Page 1 of Queen of the Cursed Egg
CHAPTER 1
Klauth
IT’S BEEN FIVE DAYS...
The younger malesin the nest are worried about how long our mate has been asleep. The last two times she was put under, she slept only two and a half days to almost three. The air in the cavern feels stale and heavy with anxiety, each breath carrying the mingled scents of our collective concern. Vox and Cerce arrived an hour ago, bringing their trusted doctor with them, the unfamiliar scent of antiseptic clinging to the physician’s clothes, cutting through the musk of dragons. Unfortunately, Thauglor will not let strangers near Mina. His massive head blocks the path to our sleeping mate, his scales gleaming like polished obsidian in the dim light of the cavern.
“We need to let the doctor check her,” I yell at my stubborn friend, my voice echoing off the stone walls, bouncing back at me with my frustration.
His rumbling sounds like a storm squall on the horizon, the vibration traveling through the stone floor and up through my feet. His dragon doesn’t trust outsiders, especially after our suspicions ofthe anointing oil. He lowers his massive maw to Mina and sniffs her, nostrils flaring as he takes in her scent, before raising his head again. He rumbles the chemicals are almost gone and to leave her alone. The deep sound resonates in my chest cavity. Stubbornly, he pulls his taloned hand close to his body. The scales scraping against each other with a sound like metal on stone. He lowers his head, shielding Mina from the world. The heat radiating from his massive form creates a pocket of warmth around her sleeping body.
“You said the chemicals only last as long as her heat does, correct?” I look at a very frightened doctor and Vox and his mate. The doctor’s face is pale, a sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead.
“Yes, that’s correct,” the doctor’s voice wavers as he tries to maintain a level of professionalism, his knuckles white as he grips his medical bag.
“Leander, go check Mina’s scales on the back of her neck. Tell us what color they are.” No sooner are the words out of my mouth than he’s on the move to look at our mate, his footsteps quick and light against the stone floor. Thauglor’s eye narrows as he stares down at Leander, the vertical pupil contracting to a thin line, before he lifts his head slightly with a reluctant huff of hot breath that ruffles Leander’s hair. Several minutes later, Leander emerges and shakes his head, the concern evident in the tight line of his mouth.
“They’re still magenta in spots. I suspect having three powerful drakes is prolonging her cycle,” Leander says before bowing to Thauglor and walking away, the sound of his retreat echoing in the cavernous space.
“That sounds reasonable,” the doctor says, visibly relaxing now that the focus is off him. “Make sure to give her at least bone broth or fresh blood while she sleeps. You don’t need her dehydrated or starving when she wakes up.” The smell of fear still clings to him, sour and sharp.
Ziggy removes the doctor from the cavern, their footsteps fading into the distance, leaving only the family with Mina. The atmosphere lightens marginally, tension easing from my shoulders.
“Other than sleeping, how has she been?” Vox asks as he watches Thauglor lower his head again protectively.
“She’s been drinking the bone broth with marrow, and we’ve pureed beef organs to supplement the extra nutrients for her,” Leander reads down the list he’s been keeping, the paper rustling softly in his hands. He glances up and then over at me, the concern in his eyes mirroring my own.
I nod slowly at him and then look back at Vox. “Sleeping through her heat cycle is unnatural. But, all things considered...” I look at Abraxis and Thauglor, their contrasting forms—one smaller, the other massive and refusing to shift from his dragon’s form.
The last five days, we’ve come to an understanding. Abraxis knows Mina best, so when things need to be presented to her, he’s going to do it. The scent of his anxiety lingers in the air, a constant reminder of his fear for her. Thauglor is the wildcard at the moment and an unknown, that is until the school year starts. Abraxis, Balor, and I finally talked him into taking the headmaster's position, though the negotiations left the air thick with tension for hours.
As for me, I get to wrangle the two black dragons and prevent pissing matches or mass murder. Because apparently, it’s a thing with their species. Murder seems to be the first option for resolution, a fact that makes my scales itch with unease.
Balor is not as bloodthirsty, though he has the habit of turning people to stone he doesn’t like. His more measured approach is a welcome contrast to Thauglor’s volatility. Ziggy returns with the cooler, the hinges squeaking slightly as he carries it, and walks closer to Thauglor. The scent of fresh blood wafts from the container, rich and metallic.
“I need to feed Mina unless you want to shift back and do it?” Ziggy sits the cooler down with a soft thud, and we wait to see what my old friend does.
Thauglor tilts his massive horned head so he can look at Mina and Ziggy at the same time, scales shifting with a soft rasp. He exhales hard, a gust of hot air that carries the scent of smoke and something ancient, and drops his nose to Mina, then looks back up at Ziggy again. The message is clear even without words. Ziggy moves quickly, scooping Mina up, her body limp in his arms, and backing away. I close the distance between us, the stone cool beneath my feet.
“You understood him?” Arching a brow, I glance from Ziggy to Thauglor as he shifts back, bones cracking and reforming with wet sounds.
“Yeah, figured it out the last time I brought food in. He enjoys feeding her, so I let him,” Ziggy explains, his voice softer than usual in deference to our sleeping mate. “I’ve been around her for almost four years. He’s only had a few months. It’s only fair.” Ziggy smiles as he moves to walk over to the furs on the ground, his footsteps silent despite his size.
Thauglor moves quickly to sit down, the air displacing around his powerful form, and Ziggy carefully transfers Mina to be cradled in the furs, adjusting her position so she’s sitting up enough to not choke. Her skin is pale in the dim light, a stark contrast to the dark furs beneath her.
“My love,” Thauglor whispers, and I almost choke on my spit hearing how soft he’s speaking to her, his normally thunderous voice reduced to a gentle caress. Hearing me, his head whips up, and his eyes narrow, the blue darkening to stormy gray. His wings flare and flex in challenge, the membranes stretching taut with a sound like leather being drawn tight. The display sends a gust of air in my direction, carrying his territorial scent.
I put up my hands and back away slowly, not wanting to provoke him further. My attention shifts to Callan and Balor, who are looking over a sheet of paper, their heads bent close together. “What’s that?” I motion to the sheet in their hands, the paper crinkling softly as they adjust their grip.
“Mina’s schedule for this year. She has two politics classes and, of course, the war courses focused on being a tactician,” Callan says as he looks up, that one eye of his glowing casting eerie shadows on his face.
“We kept her art class she loves so much, and we put her in advanced physics with Anipe,” Balor says with a smile as he looks at Thauglor, blotting Mina’s lips between feedings, the tender gesture at odds with his fearsome reputation. “He’s a good mate,” Balor says as he motions to Thauglor, fussing over Mina, adjusting the furs around her with careful precision.
“Honestly, I never thought I’d live long enough to see him like this,” I mention as I pause to watch my oldest friend with our mate. The sight is surreal, like watching a mountain cradle a flower. He glances up and catches me watching him, those ancient eyes meeting mine across the space between us. Promptly, he gives me the middle finger and grumbles something under his breath. The words are too low to catch, but the sentiment is clear enough.
“He’s adapting well to modern times, I see,” Balor laughs a little, the sound warm in the cool cavern air, before looking over the schedule, his finger tracing the lines of text.
“You’re not teaching again this year,” I observe, taking Mina’s schedule from him to look over, the paper smooth and crisp beneath my fingers.
