Page 44 of Trial of the Cursed Egg

“Cal?” Mina passes me the egg carrier, moving quickly but gently. The moment it’s out of her hands, she’s on her feet and sliding behind Callan, wrapping her arms around his tense shoulders. “I didn’t mean it that way,” she murmurs softly, nuzzling her face against his back. “I just meant that I passed the test, and I don’t know if I still need to be in the course. I’ll take it. It’s not a problem.”

The tension in Callan’s shoulders eases just a little. Mina holds him tighter, resting her cheek against his shoulder blade. The way she clings to him, so open and vulnerable, tugs at something deep within me. She doesn’t do this often—letting herself be small, letting someone else in. I watch as she rubs her face against him again, almost like she’s trying to make up for the slip in her words through touch alone.

Callan’s head drops, his shoulders slumping forward as he exhales a slow, measured breath. I see the moment he lets go of whatever had him bristling. He turns, gently placing a hand on Mina’s arm, his thumb brushing over her skin.

“I know you didn’t mean it like that,” he murmurs, his voice softer now. “You’ve been through hell. And you’re right … you’re beyond this. I just want to make sure we’re covering all our bases.” He glances up at me, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. “Guess I’m just being overly cautious.”

“Nah,” I say, shaking my head. “You’re doing what you always do—making sure everything’s in order.”

“We need to get you to your math class, Mina,” I murmur, my voice low and steady as I brush my fingers over the shell of her ear. I catch sight of Ziggy stepping out of his room, still towel-drying his hair, his movements unhurried and almost lazy. He’s escorting Mina to class today.

Mina rolls her eyes, the motion slow and deliberate, before she wraps her arms around me, pulling herself close. The scent of her skin—cinnamon and the faintest hint of smoke—fills my senses. “Can I test out of math class? I mean, Anipe’s going to put me into a coma.” She tilts her head back, her eyes locking onto mine with a mix of defiance and playful annoyance.

“No, unfortunately, you can’t test out of the core classes.” I sigh softly, cupping her cheeks between my palms. Her skin is warm beneath my touch, and I dip my head to sip at her lips. The contact is brief but electric, and the soft, satisfied purr that escapes her throat stirs something possessive inside me. She responds eagerly, and I smile against her mouth before pulling back just enough to speak. “Today’s math, politics, and royal protocol, correct?”

Her groan of resignation is almost theatrical. “Yeah,” she mutters, rolling her eyes again before taking the egg carrier back from me and strapping it securely to her chest. The carrier’s soft, woven straps settle snugly over her shoulders, a stark contrast to the delicate scale pattern of her exposed skin.

I watch her cross the room, her movements graceful yet determined as she stops in front of Callan. Her head tilts several times, her expression shifting as she studies him, like she’s trying to read something hidden behind his stoic exterior. A slow, reluctant sigh escapes him before he opens his arms. Mina slides in, melting against his chest as if they belong like this, entwined and close.

Her fingers splay over his shoulders as she rises onto her tiptoes, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his lips. She lingers there, breathing in his scent, her gaze searching his face before she pulls away, her smile soft and sad. She turns and leaves with Ziggy, the sound of the door closing behind them echoing like a final note of a song that ended too soon.

I wait until I can no longer hear their footsteps before striding across the room, stopping inches from Callan. His posture is stiff, his jaw clenched tight enough to crack a tooth.

“What was wrong?” The moment the question leaves my lips, his entire frame tightens as if I’ve struck him.

“You know how I feel.” His words are a snapped accusation, and he turns away from me, his shoulders set in rigid defiance.

“Oh, hell no. We’re dealing with this shit now.” My voice drops to a low growl, and I don’t give him a chance to run. I grab his shoulder and spin him to face me, forcing him to meet my gaze. “There are three things I don’t tolerate: liars, cheaters, abusers—physical or emotional—and anyone fucking with Mina.” The growl in my voicedeepens, vibrating in the back of my throat, and I hold his gaze, daring him to look away.

“That’s six things, asshole,” Callan bites back, shoving at me. I barely budge. “Maybe you should go to math class with Mina.”

