Page 24 of Guardian of the Cursed Egg (Dragonis Academy #2)
Vaughn
Watching Callan run around the nest in Malivore is hysterical.
He’s pacing the wide stone hall, the slap of his boots against the polished floor echoing off the dark walls.
His hands flutter over decorations, smoothing tapestries that don’t need fixing and shifting crystal vases that have already been perfectly arranged.
“Callan, chill out, man. Everything’s going to be alright,” I say, leaning against the cold stone wall, arms crossed.
The faint scent of Mina’s jasmine-infused hair oil lingers in the air as she sits on the arm of the couch, methodically brushing her long emerald and silver strands.
The rhythmic swish of the brush through her hair is oddly soothing against the backdrop of Callan’s chaos.
Across the room, Abraxis is polishing his armor.
The slow scrape of the cloth against steel punctuates the stillness, the soft glow from the chandelier overhead glinting off his chest plate.
“We have two hours to get dressed and ready for the procession and then the formal right after!” Callan practically yells, his voice sharp with exasperation. He throws his hands in the air, his frustration almost tangible.
“Sweetheart...” Mina beckons him softly, her voice like warm honey cutting through his frenzy.
Callan hesitates, then steps closer, allowing her to pull him into a hug.
The scent of wildflowers clings to her, grounding him as her fingers thread through his hair, smoothing the frazzled strands.
She kisses his cheek, her lips brushing against his flushed skin.
“Abraxis, Leander, and I leave in an hour,” she murmurs, her tone calm but firm.
I watch her glance back at me, her eyes sharp and knowing, and I can’t help but smile.
“The rest of the nest will be in the box with Abraxis’s parents, waiting to watch them pass.
Once they get past us, Ziggy will phase us into the dressing room so we can get Leander unsaddled, and he can get dressed,” I add, filling in the behind-the-scenes plans we’d meticulously crafted earlier.
My voice carries a casual confidence, though the tension in the air makes my skin prickle.
Mina nods before Abraxis takes over, his voice steady.
“Mina and I will walk in hand in hand and head to the main table to watch this year’s females enter, including my sister,” Abraxis breathes deeply, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air.
His scent shifts subtly—nervous energy tinged with a hint of earth and leather.
“Warrick has told me my sister is his mate. So when the meet and greet begins, Mina is going to sit with my parents and sister, and I am going to introduce Warrick to her.” Abraxis looks up from his armor, his sharp golden gaze narrowing slightly.
There’s that look again—the tension in his jaw, the subtle twitch of his fingers against the steel.
He’s not thrilled, that much is clear, but I can tell he’s swallowing down his protests.
It’s better than the arranged marriage his parents had planned for Cora, but just barely.
The air in the room hums with anticipation, each of us caught in the web of what’s to come.
Getting Leander saddled and Mina up on his back was almost a disaster.
The fancy side saddle Abraxis’s mom lent us barely fit Leander’s Nightmare—its obsidian-black frame looked ready to snap under the girth of the beast. The leather creaks ominously with every adjustment.
The smell of polished brass and scorched fur filled the air as his fiery mane flickered impatiently.
Mina grips the saddle horn tightly, her fingers pale against the dark leather.
When she gives the signal, Leander ignites his mane, a blaze of spectral blue and orange flames that crackle and hiss like whispers from another realm.
Satisfied they were in position, I raced back to the family box, my boots thudding against the cobblestones. The scent of roasted chestnuts and sweet cinnamon from nearby vendors mingled with the smoky tang of burning wood, carried on the night breeze.
“Did I miss anything?” I ask Ziggy as I slide into my seat, catching my breath. The roar of the crowd vibrates through the box as the first horses clear the gates.
“Right on time. It’s just starting,” Ziggy replies, his voice almost drowned out by the shutter clicks of the fancy camera he’d brought. The scent of fresh ink and metal wafts from the gadget as he snaps pictures with practiced precision.
“I can see the Nightmare from here,” Vox remarks, moving closer to the rail, the metallic rasp of his armor brushing against the wood .
