Page 53 of Progeny of the Cursed Egg
“My brother isn’t the lead drake anymore?” Cora inquires, and I cringe at the question, a flash of discomfort crossing my features.
“For the safety of the nest, it’s best that the elder be in charge,” Abraxis admits, his tone measured yet resolute. “He’s stronger and larger than I am—both defensively and offensively, he surpasses me on every front.” I can sense the weight of his reluctant honesty in every word.
Ziggy maneuversthe nest into the shadowed corridors of the Risedale compound. I tread carefully through halls that once echoed with laughter and secrets—each step stirring memories, both unsettling and familiar. One part of me tingles with apprehension, my scales prickling like a swarm of tiny needles, while the other part welcomes me home. The cool, damp air carries the musty scent of ancient stone and worn wood, mingling with a faint trace of long-forgotten incense.
I still cradle the sleeping baby and the snug egg carrier pressed against my stomach. Holding them fills me with an unexpected contentment. At this moment, every burden is lifted, and everythingis perfect. The baby’s gentle, rhythmic breathing soothes my frayed nerves. I marvel at his cherubic face: soft cheeks and full, delicate lips, each feature igniting a tender warmth deep inside me.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Leander’s low, melodic murmur drifts toward me as he settles beside me on the cool bench. His presence is a balm against the residual chill of the corridor.
I nod, determination and vulnerability mingling in my eyes. “I want this,” I reply, gently gesturing to the baby in my arms. “But I need us to be safe first. I can’t bear the thought of my hatchlings being hunted or stolen—to be used against me.” My voice trembles as a single tear escapes, glistening in the dim light and tracing a slow path down my cheek. The ache in my heart deepens as I imagine a future where my offspring are prey to those who would see us destroyed. Leander draws me into his embrace, his warm body pressing against mine, and his lips rest softly against my temple.
“Why do you cry, mate?” Klauth asks, his tone laced with quiet concern. I lift my gaze, meeting Klauth’s compassionate eyes as he offers me a steadying hand.
I accept his hand and adjust my hold on the baby with delicate care before Cora steps forward to take him. “I … I’m afraid of having a family that will be hunted,” I confess, my lower lip quivering as I search Klauth’s eyes for understanding.
“What else?” he murmurs. His fingers trailing lightly along my cheek before leaning down to press a gentle kiss against my lips—a promise of solace and strength.
“I want it—I want it all,” I admit, my voice gaining strength as I speak of dreams and desires. “The hatchlings, the snuggles, even the little fire starters darting around, stirring delightful chaos. But it’s not safe.” More tears fall, and Klauth tenderly brushes them away with his thumb, his touch warm and reassuring.
“We will give it to you, Mina,” he vows, his words echoing softly in the quiet room as he kisses my lips once more. Leander boldly leans in, his mouth trailing a fervent path down my throat while Klauth continues his tender ministrations. The combined sensations send my pulse racing, my heart thundering against my ribcage as if it might burst.
Both men eventually pull away, leaving me panting and struggling to regain control of my emotions. The intensity of their combined affection feels as if it could overwhelm me entirely. I step back into the dining room and take a seat near the head of the table. As the others file in, a quiet reassurance settles within me—like a solitary ember glowing amid cold, unyielding stone.
Cerce emerges from the kitchen, carrying the first tray laden with steaming dishes whose savory aromas mingle with the soft clink of porcelain. She offers me a warm, motherly smile before slipping back into the busy kitchen. I survey the table and sigh softly as reality returns—I have a flight. Once, I never wanted this responsibility. Even now, part of me resists it. But here I stand, the dominant dragoness presiding over a growing flight.
“How many others have come to join us?” I ask, glancing toward Vox and Warwick. Their eyes meet mine with a mix of deference and pride.
“Several couples from my parents’ flight wish to join us here—with your permission, of course,” Warwick replies, his tone respectful as he bares his neck in a silent gesture of submission.
