Page 4 of Queen of the Cursed Egg
“Greenhouses to grow food.” The words taste hopeful on my tongue. “I don’t mind bringing it in, but the dragons that live here can make it part of their tithe. Everyone takes a rotation in the gardens.” I rub my face against Klauth’s chest, seeking comfort from him. The soft fabric of his shirt is cool against my heated skin. He tightens his arms around me, the muscles flexing reassuringly, then turns and passes me off to Abraxis.
“You want us to be self-sufficient?” Abraxis’s breath is warm against my forehead as he presses his lips there. The lingering taste of cinnamon from his morning tea still clings to him. He wraps his arms and both wings around me, the leathery membranes creating a cocoon of warmth and safety. A deep, contented purr escapes my lips, the vibration starting in my chest and traveling up my throat.
“I missed this,” I whisper as I tilt my head back to place kisses under his jaw, feeling the slight scratch of stubble against my lips.
“Me too,” Abraxis says, his voice a deep rumble I can feel through his chest before he gives me a last squeeze, then opens his wings, the rush of cooler air making me shiver.
Balor snatches me the second he’s able to, his movements quick and playful. He spins me around; the world blurring into streaks of color before his lips find mine. His kiss tastes of wild berries and something uniquely him—something primal and intoxicating. When we pull apart, my lips tingling, he motions to the remnants of the gauntlet. “So maybe a playground, and a day program for the hatchlings.” His voice is animated as he motions to the area directly in front of us, his hands painting pictures in the air. “Over there,” he points to a really sunny spot where golden light pools on the ground like honey, “the greenhouses? Maybe a small field to plant for the root vegetables alongside it?” His smile flashes bright before he passes me off to Leander.
Leander hugs me like I’m made of glass, his touch gentle but firm. The scent of winter and rain clings to him, and I melt into his touch, my muscles relaxing one by one. “Maybe we should consider a small training area back where the old training area was,” he offers gently, his voice a soothing melody. “You need troops trained to protect the flight.”
“That makes sense,” I admit, the words slightly bitter on my tongue. “As much as I hate to admit it, we need training grounds.” I wrap my arms around Leander and look over his shoulder at Thauglor, whose eyes burn like sapphire embers in the growing twilight. “Promise me it won’t be anything like what I endured.” I keep my eyes locked with his, feeling the weight of this request in the air between us, and he nods slowly, the movement deliberate and solemn.
Leander releases me, his hands lingering on my arms for a moment before falling away. I walk over to Thauglor; the gravel crunching beneath my bare feet. “No one will ever know the horrors you endured,” he vows, his voice rich and resonant in the still air. “Nor will your father ever share the same air as you for longer than absolutely possible.”
Hearing his words, a profound calm washes over me. I drop to my knees before him, the hard ground digging into my skin, and lower my head, baring the back of my neck to him. The cool evening breeze raises goosebumps along my exposed flesh. I stretch my arms out and flip my palms up, the vulnerable blue veins visible beneath my skin. It’s an ancient submission. I’m giving him the right to do what’s in my best interest, placing my very life in his hands. When he touches my shoulder, his fingertips warm against my cooling skin, I stand up, then move before Abraxis and repeat the submission, the ritual feeling right,necessary.
I do it six more times, submitting to each of my mates, the repetition becoming a meditation, a prayer. With each submission, I feel a weight lifting from my shoulders, the air becoming easier to breathe.The tension that existed in the bond dissolves like morning mist under the sun’s rays. No mate before another—all equal in my eyes and heart.
My fear of being hurt caused the ripples in the bond, like stones thrown into still water. My fear of losing control created tension between the males, a tautness I could feel vibrating through our connection like an over-tightened string.Everyone wanted to protect me, but they didn’t know from what. The enemy was inside me all along.It’s hard to protect me from myself, from the demons that whisper in my ear when night falls. My fear was tearing me and my nest apart, corroding what should have been unbreakable.
At this point, I’m letting Bahamut take the wheel, surrendering to a force greater than myself. The taste of freedom is sweet on my tongue as I make this choice. I want to live my best life and not be afraid anymore, to feel the sun on my face without waiting for storm clouds to gather. For the first time in years, hope blooms in my chest—fragile but persistent, like the first flower after winter’s long reign.
CHAPTER 3
Abraxis
Whatever that ancientsubmission rite was, it fixed something in all of us. The tension that once crackled between Klauth, Thauglor, and me has dissipated like morning mist under a harsh sun. Instinctually, she went to the oldest drake first, Thauglor’s stern face softening as she knelt before him. Then to me, having the longest bond with her, my heart thundering in my chest as she bared her neck. Every submission after was in order of bonding, each gesture setting something right in the nest, like a dislocated joint finally sliding back into place.