I laugh—a short, harsh sound that’s more like a bark. “I’m the asshole?” I step forward, invading his space until he has no choice but to look up at me. “I’m not the one with my mate trying to get me to see her the way she sees me and pretending I’m blind. I’m not the one who makes the strongest female I know doubt herself.” I punctuate my words with a shove, pushing him back with enough force to send him sprawling onto the couch. “Your pity party for one needs to end. It’s disrupting the balance in the nest. Be the male she knows you are.”

He looks up at me, shock and a flare of anger warring in his eye. I flip him off, the gesture sharp and dismissive, before I turn on my heel and storm out the door. On the way out, I grab the assessment test to take with me to look over later.

Each step I take, the tension coils tighter in my chest. My wings twitch and flex behind me, eager to cut through the air and release the frustration simmering beneath my skin. It’s going to be a long day at Shadowcarve. And gods help anyone who pisses me off in weapons class today.

I land hard in the courtyard, wings tucking tight against my back as my boots hit the cobblestone. I barely have time to compose myself when I spot a familiar figure standing by the gate. Lysander, with that annoying way he has of appearing unannounced, looks entirely toocalm. The wind carries his scent—cypress and smoke—and it grates on my nerves, reminding me of why I’ve avoided him since the last meeting with the Council.

“Hey,” I grunt, not slowing my pace as I stride past him, heading straight for the main building. The cold stone halls swallow me up, but I sense Lysander fall into step behind me, keeping his distance. It’s not until I reach my office door that he speaks.

“How’s your mate?” he asks softly, his tone almost … gentle. That only fuels the growl building in my chest, and I fight to keep my composure.

“Good. Too good, actually. She’s too fucking smart for half the shit we have here for her.” I yank my bag open, retrieving the second-year assessment Callan had Mina take just to prove a point. I shove the packet into Lysander’s hands, frustration lacing my every word. “That’s the year two assessment test. Perfect fucking score.” I step back, folding my arms and watching as he skims through the pages.

Lysander’s eyes scan every inch, checking each answer, every notation. Slowly, he sinks into the closest chair, the weight of it all crashing down on him. He looks up at me, expression taut with something unreadable. “We can both agree we don’t condone Abaddon’s methods—or his idea of parenting,” he murmurs cautiously, still flipping through the sheets as if he’s trying to reconcile what’s in front of him with what he knows. “But he put more effort into his daughter than most families invest in their sons. The question I can’t answer iswhy. Why make your daughter as lethal as possible? Why not have a son to train to be this dangerous?” He glances up, brows furrowed as if the pieces aren’t clicking into place.

“Easy.” I lean against my desk, the wood groaning under the pressure of my weight. “Females are bigger and stronger when they shift. Anadult female hits wyrm status by her thirtieth year. Males? They take hundreds of years to reach that size.” I gesture dismissively to the test. “Look at it from a genetic level. She has the armor of the iron dragon and the immunities of the green. I’ve got the armor and appearance of a black dragon and the immunities of both species. Our hatchlings will be the deadliest things to exist.”

The test pages slip from Lysander’s fingers, fluttering to the floor in a cascade of perfect scores and red-marked comments from a stunned Callan. Lysander shakes his head slowly. “Klauth only respects power and authority. He senses she has the potential to become a powerful dragoness.”

“If he hatches,” I growl, pushing off the desk and stalking over to the shelf crammed with tomes and scrolls, “she’ll have a war machine on her hands. He’s part titanium, the last of their great bloodline.” I pull down a thick, dusty tome, the cover etched with intricate warding runes and sigils. “He’s the biggest dragon on record, and he hasn’t been seen in almost a thousand years.”

I hand Lysander the book, my mind racing as I consider the implications. If Klauth hatches for her—chooses her—what kind of chaos will we be unleashing? Lysander’s eyes widen as he flips through the pages, the history of the cursed eggs staring back at him in black and red ink.

“He’s going to be pissed when he emerges,” Lysander mutters, more to himself than to me, his eyes glued to the illustration of Klauth’s last rampage. “If he even hatches for her. He’s never chosen or ignited his shell for anyone.” He turns another page, his fingers tracing the line of a bloodstained prophecy.

My jaw clenches. “If he hatches, there’ll be hell on earth,” I say quietly, glancing out the window at the students milling about in thecourtyard below. The sun casts long shadows across the cobblestones, and I wonder, not for the first time, if any of them have the slightest idea of what’s at stake. “But I need to get to class. We’ll figure something out.”

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