Page 38 of Cursed with the Dragon Prince

These are thoughts that scare me.

Wisp’s presence weakens as I fly farther and farther away. She’s calling me back, and while I pretend not to hear, the truth is that I’m too numb to listen.

As the rage and fear fade, my wings slow, and I level out into a glide. As I continue farther south, my uncertainty grows.

In the aftermath, I’m questioning everything. I only saw Drakon fall into the pool—it was Scorpia who told me he was gone. In the spur of the moment, I trusted her, believed her when she blamed everything on me. Did she lie, using the opportunity to capitalize on my heightened emotions, deceiving me, convincing me to leave? The question turns my stomach and frustrates me. I’m unable to tell fact from fiction.

Only I’ve already flown so far away, and I’m not sure I have the courage to turn around.

So while my doubt quivers, it’s not that strong, and with each flap of my wings, I near my former home. As I home in on my destination, it becomes difficult to change my direction.

The Rift—that boundary between fae and human, magic and mundane—is easy to perceive when my tenuous connection with Wisp is severed. In her absence, I feel some truth in Scorpia’s words—that when I transform here, I’ll become fully human, losing my fae and dragon forms, and the clan’s curse will become inescapable.

At some point, the Nearbright Sea has shifted too, turning from the fairer fae sea to the harsher waters north of Valterra. Gusts blow against my wings, and I work harder, righting myself.

Steadying, I learn a new beat, a new method of flying. More time and distance pass, and the farther I travel from Wisp, the more my decision solidifies. I can’t possibly turn back now.

The mainland nears. But first, I reach a boat.

Not just any boat; my family’s vessel. I know it well, the white sail now yellowed. Fluttering above it, there are three smaller flags, two red and one brown, my family’s signal. My body tenses in recognition—not that long ago, I was tossed overboard from that deck.

The sight of my family’s boat shocks me, but curiosity drives me closer. The deck is full, with more passengers than it usually carries. That’s not the only strange detail—the fishing nets aren’t cast.

The passengers are unidentifiable, but even from this distance, I know they see me. They shuffle about, and I hear screams. They don’t see me,Reina—they see a dragon.

I terrify them. With my giant form, claws, and fangs, I don’t even need my fire to intimidate them. They do not know that they intimidate me too.

Because I’m now close enough to determine the nature of this voyage. With the sea so calm, it’s a safe day for funeral rites. A wreath hangs upon a stand at the head of the boat, signifying a person lost at sea.

Everyone is there.

My brother stands closest to the wreath, overseeing the proceedings. My sister-in-law clutches at my nieces, looking daggers at my dragon. My former husband is there with his young, pregnant wife who shrinks into his side.

This is my funeral.

I’m certain of it because of the wreath. It is built from thimbleweed flowers. My nieces would pluck bouquets of it, much to the annoyance of their mother, and when she tossed the flowers aside, I weaved them flower crowns. The memory brings tears to my dragon eyes, big globs of water.

It’s a silly thing, really.

Because honestly, it wasn’t all bad, my life with this family. There was laughter and occasionally joy. Survival and companionship. Theirs was a cruelty learned from superstitions and prejudice that persist in a village they’ll never leave—a village where I was never meant to belong.

Whether it’s pity or sentimentality, I am certain that I have no desire to burn their boat down.

Despite my nostalgia, not all my reflections are sweet, and smoke still huffs from my nostrils. More than ever, I understand how they neglected me, teaching me I had no value. Scars aside, it’s almost laughable now, knowing a deity begged the sea for my existence.

Almostlaughable—I’m too bitter to find it funny.

My nieces capture my affection, how they wiggle and squirm, curious despite their mother’s admonitions of my draconian wickedness.

For moments now, I’ve stayed several body lengths away, watching them as they watch me. Slowly, their postures relax as we reach a standoff.

I lower myself, skirting the sea on the side of the fishing vessel. My enormous belly becomes my boat, my wings sails, and with my spindly neck lifted above the water, I steady my gaze on my family.

They’re gawking at me. Which is reasonable, I suppose, and I try to speak, but south of the Rift, my words become a dragon’s caw.

With time, they ease, accepting my presence, and Reina’s funeral continues with a dragon in attendance.

Since I cannot speak, I listen.

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