Page 44 of Queen of the Cursed Egg
“When I was fathered? Just over two hundred. He hid his age from the council.” I turn slowly to look over at Thauglor, feeling the muscles in my neck tense with the gravity of what we’re discovering. “That explains why I am stronger than the others.” Everything sits on my shoulders like a weight, pressing down on me until it’s hard to breathe. My mind drifts to Lily, the image of her tiny form, so vulnerable despite her heritage, making my heart clench painfully. I think about how much weaker than Klauth’s and Thauglor’s children she will be. The thought is as bitter as bile on my tongue.
“Your bloodline and his advanced age made the difference,” Thauglor paces, his massive form moving with surprising grace, the floor vibrating slightly beneath his weight. He then looks back at me, his ancient eyes piercing into mine. “What happened to your father’s first female? Seeing that most drakes are betrothed and married off before thirty.”
I think back, sifting through memories like searching through murky water, until it eventually comes to me, the recollection sharp and painful. “He said she had died because she became egg-bound. The story goes that when they were sure she was dead, they cut the egg from her, and it died weeks later.” I stare at Thauglor, the horror of the tale sitting cold in my stomach, then back over at Klauth, the pain of generations of such losses etched in the lines of their ancient faces. “What am I missing?”
“That was the triggering point that sent him down the spiral he went on. Stealing your mom from her male, then breeding her as soon as he could,” Klauth says as he stares at Thauglor, his voice low and heavy with the weight of dark revelation. The silence that follows is thick enough to cut, broken only by the sound of our collective breathing and the distant crackle of the fireplace from the other room.
The next dayI stare out over the lower courtyard in the crisp morning air, the scent of pine and earth rising from the valley below. My fingers curl around the warm ceramic mug, steam from my coffee curling upward to caress my face as I watch Thauglor and Balor assess the unmated males in my flight. Their commanding voices echo against the stone walls, barking orders that carry on the breeze. There are fifteen unmated males who belong to my territory, plusothers who have journeyed here to train. Their leathers catch the golden morning light, a kaleidoscope of colors from midnight black to burnished copper.
I perch on the edge of the cliff, my legs dangling freely over the three hundred-foot drop, and take a slow sip of the bitter coffee that warms my insides against the morning chill. The males who have traveled here hope to earn a place in the main compound. Let’s face it—serving the king looks impressive when you’re searching for a mate. Their determined expressions and the strain in their muscles as they train tell me how badly they want this opportunity.
“What are you watching?” Abraxis asks, his deep voice sending a pleasant shiver down my spine before he settles beside me. The rock ledge crumbles slightly under his weight. The familiar scent of sandalwood and leather envelops me as he leans over to press a kiss to my temple. His lips are soft against my skin, making me smile despite myself.
“We have fifty males wanting to train. Out of those fifty, fifteen live here.” I tilt my head, watching Thauglor making them run laps around the courtyard. Dust rises beneath their pounding feet, and their labored breathing forms small clouds in the cool morning air.
“It’s a good start,” Abraxis says as he watches them, his amber eyes narrowing critically. “Four of them are from my old flight.” He motions to the males with the tall black wings that gleam like polished obsidian in the sunlight.
“I kind of figured—the wings are a dead giveaway.” I motion to two males off to the side, their silver horns catching the light. “Two iron dragon males arrived this morning from the coast. They’re from my mom’s old flight.” A laugh escapes my lips as I tilt my head, the breeze tousling my hair. “Glide down there. I’m going to make an entrance. I want to test those males myself.”
Slowly, that twisted grin of his crosses his lips, making my heart beat faster. His wings unfurl with a leathery snap before he takes off toward the training field, his powerful downstrokes stirring the air around me.
No sooner does Abraxis land than I shift, bones cracking and skin stretching as I transform. I roar down at the courtyard below; the sound reverberating through the mountains, making everyone stop and look up. My scales tingle as I raise and lower my frill before launching off the rock face, the wind rushing past my face. My wings flap slowly as I circle the field, feeling the updrafts cushion my massive body as I take in everyone gathered below. Both Thauglor and Abraxis flare their wings, the sunlight glinting off their scales as they watch me fly. Balor is shaking his head at me, trying not to laugh. I am damn near wyrm status by size alone, and I can feel the power in every beat of my wings.
When I land, dust swirls around me in a choking cloud, small rocks skittering away from the impact. I raise and lower my frill again; the membranes stretching taut as I look down at the males gathered as well as my mates. Their scents mingle in my sensitive nostrils—sweat, leather, and the unique musk of dragon. Thauglor gives me a nod as he walks closer, and I shift back, my skin tingling as it reforms into human shape. Rolling my shoulders, I smile up at him, the taste of smoke still lingering on my tongue. “I’ve come to test the irons,” I say, motioning to the males with the tall silver horns like mine that catch the morning light like polished metal.