As if on cue, Leander rears up, his glowing hooves striking the air and igniting an arc of fire that dances across the arena floor.
Gasps ripple through the crowd, and Mina’s melodic giggles ring out like a spellbinding song.
The sound sharp and clear even over the roar of the spectators.
Leander prances in perfect rhythm. His steps glowing faintly as if leaving embered footprints behind, matching stride for stride with Abraxis’s warhorse, whose scales glimmer like molten amber under the stadium lights.
“This is amazing. Mina’s dress compliments my son’s scales perfectly,” Cerce says, her tone dripping with pride. The floral notes of her perfume cut through the smoky air as she waves enthusiastically at them.
Mina leans forward, her gown shimmering like liquid blood and shadows, and whispers something to Leander.
The Nightmare breaks formation, its hooves sending up sparks as it trots closer to the box.
Cerce leans over, her gilded gown rustling like dry leaves, and hands Mina a lavish bouquet of midnight roses and dragon lilies, their petals shimmering with iridescent hues.
The rich, earthy fragrance of the flowers contrasts with the metallic tang of the arena.
From what I understand, for a female dragon to offer the mate of her son flowers in public is the highest honor anyone can give.
Mina straightens as she rejoins the formation, her smile radiant, her golden eyes catching the flicker of torchlight.
She plucks a single blood-red rose from the bouquet and lowers her head in a solemn gesture before offering it to Abraxis.
He accepts it without hesitation, sliding it into the sheath with his sword. The whisper of the petals brushing against steel is almost drowned by the crowd’s murmurs, but the gesture speaks louder than words. Yet another dragon tradition—this one proclaiming the strength of their bond .
The crowd grows louder as Mina rides past; the torchlight illuminating the shimmering scales that now cascade down her shoulders and back like liquid armor.
Whispers rise, electric and awed, declaring her the strongest female of her generation.
Their words wrap around me, the weight of their admiration palpable in the cool night air.
When the processional is over, we move to the grand hall, where the unclaimed daughters sit with their parents to meet the available suitors.
The air here is heavy with expectation, the murmurs of conversation blending with the soft clinking of goblets and silverware.
Candlelight reflects off the polished marble floors and gilded arches, casting a warm glow that contrasts with the tension thrumming in the room.
This year, Abraxis escorts his sister to his parents’ table, his strides deliberate and posture rigid—a reminder that his days as an eligible bachelor are over.
“It’s so different on this side of everything,” Mina says, her voice barely audible over the hum of the crowd as she clings to my arm. Her body is warm against mine, her fingers tightening when we pass close to Abraxis’s parents.
“I know what you mean. My clan and those not of dragon origin were kept in the lower hall.” My tone is clipped, but the memory of that separation still stings, the echoes of past whispers and judgment ringing in my mind.
Vox overhears and steps into view, his presence commanding even as he moves with unassuming grace. His dragon scales shimmer faintly under the chandeliers, a subtle reminder of his lineage. “Come, let me show you what your mate is talking about,” he says, extending an arm to Mina.
She accepts it, and we walk together to the brass rail overlooking the lower level.
A tang of salt and musk drifts up from the mingling crowd below—almost thirty different species of shifters, their vibrant energies clashing and intertwining like a living tapestry.
Some voices rise in laughter, others in debate, all underscored by the low, predatory growls of dominance disputes barely restrained.
“I still don’t understand why we are held to these archaic ideals,” Mina says, her voice tinged with sadness as her gaze finds mine. Her scent—something wild and floral—grounds me, even in this swirling chaos.
“Dragon society has been the same since the Gods walked among us,” Vox replies, his tone as polished as the brass railing he grips.
He stares down at the mingling crowd with a wistful expression, his pupils narrowing to slits.
“Dragon mate or betrothed before any other species may be added,” he says, his voice quieter now.
“My mate was a siren.” His tone shifts, heavy with sorrow.
“My father killed her on sight because I was betrothed to Cerce, and a dragon bond is desired over all others.”