I stand just outside of the neutral area, my shoulder pressed against the cool stone archway. The scent of milk and clean linen drifts from the room where Mina sits cross-legged on the plush carpet with all the hatchlings. They circle around her like planets to a sun, their chubby hands reaching for wooden blocks and colorful balls that roll across the floor with hollow thuds. She decided today she would take the shift with the little ones so the mothers can have a break. Her melodic voice rises and falls as she recites some nonsense rhyme that has the children giggling. Each female in our flight is taking a rotation watching the little ones. It helps build trust and bondswithin the flight, creating a tapestry of connections that strengthens us all.
“She’s come a long way,” my mother whispers as she slides up alongside me. Her familiar scent of rosemary and vanilla wraps around me like a forgotten childhood blanket. She rests her head on the ball of my shoulder and sighs, her breath warm against my skin.
“Definitely,” I whisper back, careful not to disturb the peaceful scene before us. “For someone who had brief contact with her own mother, I’m amazed she’s so attuned to the little ones.” My voice carries quiet admiration as Klauth joins us, his heavy footsteps announcing his presence before his imposing frame fills the space to my right. The subtle spice of his cologne mingles with my mother’s scent.
“Most of what our mate does is instinct,” he says with a smile that creases the corners of his eyes. “Thankfully, her instincts are as strong as she is.” Pride saturates his deep voice.
As we watch, Mina’s eyes glow, the ordinary pale yellow irises shifting to a luminous gold that reminds me of sunlight through aged whiskey. The pupils contract into dragonic slits, vertical and predatory. There’s a very low pitch that escapes her lips, barely audible to my ears but sending vibrations through the floor beneath my feet. I watch several of the toddlers thrash on the floor, their little limbs jerking as if in the grip of an unseen force. My muscles tense instinctively.
“What’s she doing?” I look at Klauth, panic clawing up my throat, my fingers digging into the stone archway until my knuckles turn white.
“She’s trying to break the hold of the anointing oil,” Klauth says, his calm voice a stark contrast to my rising alarm. “It’s been her plan all along. It’s why she opted for today to watch the little ones.” The revelation hits me like a physical blow.
My mother looks at me, her brow furrowed in confusion, the fine lines around her eyes deepening. I fill her in on what we’ve figured out about the anointing oil; the words tumbling from my lips in a hurried whisper. Before I can finish, I hear the first chirp of a hatchling—high-pitched and bird-like. The sound sends a shiver down my spine.
One by one, the children shift from babies to hatchlings. It’s like watching flowers bloom in fast motion—skin giving way to scales, soft curves transforming into sharp angles. Eight little dragons stare up at Mina with gleaming, intelligent eyes in various shades of gold and amber. Their scales catch the light filtering through the tall windows, creating a kaleidoscope of colors across the walls.
It’s now that I notice some of the bone plates in Mina’s face have shifted and are more angular, her cheekbones sharper, her jaw more defined. A different low pitch escapes her lips, this one resonating in my chest like a bass drum. The hatchlings respond immediately, scampering across the floor with clicks of tiny claws on stone. They climb onto the furs piled in the corner and form a ball of intertwined limbs and tails, a living puzzle of scales and wings. Only when they are all nestled together, their synchronized breathing creating a gentle rhythm, does Mina stand and walk towards us.
Scales cover her throat, emerald with silver edgings, coming up from out of the top of her shirt like an exotic necklace. Her hands have shifted and are covered in the same emerald and silver scales, with lethal silver talons on display—beautiful but deadly. Drawing in a slow, deep breath that fills my nostrils with her wild, earthy scent. I watch the dragonic features slowly recede, melting back into her skin like ice under flame.
“Well, that was a success,” Mina says with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Then she freezes, noticing my mother standing beside me. “Oh shit,” she whispers, and the contrast between her earlier power and current embarrassment is almost comical.
“I wasn’t aware the anointing oils locked away the hatchlings’ dragons,” my mother says, her voice even as she looks over at the ball of hatchlings fondly. The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across her face, highlighting the silver strands in her dark hair.
“Don’t feel bad. Neither did I,” Mina says, her voice dropping to a confidential tone. “But after Klauth and Thauglor said dragons always had access to their shifts, it all clicked.” She pushes us gently out of the doorway, her touch leaving trails of warmth on my skin, and motions for one of the other females to step in and watch the little ones. The woman—Serna, I think her name is—nods and slips past us, her floral perfume momentarily overwhelming.
“What do you mean it makes sense?” Cerce asks, my mother’s curiosity getting the better of her as we move down the corridor, our footsteps echoing off the stone walls.