“I want to meet the potential couples with my mates,” I declare, flexing my hands as my talons catch the soft light of the chandeliers overhead. “There is much to be done here for the good of the flight.” I watch my talons shift, the movement a quiet testament to the power and responsibility I hold.
“Very fair of you, my queen,” Warwick murmurs, bowing his head in deference. I glance over at Klauth and Abraxis, both nodding their silent approval with pride gleaming in their eyes.
My attention drifts to Cerce as she takes a seat next to Vox. Then Vox lowers his head to me, and I tilt my head, waiting. “Anything I need to know, Vox?”
“Nothing of note, except that three of our younger couples would like to join you,” he says, his voice measured and observant as he watches for my reaction.
“The same applies to them—we must meet them first before they are allowed to join,” I reply firmly, exchanging a proud smile with Abraxis and Klauth.
“Your mom would be proud,” Cerce adds softly, and I stifle a low growl—the comment pricking an old wound.
In that moment, Ziggy appears beside me, clutching the letter I have folded and unfolded a million times. I silently motion for him to pass it to Cerce. As Ziggy hands over the letter, my eyes drift downward to the egg carrier nestled under my chest. Its quiet presence captures my attention, and I almost turn when Cerce gasps—a reaction that reminds me of the past. I know she sees why I growled: my mother once rejected me for bearing my father’s green coloring. It wasn’t my scales that took after her, nor my horns and strength—it was the green that branded me with my father’s legacy.
Here I stand, the dominant dragoness of a burgeoning flight. I have seven devoted mates, with an eighth waiting to hatch from his confinement. Part of me swells with pride at all I have accomplished. Yet another part remains wary—always alert for the silent threat of betrayal, as if a new knife might suddenly appear in the dark at my throat.
CHAPTER 29
Leander
This constant shuttlingbetween Risedale and school is exhausting. Every time we return to Malivore, Mina finds something wrong in the nest. I feel that familiar knot of anxiety tighten in my stomach as we step back into the first nest we ever shared. Balor is on Mina-duty again today, escorting her to every class. I can’t help but seethe with jealousy, knowing he gets to be by her side all day, every day.
It’s Tuesday, and I know I’ll see Mina in third period for my class. I trudge through crowded corridors filled with the chatter of first-years and the clueless banter of second-years. The stale scent of sweat and old textbooks mingles in the air, and my frustration flares—so much so that I almost want to set the world on fire. When third period finally begins, I watch as Mina and Balor slip into the back of the classroom. Mina’s chair creaks as she leans back against the cold, hard wall, her presence commanding despite the dim fluorescent light. Her hand rests protectively over the egg carrier that has Thauglor’s egg in it.
I step to the front of the room and announce, “Welcome to the second half of the year of Defense Tactics,” my voice echoing slightlyagainst the tile floor. The faint smell of chalk dust fills the air as I scan the room, noting the mix of eager and indifferent faces. Mina’s gaze meets mine, intense and curious, as I stride across the classroom. I pick up a piece of chalk and draw a mock battlefield on the board, every scratch against the slate punctuating the silence. “Who wants to pick a side?” I ask, my eyes scanning the rows.
A male student at the front hesitates before stepping up. He taps the right side of my drawing, and I ask him, “Do you want offense or defense?” He mumbles, “Offense.” I then query, “Who wants defense?” My eyes drift over the class, and I catch a sly smirk on Mina’s face as not a single hand rises. With a confident grace, she stands and strides to the board.
I pass out cards to Mina and Brennen. I watch as Mina’s smirk deepens the moment she glances at her card. She places it deliberately on the desk, then takes the chalk and begins redrawing the board. Every movement is precise, as she erases all traces of my initial work and replaces them with her own calculated defense strategy. Brennen pauses, his eyes following her every fluid motion. He shakes his head, clearly impressed or perhaps exasperated, then turns back to his own side to adjust his lineup accordingly.
