Page 16 of Progeny of the Cursed Egg
I convincethe guys to let Ziggy transport all of us to the anointing. The corridor of the old academy where we wait is dark and drafty; every breath I take tastes of damp stone and lingering dust. My footsteps echo against the cold floor, the sound bouncing off the vaulted ceiling. In all honesty, I can’t deal with the idea of Abraxis and Klauth fighting over who’s going to carry me and Thauglor’s egg. Their low growls and half-lidded stares make the air buzz with tension. While I wait for them to finish their pissing contest, I turn my attention to the shimmering swath of fabric in my hands—an ornate silken purse I’ve been sewing for Thauglor’s egg. The silk is smooth under my fingertips, catching the feeble lantern light and reflecting it in oily swirls.
Ziggy delivers all of my mates first, then returns for me, just as I asked. His scent—earthy with a hint of spice—envelops me in comforting warmth, cutting through the musty air of the corridor.
“I have a surprise for you,” he purrs softly, pulling out a small box and pressing it into my palms. The box is cool to the touch, bound by scarlet ribbons that feel slightly rough against my fingers.
“Ziggy,you didn’t have to.” I kiss him softly, savoring the gentle warmth of his lips against mine, and pull away slowly.
“I hope you’ll wear it. It was my mother’s.” His tone is gentle, and there’s a quiet reverence in his eyes. Whatever is in this box means a lot to him, and I handle it with care as I move to the marble counter. The ancient stone feels chilled beneath my hand, a stark contrast to the warmth buzzing through my veins. I set the box down and loosen the ribbons.
Inside is a diadem—a simple circlet of titanium and moonstone. At its front, a cat’s-eye-shaped stone dangles from a delicate peak. I run my fingers over the pale metal, which feels as light as a feather, yet somehow sturdier, as if it’s both real and unreal at once. “Are you sure? It’s so delicate.”
He smiles and lifts it from the box, placing it on my head. The cool moonstone settles against my forehead, and the dangling gem sways slightly just above the space between my eyebrows.
“I’m sure,” Ziggy says, voice hushed with affection. “I may not be able to give you a title or a nest or even cubs, but I can give you this.” He presses a tender kiss to the stone, and then to me. “My mom was the leader of our den. This was her crown, for lack of a better term.”
“You’re a prince?” I arch a brow, shocked. A faint draft skitters along my neck, sending a chill down my spine.
“No, not a prince. Males don’t rule in our society. Females do, just like dragonesses did once upon a time.” He chuckles and offers me his arm. “Shall we join the others? Before Klauth kills Abraxis or Abraxis says something stupid to piss the old man off.” His laugh, low and warm, vibrates through my chest, lightening the tension I’ve been carrying.
I laugh with him, letting the sound echo around us. “I get to see and hold my first niece or nephew—no one is dying today.” I lean up and kiss him, the taste of his breath reminding me of smoky juniper,and in that moment, we’re gone. The world shifts, and there’s a muffled whoosh in my ears as he transports us to the rest of our group.
Both drakes say “Mate” and their twin growls draw a snicker from me. “Either you two play nice or I’ll pick someone else’s arm to hang on tonight.” The flickering torchlight reveals Abraxis and Klauth exchanging sulky looks; it’s almost comical the way they resemble reprimanded children.
“Mina!” Cerce’s voice rings out, bright and melodic, over the hush of the room. The faint aroma of incense hangs in the air, and the soft glow of wall sconces dances across my mother-in-law’s dress as I practically sprint over to hug her. We rub our jaws together, purring softly, a deep vibration resonating in my chest.
“Where’s the little one?” My excitement crackles through me, and I feel like I’m about to bounce right out of my skin.
“With Cora.” Cerce’s gaze flickers to Klauth before returning to me. “Who is the new male?”
Heat flushes my cheeks as I gently draw Thauglor’s egg from its silken pouch. The egg’s surface is warm to the touch, a smooth black shell that gleams ominously under the firelight. Cerce’s eyes lock on it, then dart to Klauth. Her posture changes instantly; she lowers her head in deference. “Your majesty, welcome back.”
