Page 3 of Queen of the Cursed Egg
CHAPTER 2
Mina
The air hangsheavy with late summer heat as I stand at the precipice of my thoughts. School starts in less than a week, and I loathe the very idea. Part of me wants to test out of everything, to just stay home and run my flight instead.
Eww, did I just say that?
A cold shudder runs through my body at the realization. I’d rather command my dragonic companions than endure another semester of mundane education.
I walk to the edge of the cliff, the rough stone warm beneath my bare feet. Looking down at the lower courtyard, I spot Klauth and Thauglor sparring with an impressive array of gleaming weapons. Crouching down, I watch them intently—their movements fluid like water. The power of their hits echoing up the stone walls like thunder. Each clash of metal sends vibrations through the air.
“I’m thankful the books were wrong,” Leander murmurs as he settles beside me. His familiar scent of cedar and winter wraps around me as I lean my head against his shoulder.
“That makes two of us,” I sigh, my eyes never leaving the deadly dance below. The sunlight catches on polished blades, sending brief flashes of light across the courtyard.
“Are you ready for classes to start up again?” Callan asks, his voice low and melodic as he slides in to sit on my other side. His presence brings warmth, balancing Leander’s cool demeanor.
“Kind of? I’d be lying if I said yes.” My attention drifts as I catch sight of Cora and several other young mothers with their babies heading to the gardens. Their soft laughter floats upward on the breeze, the infants’ gurgles a gentle counterpoint to the harsh sounds of combat below.
“Our flight is the only one with hatchlings currently,” Abraxis announces as he steps up behind us. His shadow falls across my shoulders, blocking the sun’s harsh glare.
I watch, transfixed, as Klauth and Thauglor strip off their sweat-soaked shirts before switching to hand-to-hand combat. Thauglor’s rich bronze skin creates a striking contrast against Klauth’s pale olive complexion. Their muscles ripple with each powerful movement, scars telling stories across their torsos. A few young females stop and stare at my mates before Cora points up at me. They turn and rush into the gardens, suddenly forgetting my mates exist.
Blinking, I turn to look up at Abraxis. “Why is that? Why only our flight? There are plenty of others, aren’t there?” The thought of our flight being that different from the others leaves a knot of confusion in my stomach.
“Females have a higher success rate for hatching their eggs when they feel safe,” Abraxis explains, his eyes still following the ancients sparring below. He laughs softly, the sound rumbling in his chest. “It’s not because of them—it’s you.”
I stand and turn to face Abraxis, my neck craning to look into his deep amber eyes. “Because of me?” There’s no way that the influx ofsuccessful births is because I am the dominant dragoness in the nest. The very thought seems absurd.
“Yes, they know you will raze the world to protect the hatchlings. Everyone has seen how you are with our nephews and how you were with the cursed eggs.” The way Abraxis says it makes it all seem so simple, but the weight of his words settles heavily on my shoulders.
Nodding, I take several steps back, my heart beginning to race. Then I take a running leap off the cliff. The rush of free fall is exhilarating—wind whipping through my hair, stomach dropping, limbs weightless. I shift, and my dragoness explodes into existence, scales erupting across my skin in a cascading wave of transformation. The feel of the wind gliding over my body is freeing, each current a caress against my hide. Up here, the weight of the world can’t touch me. I glide over the lower courtyard, then over the gardens where the hatchlings play with their mothers, their delighted squeals reaching my sensitive ears.
Several powerful beats of my wings later, I land in the area where the gauntlet once stood. I’m bigger and stronger now.So why does this place still haunt me?My dragoness sits at the edge of the charred and glassed remains, and we just stare. The acrid smell of old fire still lingers here, mixed with something else—something that reminds me of fear and pain.
My mates, all of them, eventually catch up to me. Their footsteps and breathing form a familiar comfort as I continue to stare at what was the torture chamber for most of my life. The place where I died, or should I say, was killed. The scorched earth beneath my talons still holds memories.
I listen to Abraxis and Balor recount what everyone had learned about this place, their voices washing over me like waves. The sadness that used to haunt me here is long gone. Looking at it doesn’t even make me angry anymore. If anything, I’m numb, hollow like the burnt-out shell before me.
Ziggy shifts into his displacer beast form and starts climbing up my back, his careful claws finding purchase between my scales as he preens them with practiced precision. Any other time, I would purr contentedly. Instead, I lay here on the warm ground and let him tend to my scales, the rhythmic grooming a distant comfort against the cold void of memories. He stays there for a little while until the ancients in the nest look our way.
“Mate?” Thauglor steps forward, his muscular form casting a long shadow across the scorched earth. He extends his palms toward me, the calluses visible even from where I lay. He wants to see the memories this place holds and why I’ve fallen so eerily silent. I close my eyes, granting permission, and wait to feel the warmth of his rough hands against my scales.
The moment his skin makes contact with mine, a jolt of connection flows between us. I replay the memories as far back as I can remember. First, the idealized version—the protective lies I told myself to endure what was done to me. Each false memory tastes saccharine on my tongue, too sweet to be real. Then comes the next version...the truth. I can hear his dragon’s anger rumbling like distant thunder. The vibrations traveling through his fingertips into my hide as he witnesses how things truly were for me.
I cycle through the years methodically, showing first the happy version, then the starkreality. The contrast is jarring—like sunlight suddenly plunged into darkness. By the time I’m done, Thauglor is cursing up a storm, his voice sharp and cutting like the edge of a blade. The acrid scent of his rage fills my nostrils. He wants my father’s head on a rope to beat it with a stick repeatedly. The venom in his words making my scales shiver.
Thauglor shows the others the things I initially hid. The pain that once burned through my body like liquid fire. The threats that slithered into my ears at night. My father had threatened to kill my betrothed in his sleep many times, his voice always low and deadlyserious. Those threats would happen when I was exhausted and couldn’t continue, my limbs heavy as stone, my lungs burning for air. I open my eyes in time to see Abraxis’s reaction to that memory. His normally composed features contort with a fury that makes the air around him seem to warp with heat. There were so many times I came close to dying because my father wanted the ultimate weapon. My blood was spilled across the training grounds more times than I can count.
I shift back to my human form, the sensation of bones realigning and scales receding, sending prickles across my skin. I stare at the remains of the gauntlet, the charred and twisted stone reflecting the afternoon sun in dull glints. My silence is probably scarier than my rage. Anger, guys can process easier—its familiar territory for them. Silence or sadness, they have a tough time working through, like wading through a swamp with no clear path.
“What do you want to do with this place?” Klauth steps forward and opens his arms to me, his scent of brimstone and smoke reaching me before he does. I tilt my head, staring at him for a moment, noting the concern etched in the fine lines around his eyes.
Lately, I’ve been going to Leander when my emotions are a mess, his calming presence is soothing. But now, I step into Klauth’s embrace and rest my head on his chest. I listen to his heartbeat—strong and steady, like a war drum. My eyes close in surrender, and I draw in a deep breath, filling my lungs with his familiar scent.
“Expand the housing and add in a space for the hatchlings, like a day program for them.” My voice sounds foreign to my own ears, steady despite the turmoil inside. I pull my arms up and place them between Klauth and myself, allowing him to control the hug. The pressure of his arms around me is grounding. I need to feel small, like the weight of the world isn’t crushing me beneath its heel.
“What else?” I hear Ziggy say behind me, his voice soft as velvet against my sensitive ears. His fingers thread through my hair, thegentle tugging sensation sending pleasant shivers down my spine, and I sigh again.
