Page 28 of Progeny of the Cursed Egg (Dragonis Academy, Year 3)

Mina

The Winter Formal is fast approaching, and the entire academy practically vibrates with excitement.

A persistent hum of speculation weaves through the corridors, mingling with the sharp smell of disinfectant that clings to every polished surface.

Rumor has it a new king for the continent will be named and crowned at the event.

Only a hundred and fifty invitations are up for grabs, and the weight of that exclusivity settles over everyone like a thick fog.

Over the last two weeks, I spend more hours than ever in the temple—its cold stone floors and flickering lantern light remind me of ancient secrets—trying to prepare for whatever comes next.

By contrast, science class feels mundane.

The overhead lights buzz softly, and the stale odor of old textbooks mixes with the chemical tang left over from someone’s lab experiment.

I fight a yawn, wishing I were back in the temple or studying poisons with Balor or refining my personal rituals for the coronation with Ziggy’s help.

On the days I have Balor’s poisons class, Ziggy often whisks some of us away to the temple for lessons, and I’d give anything to be there right now .

I sigh, thinking about how I’ve been relying on Abraxis’s mom in my mother’s absence. She’s been phenomenal through all of this—patient, knowledgeable, and far less judgmental than I expected. Still, part of me aches for my actual mother’s presence.

“Mr. Martz…” Arista’s smooth, calculated voice drifts across the amphitheater. A flicker of mischief lights her eyes, and I tense against the cold, hard edge of my desk.

“What is it, Arista?” Mr. Martz asks, turning away from the projection of a dragon’s nasal plates flickering on the screen at the front of the room.

“Is it true that only pure bloods are being invited?” Arista’s tone drips with faux innocence as she tosses a glance over her shoulder at me.

“And the new king will look for a female to be his?” Her eyes narrow, and I have to stifle the urge to let my power crackle in the surrounding air. I want to roast her where she stands.

“There are several requirements for the invitation,” Kai chimes in from the front row, his voice echoing off the high walls. “But being pure blood isn’t one of them. And from the missive, the future king already has a powerful mate. He’s not looking for another.”

“Hear that, Mina?” Arista taunts, her gaze swirling with the fire of her drake. “No chance you’re going, nor will you horde another male for your collection.”

Balor’s warm laugh resonates against my back as he lounges beside me. The faint scent of leather wafts over me from his fighting leathers. “I’d be more worried about the third-year purge than the formal if I were you,” he says, kicking his feet onto the seat in front of us and leaning back.

Mr. Martz sighs at the flickering projector. “Care to come down and explain that to the class, Mr. Husk, while I fight with this blasted machine? ”

“Gladly.” Balor stands, the heavy clunking of his boots echoing in the amphitheater. My eyes follow the broad line of his shoulders, and I catch the glint of my mate mark on his neck.

“The third-year purge is a single night,” he begins, voice low and confident, “when all vendettas can be settled without repercussions. Diplomatic immunity doesn’t apply, even if you have it. It happens the night before winter break, so be ready.” He smirks as Arista’s face pales.

A male two rows back from Arista’s group raises his hand, voice cracking with interest. “Faculty isn’t allowed to interfere, right?”

“Correct,” Balor replies. “As much as some of us might like to strangle the life out of you, we can’t join in or provide shelter.” He crosses his arms, and the leather strains, reminding me of the raw power he keeps so carefully leashed.

“What’s the containment area?” I ask, imagining Arista’s entire nest quivering under my wrath.

“The campus,” Balor says. “Staff will be relegated to the healers’ quadrant or staff housing.

All kills must be reported to one of the approved teachers.

” He scribbles a list across the board. None of my mates’ names are on it.

“That’s all.” He climbs back up the steps, each footstep reverberating through the silent room, and settles next to me again.

“Interesting post-birthday present,” I muse, drumming my fingers lightly on the worn armrest. I know the others have probably forgotten my birthday with everything going on, but I also know that Balor’s is tomorrow. I already have a plan for him.

“Every three years, the third-year purge happens,” he murmurs, bending close to brush a kiss across my temple. “We’re just lucky it’s near your birthday. ”

My hand drifts to Thauglor’s carrier, my fingertips tracing the soft fabric. Soon, mate number eight will hatch, and our family will finally be complete. “I’m leaving Thauglor with you for the purge,” I say, my lips curling into a feral grin.