“As this land’s queen and my mate, it is your right,” Thauglor says as he kisses my temple, his lips warm against my cooling skin.
I walk toward the temporary training circle and pass Balor; the dirt crunching beneath my boots. “Going to take them to school?” He smirks as he draws his twin short swords from his back, the metal singing as it clears the leather, and offers them to me. I shake my head, and within seconds, Ziggy manifests beside me, the airshimmering around his form. He offers me my blades, the familiar weight and worn leather grips a comfort in my palms, before vanishing again as fast as he had arrived, leaving behind only the faint scent of his musk.
“Get in the ring, gentlemen. I don’t have all morning,” I command, my voice carrying across the suddenly silent yard. With a sweep of my hand, I motion to the ring as I step in, the packed earth firm beneath my feet. This is either going to be an epic success or failure. Only time will tell as I feel the weight of dozens of eyes on me, watching, waiting to see what their queen can do.
CHAPTER 30
Mina
The first malesteps into the ring, his boots kicking up small puffs of dust that dance in the morning sunlight like miniature golden spirits. I size him up, my gaze traveling over his form, noting every detail with predatory precision. He’s not as thickly muscled as Thauglor, whose body ripples with power beneath his skin like liquid metal. Size-wise, he’s close to Balor in height and breadth, just not as defined, his muscles less pronounced under his training leathers that creak softly with each movement.
Balor approaches with ribbons in his calloused hands, the crimson silken strips fluttering in the breeze as he attaches them to our hips. The fabric whispers against my skin, cool and light as a lover’s breath. We bow to each other, the scent of male sweat and worn leather filling my nostrils, mingling with the earthy aroma of the training yard and the faint metallic tang of weapons as we wait for Balor to call for the match to begin.
“Fight!” he yells, his voice cracking like thunder across the training yard, reverberating off the stone walls surrounding us.
I drop into my fighting stance, feeling the earth solid beneath my feet, my weight balanced perfectly as though I’ve become one with the ground itself. The leather grip of my blades warms to my touch, familiar and comforting in my palms, the weight an extension of my arms.
The male charges, one blade held high, gleaming like liquid silver in the sunlight, the other sweeping low with a whistle through the air that raises goosebumps on my skin. I move, bending like a reed in the wind, the rush of displaced air caressing my cheek like phantom fingers as I avoid his strikes. Instead, I kick him in the gut after blocking both of his blades; the impact sending a satisfying shock up my leg and vibrating through my hip bone. He staggers back, his breath leaving him in an audible whoosh that carries the scent of cinnamon and cloves, and I reset, dropping back into my stance, the taste of anticipation metallic and sweet on my tongue.
My eyes shift to those of my dragon, the transformation sending a pleasurable burn across my irises. The world suddenly sharpens, colors becoming so vibrant they almost hurt to look at, every movement crisper as though time has slowed just for me.
I focus on every single twitch of his muscles, watching the beads of sweat roll down his temple, catching the light like tiny diamonds. His shoulders telegraph his next move, the slight tensing giving him away like a whispered secret, and I anticipate it, blocking the strikes with ease, the clash of metal sending vibrations up my arms that make my teeth hum.
He’s a much stronger adversary than I’ve faced in a while, his blades dancing with practiced precision, singing through the air, and a smile crosses my lips as I move to strike. The adrenaline courses through my veins like liquid fire, making everything around me seem more alive. He sees me move and adjusts where he’s blocking, his eyes narrowing in concentration, deep amber flecked with gold.
Unfortunately for him, I changed my mind at the last second. With an upward flick of my wrist, I sever the first ribbon from his hip closest to me; the silk giving way with barely any resistance, the torn end floating momentarily in the air before being caught by the breeze. I reset again, the taste of exertion salty in my mouth, my lungs burning pleasantly with each deep breath, waiting for him to realize what had just happened.
Then I see it—he’s smirking, teeth flashing white against his tanned skin, the scent of his pride reaching me like a spicy challenge. Glancing down, I see he removed my ribbon as well, the torn end of silk fluttering to the ground like a wounded butterfly, a splash of crimson against the pale dust.
Seeing he removed a ribbon from me gives me a strange sense of pride, warmth blooming in my chest and spreading outward to my fingertips. My bloodline, the iron dragons, seem to be stronger and faster than the other species so far, the knowledge humming in my bones like an ancient song. We rain blows down on each other, the clanging of metal ringing across the courtyard like discordant music, sending each other back several times before I take the last ribbon from him, the silk coming away with a satisfying tear that feels like victory itself.
I sheath my blades; the metal sliding home with a soft hiss like a contented sigh, and close the distance, extending my hand to him. His palm is rough against mine, hot and slick with sweat as we clasp hands, his pulse hammering against my fingers. “You are an outstanding fighter. Did you know my mother? Layla Laraunt?” I ask him and tilt my head, watching his eyes widen, pupils dilating with shock, the silver irises almost disappearing.
