Page 39 of Progeny of the Cursed Egg
“No... not at all.” Abraxis huffs out a laugh, a faint edge to his voice. “I’d rather go to war naked than do this. But it’ll buy us more security and get me off the front lines.”
“That is one of the bonuses.” The toll of the bell rings out, resonating through the wide hall and signaling the start of the procession. I swallow, tasting my fear and excitement.
Just like last year, we have to ride out at the head of the procession and stop in front of the royal box. Klauth will offer me a single flower—his choice. Leander will have to rear up for me to accept it. In return, I’m supposed to give Klauth one of my hair ornaments. But I have other plans. I’ve cut one of my braids loose to give him instead—an unmistakable token, binding me to this new path in a way that feels both exhilarating and terrifying.
The heavy doors swing open, and the cool night air rushes in. My pulse thunders as we prepare to lead the procession outside. I catch Abraxis’s eye one last time. There’s no going back now, and the darkness of this night seems to shimmer with countless possibilities—and threats—just beyond the threshold.
The thunderous cloppingof hooves against the stone reverberates through the courtyard, instantly commanding silence from the gathered onlookers. My pulse thrums in time with the steady cadence of Leander’s footsteps as he walks, in his shifted Nightmare stallion form, side by side with Abraxis’s heavily armored warhorse. Flames lick across Leander’s mane and tail, causing the surrounding air to shimmer in the humid night. The tang of smoldering ember mixes with the cold bite of metal, curling into my lungs in a heady rush.
Though every fiber of me itches to scan the crowd, I force myself to keep my gaze forward—chin high, shoulders back. This is as much a performance as it is a test. Abraxis, regal and unyielding in the saddle, tilts his head in acknowledgment of the spectators, while I grip the front of Leander’s saddle, the heat from his blazing mane warming my gloved hands.
We approach the royal box in a synchronized march; Leander’s fiery hooves spark against the flagstones in unison with the clang of Abraxis’s warhorse. The crowd’s hush deepens, a tense current of curiosity and awe. A wisp of incense drifts my way from somewhere off to the left, mingling with the sweet fragrance of roses—the chosen symbol of this entire farce of a ceremony.
My gaze lands on Klauth, seated in the royal box alongside my other mates. Even from this distance, I sense the weight of his scrutiny, as though he’s taking my measure in real time. A whisper of excitement and dread slides across my skin. Any misplaced step could risk everything we’ve planned.
Leander draws nearer to the box, his nostrils flaring to release plumes of steam in the night air. At my soft cue—my palm brushing his shoulder—he slows, lifting his head. Abraxis’s warhorse matches the tempo, a testament to the endless hours of practice we’ve poured into these precise movements.
We draw alongside the royal box, and Leander rears up, his flaming hooves striking at the air. The spectators gasp in unison, and adrenaline jolts through me, heightening every sensation—the roar of the crowd, the crackle of his mane, the frantic pulse in my ears.
“My treasure,” Klauth calls, offering a crimson rose so close to the shade of his scales that it sends a shiver rippling through me. I feel the weight of a thousand gazes, but I school my features into a calm mask. Removing one glove, I accept the rose with careful grace, inhaling the delicate perfume as though committing it to memory. Ihand Klauth the hair ornament and the braid of my hair. His eyes flair for a moment before he nods his head at me.
Leander’s flame-wreathed hooves drop back to the ground, and we ease into the procession line. Hugging the rose to my chest, I exhale, trying to calm the pounding in my veins. The most nerve-wracking part of this spectacle is over. Now we must head behind the scenes so I can prepare for the sham wedding and the public bite exchange. The knowledge that the purge begins in four days hangs over me like a storm cloud, electrifying the air.
But for this fleeting moment, I hold tight to the rose and cast a small, measured smile. Leander, Abraxis, and I have played our roles to perfection—at least for now. Tonight’s performance only sharpens the eyes already fixed on me, but there’s no turning back. As we move away from the royal box, I grip the rose tighter, each fiery flicker from Leander’s mane illuminating my next step into the darkness that waits.
Cora,Cerce, and Ziggy meet us in the staging area, where the other horses are being led into their stables amid the earthy tang of hay and the soft whicker of restless animals. I can feel the cool night air brush against my skin as I listen to the steady rustle of leaves and distant murmurs from the academy’s corridors.