Balor snorts. “Oh boy, that look tells me something just clicked for you.”

“Klauth isn’t staff…” The whisper of an idea grows in my mind, and I can’t contain a low chuckle as the rest of Mr. Martz’s lecture passes in a blur. There’s a buzzing in my veins now—the same electric anticipation that comes every time I’m granted free rein.

I mentally start my list. Names, faces, all the ones I want to tear apart. Year three means student against student, and from what I’ve seen at this academy, they aren’t kidding around. The night before winter break can’t come soon enough.

Later that night…

I place my foot on the narrow wooden beam and inhale, feeling my lungs fill with the musty air of the ancient temple.

Torches flicker along the cold stone walls, casting dancing shadows that make the beam look smaller than it already is.

A faint scent of incense tickles my nose—something floral and spicy, likely meant to cleanse the space of dark energies.

Not that it does anything for my nerves.

“Again, my queen. Walk on the beam, hold your head high, and keep your shoulders back. You’re a—what’s it called? A Shadowblade? This should be easy for you.” Priestess Hellen’s voice echoes from ten feet below me, the authority in her tone prickling my skin .

I straighten, trying to ignore the tremor in my legs. “I don’t usually cross a mock parapet in a full-length gown and heels,” I mutter, cheeks warming. My breath comes in short, shallow puffs that swirl the incense-laden air.

Taking a deep breath, I place one foot in front of the other.

Every muscle screams with tension, and the echo of each hesitant click of my heel against the wood sends a pulse of anxiety through me.

The skirt of my gown drags along my ankles, so I lift the edges slightly.

I have to force myself not to sway my hips like I usually do in heels, because any sudden shift might tip my balance.

Below me, Balor, Abraxis, Leander, and Ziggy hover with a net, ready to catch me if I fall—as I have before. Their concern weighs on me, and I fight the urge to hurry and spare them any more stress.

“Come on, Mina, you’ve got this!” Callan calls from the sidelines before a sharp crack of wood meeting flesh cuts him off. He’s supposed to be balancing books on his head for posture practice, but it appears the Priestess just reminded him to keep quiet.

A low chuckle slips from my lips. “Deep breath, my treasure,” Klauth purrs, standing at the far side of the platform with his arms outstretched. The faint scent of his cologne reaches me—a mix of sandalwood and something darker. “The sooner you get here, the sooner I can hold you.”

My heart thumps. I focus on his voice, letting it guide me across. The torchlight catches on the polished wood, momentarily blinding me, but I push forward. “Just a little bit more, my treasure,” Klauth coaxes, his voice low and soothing.

I step off the beam and practically collapse into his arms, my pulse racing. “Ugh, that was horrible,” I groan, clinging to him. His chest is warm, and I catch the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“You still have to walk back the other way, yet, Mina.” Priestess Hellen’s tone is merciless as it drifts up to us. “Abraxis, wait on the other side. Vaughn, replace him so your mate doesn’t splat on the ground.”

Vaughn slides into position below, giving me a reassuring grin. The soft rustling of robes and clank of metal echoes in the cavernous space as everyone shifts into place.

Klauth presses a comforting kiss to my temple and turns me gently. “He’s been working very hard to improve. Walk to him the way you walked to me,” he whispers. A breath of warm air caresses my ear, sending a ripple of tingles down my spine.

On the opposite side, Abraxis crosses his arms, a confident smirk lighting his features. “Come on, baby, you’ve got this. Six-time gauntlet champion won’t let a wooden parapet and heels stop her.”

His words pull a small laugh from me. “You’ve got a point there, my love.

” The beam no longer feels so daunting. Each step grows lighter, fueled by the memory of why we’re doing this—training, discipline, and partnership.

My mind flickers back to my childhood: cold, loveless halls, and parents who never showed me a single ounce of warmth without an ulterior motive.

It’s no wonder I struggle in relationships now, always waiting for the other shoe to drop.

But these men … they talk me through every doubt, every nightmare.

We’ve been putting in the work, especially after therapy sessions they insisted I start.

And here, in the temple, my usually overwhelming visions are silenced.

It’s a strange relief, but it also cuts off my connection to Thauglor, a being I sense in the corners of my mind.

My steps falter as a prickly feeling creeps over my skin—something is off.

“What’s wrong?” Balor’s voice echoes from directly below.