The weight of his words settles over us like a shroud. His gaze flickers to me, then back to Mina. “My son is lucky to have you as a mate and betrothed.” With deliberate tenderness, Vox presses a kiss to Mina’s temple before releasing her to my care.
I draw Mina close, wrapping an arm and a wing around her. My wing shielding her from the noise of the hall behind us, muting the clamor and encasing her in the warm, leathery cocoon of my protection. She sighs softly, her tension easing against me .
“Is it wrong that I want to take Cora down there after she meets her mate?” Mina motions to the lower level where the non-dragon shifters are engaged in their own rituals. Her voice carries a flicker of defiance, and I can see her dragoness stirring behind her eyes.
“Not at all,” I murmur, brushing a kiss against her temple. Her scent mingles with the faint metallic tang of the air, and I smile. “But let her get used to her mate first before we bring her with us to the cafeteria.”
The sound of a deep, resonant horn echoes through the hall, silencing the crowd.
The escorts are arriving with the females.
We turn, and Mina steps forward, her posture steady, and her resolve fierce.
She takes her place, ready to receive Cora, her protective instincts palpable in the set of her jaw.
She’s agreed to be Cora’s handmaiden for the evening, determined to ensure no male takes advantage of her.
I glance at Abraxis across the hall, his golden eyes sharp and watchful. I’m not sure if it was wise to entrust this task to Mina, but then again, the alternative would have been him. Perhaps chaos is inevitable either way.
Mina takes Cora to her parents’ table, her movements deliberate and precise, like a predator closing in on its domain.
The dim lighting glints off the scales exposed by the dress she’s chosen for tonight—an unmistakable display of dominance and pride.
The dress not only showcases the iridescent sheen of her dragoness scales but also highlights the multiple bite marks left by Abraxis.
Each mark is deep, raw, and unyielding, a testament to the territorial claim of a black dragon.
The light flickers over the marks on her throat, just under her chin, and the jagged imprints on her shoulder.
Her hair is swept up, leaving nothing to the imagination.
Every single bite is visible, a silent challenge to anyone daring enough to look too closely .
A deep, throaty rumble escapes Mina’s lips, reverberating in the heavy air around her as her piercing gaze follows Arista weaving through the crowd.
There’s a rawness to her sound, almost guttural, and it sends an uneasy ripple through nearby guests.
Cora’s small hand reaches up, her fingers trembling slightly as they rest on Mina’s arm.
The warmth of her touch contrasts with the icy tension radiating from Mina.
It’s a futile attempt to anchor her, to keep her focused.
The scent of roasted meats and honeyed pastries wafts through the air, but it does little to mask the underlying tang of fear and unease that lingers in the room.
I approach with a tray of snacks and drinks, the weight of it pressing into my palms as I maneuver past clusters of onlookers.
Their whispers are barely audible over the hum of conversation.
I catch snippets—mentions of Mina, of her power, of her mates.
The air feels electric, charged with anticipation and dread.
When I reach the table, I offer the tray to Cerce and Vox. The sharp clink of porcelain as Vox pours himself a cup of tea momentarily breaks the tension.
“You don’t need to serve us, Vaughn,” Vox says, his tone warm but edged with a formality that only emphasizes his status. “You’re Mina’s mate. You may as well be royalty with how everyone is moving because of who my son is.”
I force a small laugh, the sound brittle against the backdrop of the room’s tension. “They’re a power couple, that’s for sure,” I reply, trying to keep my voice light. But even as I speak, my gaze shifts to Abraxis.
He’s giving the signal.
My stomach tightens, a mix of excitement and apprehension twisting inside me.
Abraxis is about to bring Warrick over to meet Cora.
The flickering chandelier overhead seems to dim for a moment, or maybe it’s just my pulse quickening.
Warrick’s a monster in every sense of the word, and the thought of Cora rejecting him makes my blood run cold.
I don’t know if I’m more eager to see how it unfolds or terrified of what will happen if things go wrong.