Page 27 of Guardian of the Cursed Egg
“Mina, come on. Mom’s taking us shopping again. Plus, we get to miss Royal Protocol class for it.” Cora, Abraxis’s younger sister, grips my arm and pulls me down the hallway toward the doors.
“It doesn’t make me want to go any more now than I did an hour ago. And don’t forget, I have to be in the procession this time, and I don’t even know how to ride a warhorse.” I roll my eyes and sigh as we step into the crisp air of the courtyard.
“Mom’s letting Abraxis come with us, so you’ll feel safe,” Cora says, as if his presence is supposed to sweeten the deal.
I snort. “I wield lightning. Safe isn’t exactly my issue.” It’s not safety I’m worried about—it’s being exposed, unarmed, and vulnerable. But I won’t admit that out loud.
As we approach the gates, I spot Abraxis and his mother standing by the sleek black car, deep in conversation. His imposing frame and sharp wings cast long shadows on the stone. Cora loops her arm through mine and tugs me forward. My steps quicken as if on their own.
The second Abraxis senses me, he turns, a grin spreading across his face as his wings flare wide. I freeze for a moment, my heart skipping. He always does this to me. That smile, those wings. It’s like seeing him again for the first time, back when our eyes locked on the way to the dragon dorms. And just like that, my annoyance softens.Damn him.
As we approach the courtyard, Abraxis cheats. He flexes his wings, a sharp burst of motion that sends a rush of air toward me. My instincts flare, primal and undeniable, driving me to him. Without hesitation, I coax Cora to release her hold on me. The second she does, I break into a sprint, my steps pounding against the cobblestone. I launch myselfinto his arms, and he catches me effortlessly, spinning us in a whirlwind of motion.
Abraxis’s laugh rumbles through his chest as his wings cocoon us, creating a private world of shadows and warmth. His lips brush mine softly, stealing my breath and the tension from my body. When his wings unfurl, I blink against the sudden light and catch sight of his mother’s expression. Cerce is smiling at us, a knowing look that makes heat rush to my cheeks.
“Sorry…” I murmur, flustered and sheepish.
Her laugh is warm, a sound that holds no reprimand. “Never apologize for being excited to see your mate and showing them affection,” she says, cupping my cheek with a gentleness that surprises me. Her touch lingers briefly before she turns her attention to her daughter. “Cora, it looks like you’ll be making the walk again this year. You’ve got two more years to find your mate before the betrothal takes place after graduation.”
Cora sighs dramatically, her pout exaggerated as she climbs into the car. “No one will tell me who my betrothed is, and it’s infuriating.”
Abraxis’s smirk pulls my attention back to him. With a subtle tilt of his head, he gestures toward a shadowed figure beneath a tree. My gaze follows, and I catch my breath at the sight of a striking male standing in the dappled sunlight. “Bronze?” I whisper, leaning closer to Abraxis.
He nods, his voice low and sure. “He’s been training in high altitudes. He told me last month—she’s his mate.” I watch as Abraxis acknowledges the male with a slight dip of his head. The male bows deeply in return before retreating into the shadows.
“So … he’s not her betrothed?” I ask, closing the car door and pushing Abraxis gently toward the back of the vehicle, needing to anchor myself at the moment.
“No,” he confirms, a pleased smile playing on his lips. “He’s not. And honestly, I’m glad. She deserves her mate, not an arranged marriage.”
His joy is infectious, and I find myself smiling as well. “Do your parents know?”
“Not yet. He’s part of the honor guard for winter formal’s procession—a discreet addition to keep an eye on you,” Abraxis says, his tone protective as he brushes a kiss against my temple before opening the car door for me.
Inside, Cerce pulls me closer, her warmth comforting. “All better now?” she asks, her voice teasing.
I nod, leaning into her side. “Yeah, it’s just … ever since I learned to shift and fly, cars feel so confining.”
Abraxis snorts lightly, his fingers moving across his phone. “Don’t worry. I promised I’d take you flying after we’re done shopping. It’s not safe for you to fly alone.”
“Not with the wyvern skirmishes lately,” Cerce agrees. Her tone shifts, a weight behind her words. “They’re still furious about being banned from the academy.”
“Why can’t they attend?” I glance between Abraxis and Cerce, curiosity prickling. “They’re dragons … in a sense.”
Abraxis’s jaw tightens, his expression darkening. “They’re unpredictable. Dangerous. It’s not safe.” His voice carries a warning that sends a chill down my spine. Without thinking, I scoot closer to him, tucking myself beneath his arm.
We step into the same formal wear shop we visited last time, the warm scent of leather and fabric filling the air. This time, Abraxis takes my hand and steers me away from his mother and sister, his grip firm but gentle.
“Mr. and Mrs. Havock,” the stout man greets with a low bow, his voice thick with respect. I glance at Abraxis, arching an eyebrow at the formal tone.
“Hank, I’m glad it’s you doing the fitting today,” Abraxis says, shaking the man’s hand with a familiarity that feels oddly intimate. “My mate and I need something for the winter formal.”
Hank’s eyes flick to me, a warm smile stretching across his face. “Lyric pulled several dresses for your mate and hung them behind that curtain over there. She worked with the color scheme for this year’s formal.” His gaze lingers on me briefly, then dips again in a respectful nod. “Whatever you choose to wear, I’ll ensure your mate matches you perfectly.”
“Thank you,” I murmur, keeping my voice soft. As Hank steps aside, I slip behind the curtain he indicated. Inside, two rows of dresses hang, perfectly arranged from light to dark. The rich colors gleam in the dim light, but my eyes are drawn immediately to the darker end of the spectrum. Without hesitation, I head straight for the black dresses and pull three from their hangers.
The moment I see it, I know which one I’ll wear. A beaded red-and-black sweetheart gown with thin straps and a daringly open back that dips to my hips. The intricate beadwork glimmers like embers against the darkness of the fabric, and I can already picture the effect it will have. This dress is bold, unapologetic, exactly the look I want. Exactly the look I need.
I pin my hair up quickly, securing the loose strands with the clips I’d tucked into my bag. The dressing area is stocked with everything I need—a stick-on bra, a roll of fashion tape. I take my time making sure everything is flawless. When the dress settles against my skin, it fits like it was made for me. The fabric hugs my frame, the deep plunge, and open back, revealing my scales in all their glory.
