cursed Egg

Before the celebration can start, all the girls who recently turned twenty-one will be led to the highest tower on campus. From there, they’ll be instructed on how to shift—how to release the beast inside and take the form of their dragon for the first time. We males, single and unmated, are confined to the enclosed arboretum where the dance will be held. We’ll be able to see the dragonesses’ transformations, to watch and witness through the spelled glass, but they won’t see us. Not yet. Not until they land, if they make it that far.

“Time to go,” Balor says, a smirk playing on his lips like he’s got a secret.

“Easy for you to say.” I shove a hand through my hair, the tension already knotting in my shoulders as we move towards the tunnels that lead to the arboretum. My gaze flickers to the tower in the distance, anxiety bubbling low in my gut. It’s like a live wire of anticipation sparking under my skin.

“She’s everything you’ve been wishing for. It’s like Abaddon himself honed her to be perfect for you.” Leander’s voice grates on my nerves. He speaks of my mate—my betrothed—like a weapon, and it makes me angry and proud all at once.

“Females sometimes die when they leap off the roof. Their dragon isn’t ready to give them their form.” Balor’s words hang heavy in the air, a dark truth none of us want to acknowledge.

“We’re not putting that kind of negative shit out there,” Ziggy snaps, eyes flashing in the dim light. “Anyway, if it’s a possibility, I’ll snatch her out of the air before she splats on the ground.”

“Thanks,” I mutter, giving Ziggy a hard pat on the shoulder as we emerge into the gardens. Signs direct the male dragons where to stand for the best view. As a trainer, I have the advantage of the highest level with the clearest vantage point. The torches on the tower’s corners flare to life, casting long shadows across the courtyard, announcing the start of the ceremony.

Thirteen females are jumping tonight. Thirteen will leap into the abyss, trusting in their dragons to save them, and once it’s over, they’ll join us here for the masked ball—if they live.

The first female steps off the edge, a graceful silhouette against the darkening sky. My heart pounds, a rhythm that echoes the thud of herlanding as she shifts halfway down, scales rippling over her body like molten gold. Two more earth dragons and a red dragoness follow, each one unfurling their wings and taking to the sky with ease. But the fifth … she doesn’t make it. A sharp, terrified scream pierces the air, abruptly cut off as she plummets to her death.

“Mina’s next,” Ziggy murmurs, eyes glued to his phone.

I stare and stare, breath caught somewhere between hope and fear. Where is she? There’s no movement on the tower roof, no sign of that familiar silhouette I’ve committed to memory. Then, suddenly, a blur—dark and quick—bolts across the rooftop and leaps off the edge. My heart seizes. It’s her. It’s Mina.

The transformation is explosive. One second, she’s falling; the next, her dragoness erupts into existence, a massive beast with scales like iron and glints of green shimmering in the fading light. Her horns spiral back behind her head, and a tall, proud frill, a telltale sign of her father’s bloodline, crests along her spine. She’s a fortress in the sky, a hulking mass of muscle and strength. Her wings snap out, catching the air, and she glides over the courtyard with barely a flap.

Mine.

It’s the only coherent thought I can grasp as she soars. She’s a sight to behold, a nightmare to anyone who would dare oppose her. But then, something moves below—a shadow streaking up from the ground.

“What the hell?” I growl, muscles bunching tight as I lean forward.

A firedrake launches up, a smaller male, its fiery breath weapon licking the air where Mina just was. She banks sharply, climbing higher, avoiding the flames by inches. My nails bite into my palms as I watch the scene unfold.

Mina folds her wings close to her body and dives, a blur of motion. The firedrake hesitates, unsure, before turning to flee. There’s a crackle, a low rumble that vibrates through my bones, and flashes of light erupt in the clouds. She roars, and a cone of lightning arcs out of her mouth, striking the firedrake squarely in the chest. He’s incinerated mid-flight, turning to ash that scatters like confetti in the wind.

She circles once, twice, then lands in the field below with the grace of a predator claiming her territory. My heart is in my throat, and I can barely breathe past the swell of emotions crashing through me. She’s alive. She’s safe. And she’s everything I imagined—no, more.

We’re made to wait over an hour before anyone acknowledges us, tension building with every tick of the clock. Finally, we’re instructed to take our places along the aisle leading to the dance floor. The room buzzes with nervous energy and anticipation. My chest tightens, and I clench my fists at my sides. The music starts—a slow, elegant melody—and the double doors open. The first female emerges, her father proudly escorting her by the arm. They glide down the aisle with a deliberate slowness, ensuring every unattached male present gets a thorough look.

It’s a spectacle, a show of flesh and beauty that leaves a sour taste in my mouth. It’s easy to see what this is: a glorified meat market. My stomach churns at the thought. My mate—my betrothed—will be ogled by every damn male in this room before the night is over. The very idea of it sends a sharp, possessive ache through my chest. I’m not sure I’ll be able to handle it.

A half dozen females pass, their fathers beaming as a few males step forward to introduce themselves. There’s a silent assessment that follows, a measuring of worth in each handshake and glance. Some suitors are permitted to walk alongside the females, others are dismissed with a polite smile and a subtle shake of the head.

My clan chose to match exactly tonight—tunics, sashes, boots, and masks alike. A united front. We know how difficult Arista has made things for my betrothed, and we’ve decided to return the favor, make her evening as difficult as possible. When Arista’s turn comes, she drags her father down the aisle at an infuriatingly slow pace, her eyes scanning the crowd. Her gaze lands on one of my clansmen. With a pointed finger, she announces in a clear, smug voice that he is the one she wants. The poor bastard rolls his eyes and makes a show of sighing dramatically as her father pulls her along.

Another dozen females parade down the aisle. I nod politely, only half-watching, my mind racing. Where is she?

The music changes—something low and dangerous, reverberating through the floor like a heartbeat. I go still, every muscle coiled tight. I know this song. It’s what Mina listens to when she trains, a predatory rhythm that sends a thrill down my spine. The lights dim, then pivot to focus on the closed double doors.

Balor and Leander swing the doors open, and the room collectively holds its breath.

There she stands, Mina, arm-in-arm with the Abaddon Bladesong—the most feared man on the continent. A man whose very name sends shudders through seasoned warriors and hardened assassins. His suit, perfectly tailored and matched to Mina’s gown, is a statement of power and control.

Mina’s head is held high, horns polished to a metallic sheen, glinting ominously beneath the lights. Her gown, a pewter color that shimmers with her every step, draws out the silver undertones in her vibrant green hair. The sight of her steals the air from my lungs. My pendant—a mark of our bond—rests above her full breasts, a claim that none can ignore.

Her eyes, a molten gold, remain focused forward as she strides down the aisle with her father. But then, as they draw closer, her head tilts ever so slightly, and her gaze finds mine. Recognition flares in those fiery eyes—acknowledgment. It’s not Mina, but her dragoness, surveying the field of suitors and marking me as hers.

As she passes, I notice something new. Scales—brilliant, shimmering scales—line the edges of her hairline, trailing down her spine and branching across her shoulders, covering the width of her shoulder blades like an intricate tapestry. A display of her strength, and of her lineage. Only the most powerful dragonesses bear so many scales in their human form.

Pride and possessiveness swell in my chest, mingling with the sharp edge of fear. Every male in this room can see her now. See my mate’s strength and beauty on full display. The music shifts again, a darker note threading through, and I have to grit my teeth to keep from stepping forward and pulling her away from all these greedy, covetous eyes.

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