“We don’t have a ton of time,” Ziggy says, his voice low and urgent, as he stretches up to help me off Leander’s back. The contact with the cool ground jolts me, and I can taste the dust and adrenaline on my tongue. I grab my gown—a heavy, dark fabric that brushes softly against my skin—and we take off running, the sound of our hurried footsteps echoing off stone walls. Ziggy laughs, a sound that mingleswith the night’s crisp air, shaking his head as he phases us into the changing room.
Inside, the space smells of polished wood and faint incense. We burst into laughter, marveling at how Ziggy’s quick thinking saved us time. With practiced ease, he unties the corset of my black gown. His fingers, warm and precise, work quickly as he helps me step out. “I am so sorry you have to go through this,” he murmurs, gesturing to the elaborate outfit change and the intricate web of ribbons and boning that await me.
“That makes two of us. I hate gowns,” I grumble, and even as I speak, my dragoness rumbles deep within, emphasizing my displeasure.
“At least you look phenomenal in the gowns,” Ziggy insists, his eyes gleaming with genuine admiration. “This one almost exactly matches your scales. Vox’s seamstress really outdid herself.” He threads the ribbons with meticulous care, cinching me into the corseted top of the gown. I watch, almost hypnotized, as my emerald and silver scales peek through along my forearm. I compare their iridescent shimmer to the delicate hues of the fabric. “She did a wonderful job matching the colors,” I agree softly, shifting slightly as I let my eyes roam over the interplay of light on the gown and my skin. I make my scales recede and draw in a deep breath.
“Are you nervous?” Ziggy asks as Cora and Cerce catch up, their voices light and teasing as they fuss over my long, green-and-silver hair. Their touch is gentle, and I can smell the faint aroma of lavender in Cerce’s hair, mixing with the cool scent of the changing room.
“I’ll have you at my side every step of the way. I know you’ll never let anything happen to me.” I lean forward and press a warm kiss to Ziggy’s lips, feeling a comforting steadiness in his embrace as I smile at him.
“Almost done,” Cerce calls out, her voice echoing softly off the tiled walls as she sets ornate combs into my hair, expertly sweeping it up into a classic French twist. Ziggy catches my glance and takes it as his cue to shift into his large, sleek black packlord displacer beast. His fur, depending on the angle, either as dark as pitch or glimmering with a hint of blue-black.
“Five minutes, m’lady,” a deep, resonant voice calls down the hall, each word heavy with expectation.
“Go take your places; Ziggy and I will be fine,” I say, offering a small smile that barely conceals my unease about what’s coming.
“I’ll see you on the other side,” Cora says, her smile warm as she steps forward to give me a gentle hug before departing. Cerce lingers, her eyes bright with pride as she says, “I am so proud of you. You are doing what is best for the nest and the continent,” she presses a soft kiss to my cheek before leaving.
Ziggy and I move into position, waiting for the double doors to swing open. I run my fingers through his thick fur, its soft, velvety texture grounding me as my heart races. With each measured step, I remind myself that once we pass through those doors, my life will never be the same. My thoughts drift to the coming year and a half at the academy, and the purge looming in four days. I am painfully aware of my three clear enemies—two definite, and an entire nest of fire drakes whose presence prickles the air with menace.
Thauglor, I remind myself, lies hidden in my poison garden, nestled among the most toxic plants I own. The sharp, almost metallic scent of their poison hangs in the air. It’s a silent warning that any who dare reach for him will find death swift and merciless.
Tonight, all of my mates are being made consorts—except for Klauth, of course. I draw in a steady breath as the heavy doors before us creaks open, revealing a grand hall lined with polished chairs and bathed in the soft glow of flickering chandeliers.
We take our first few measured steps out, my gaze locked on the dais at the far end of the aisle. There, Balor’s basilisk is coiled behind the thrones, its head held high as if it were a silent sentinel keeping a watchful eye on us. To the right of Klauth, Abraxis stands tall, surrounded by the rest of my mates. I am relieved to have Ziggy by my side. I keep a reassuring hand on his back as we proceed. Every sound—the murmur of disapproving voices, the rustle of fabric, and even the distant hum of anticipation—reminds me of how surreal and fraught with danger this entire event feels.
I am a mixed-breed dragoness, looked down upon by the pure bloods—not just because of my non-purebred status but also because I am half green dragon. Klauth and Abraxis, however, have never held my bloodline against me. I dare not meet the eyes of the onlookers. I can almost hear their whispers of discontent as I walk down the aisle.
“The King deserves better!” Arista’s voice suddenly rings out, cutting through the murmurs and silencing the crowd. Every head turns, shock and indignation etched on their faces. “He deserves a pureblood mate!” she yells, her words laced with venom as security moves in to remove her from the hall.