I raise an eyebrow, looking between Klauth and my mother-in-law, confusion gnawing at me. A slow realization dawns—he wasn’t joking. Klauth really is ancient dragonic royalty, and Cerce knows who he is. My brow arches higher as I turn to him. He just smiles—smug asshole. I thought it was a joke, calling him that because of his age. No, they were serious.
“Breathe, Mina,” Abraxis murmurs, resting his hand against my elbow. The warmth of his skin is calming, but the roaring in my ears doesn’t quite subside.
I turn my gaze to Abraxis, meeting his calm stare. “Now is the time you choose not to be a wiseass … I am mated to a dragon royal.” My heart thunders in my chest, each beat echoing in my ears. The next thing I know, Klauth’s crimson-flecked amber eyes are inches from mine.
He touches the tip of his nose to mine. The faint musk of old leather and embers envelops me, stirring my dragoness just beneath my skin. “My treasure. I am no more a royal anymore than you are. I could be if you wish it.” He brushes his cheek against mine in soft arcs, and a soothing warmth floods my body. “Let’s go meet the hatchling like you wanted.” He presses a gentle kiss to my forehead before placing my hand on Abraxis’s. “This is the nest of your family. I will defer the honor of walking with our mate to you.”
Klauth steps back, and there’s a lazy confidence in his movements—every tilt of his head seems perfectly controlled. I’m half-tempted to roll my eyes, but I can’t deny how flawlessly he says and does exactly what will calm me.
“Shall we?” Abraxis offers softly, resting my hand on his forearm. The taut muscles beneath his sleeve remind me he’s coiled for action if anything goes wrong.
“Yes, please.” My voice trembles slightly with the remnants of adrenaline. I glance back over my shoulder at Klauth, my dragoness stirring for his approval. He gives me a subtle nod, and the tension in my shoulders eases. Turning back to Abraxis, I feel my pulse quicken again with anticipation—soon, I’ll be meeting the hatchling. The air crackles with the promise of what’s coming, and I can’t wait.
It’sa flurry of movement the minute we enter the main hall. The space smells faintly of old parchment and polished wood, an undercurrent of incense lingering in the air. Rows of chairs line both sides of the aisle like we’ve stumbled upon a grand elvish wedding. The echo of hurried footsteps and hushed voices surrounds us, every sound bouncing off the vaulted ceiling.
“Mina, you’re needed up front.” Cerce’s voice cuts through the commotion. She takes my arm and guides me away from Abraxis, our steps quick as we rush down the aisle. The floor beneath us is cool, smooth stone, and my heels tap a brisk beat as we hurry. At the bottom, we head up a short flight of stairs and disappear behind a heavy curtain. The thick material rustles against my shoulders, carrying with it a faint musty scent of old stage dust.
A soft chirping noise makes my scales prickle along my shoulders. The sound is thin and reedy—urgent, almost like a plea. My dragoness stirs at the pit of my stomach, longing to soothe the tiny creature in distress. I push forward quickly, my heart thudding against my rib cage with each step.
Cora stands with her hatchling cradled to her chest, the little one squirming and protesting in her hold. “Mina, you came.” Cora’s voice is warm, though edged with relief, as she leans in to hug me carefully, mindful of the hatchling’s delicate body.
“Of course I did.” My gaze settles on the mostly black hatchling. Its scales catch the overhead lights, reflecting a faint iridescent sheen. My dragoness croons in the back of my mind, a subtle vibration that trembles through my bones. The little one turns its head, fixing tiny golden eyes on mine. I feel an odd shift in the surrounding air, a moment of stillness as if the entire hall is holding its breath.
“He never makes eye contact that long,” Cora remarks, shifting the hatchling’s weight. With a gentle but deliberate motion, she extends her arms and passes me her son.
I cradle the hatchling against my breasts, resting it over my heart. Its small claws graze my skin, and I sense the hatchling’s rapid heartbeat thudding in time with my own. I keep up that gentle croon, letting the low hum resonate in my chest. The hatchling blinks and slowly stills, its eyelids drooping until it drifts into slumber.
