Page 32 of Progeny of the Cursed Egg (Dragonis Academy, Year 3)
Mina
The night of the winter formal…
It feels like the entire month has vanished on me.
One minute, we’re heading out for dress shopping; the next, it’s the night of the event.
A faint tremor of anxiety prickles along my skin as I stand before two gowns, both draped across my bed in the dorm suite.
The distant hum of activity in the academy corridors filters under the door, and I catch the faint scent of scented candles someone must be burning.
It’s a sharp contrast to the tension knotting in my stomach.
I sigh deeply, gazing at the shimmering midnight-black gown designed to match Abraxis’s dragon.
Specks of silver thread glint in the faint overhead light, reminding me of starlight on dark water.
The second gown—a deep, iridescent green mixed with silver—was commissioned to match my scales.
Vox had it made by the finest seamstress in his nest, and it practically sings with the promise of power.
“Is there something wrong?” Cora’s gentle voice comes from behind me. She presses her cheek against my shoulder, her warmth a comforting counterpoint to my nerves .
“Everything changes today.” I bite my bottom lip, torn between the two gowns that represent two starkly different roles I’m about to play.
“It doesn’t have to,” Cora says, soft but firm. “You’re still you, no matter what.” She looks up at me and kisses my cheek, her sweet perfume lingering in the air.
I let out a shaky laugh. “I’m finishing school. That part I refuse to give up on.” My voice wavers. “But the council said I can’t run the gauntlets anymore.” A subtle chill creeps up my spine at the memory of the council’s final decree.
Cora carefully sits William down on a soft blanket on the couch, arranging pillows around him so he can’t roll off. “You never wanted to be a weapon, right? So maybe this is a good thing.” She offers me the black gown, her smile gentle. “Now, come on. I get to be your handmaiden tonight.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m grateful for her levity.
“Okay, fine. Let’s do this.” I peel off my sweatshirt and leggings, the cool air brushing my bare skin.
As Cora helps me into the gown, the corset tightens around my ribs, making my breathing shallow.
“I keep forgetting these stupid things have corsets.” I glance down at my breasts, which feel like they’re seconds from spilling out.
“My boobs look huge,” I mutter, horrified at the cleavage.
Abraxis’s necklace rests right above the apex, drawing even more attention to them.
Cora laughs and sets about fixing my hair, pinning up braids and adding the delicate adornments Cerce gave me.
Each polished inch of my horns gleams under the light, reflecting a faint pearlescent sheen.
I tug on the long black gloves that slide over my forearms, the fabric smooth and slightly cool against my skin.
“We have ten minutes to get you on Leander’s back before the procession,” Balor announces as he steps into the room. He’s wearing a finely tailored black suit that catches the faint flicker of torchlight from the hallway.
I nod, heart thudding, and slip my arm through his. My heels click against the stone floor as we head toward the staging area. An undercurrent of charged excitement hangs in the air—whispers, hushed conversations, the metallic tang of polished armor.
“Klauth thinks something is going to happen, doesn’t he?” I hazard a glance at Balor, my voice low.
“That’s an understatement. He wants me and Zig shifted for the coronation, which speaks volumes.” Balor’s mouth twitches in a grim half-smile. “I think Zig will walk you down the aisle to Klauth.”
“If you two are shifted, how are you being crowned?” My brow furrows as I imagine the ceremony with Balor’s basilisk and Ziggy’s displacer beast in place of my mates.
“Easy. It’ll still be done while we’re in our shifted forms,” Balor explains, patting my hand reassuringly.
We enter the staging hall where a line of mounted riders awaits, their horses shifting restlessly.
The air is thick with the scent of leather and the unmistakable musk of the stable.
At the front stands Abraxis and Leander in his nightmare form.
Abraxis lets out a low whistle when he sees me, his eyes flashing with primal interest. “You look absolutely stunning, Mina.”
Leander bows, and Balor helps me settle into a sidesaddle position on his nightmare’s back. My gown drapes elegantly over his flank, though Balor fusses with the skirt to keep it from tangling. When Leander rises to his full height, I realize just how small I feel perched on him—but also how safe.
“See you soon,” I say softly to Balor as he moves away. Turning to Abraxis, I force a smile despite my racing pulse. “Nervous? ”
“No... not at all.” Abraxis huffs out a laugh, a faint edge to his voice. “I’d rather go to war naked than do this. But it’ll buy us more security and get me off the front lines.”
“That is one of the bonuses.” The toll of the bell rings out, resonating through the wide hall and signaling the start of the procession. I swallow, tasting my fear and excitement.
Just like last year, we have to ride out at the head of the procession and stop in front of the royal box.
Klauth will offer me a single flower—his choice.
Leander will have to rear up for me to accept it.
In return, I’m supposed to give Klauth one of my hair ornaments.
But I have other plans. I’ve cut one of my braids loose to give him instead—an unmistakable token, binding me to this new path in a way that feels both exhilarating and terrifying.
The heavy doors swing open, and the cool night air rushes in.
My pulse thunders as we prepare to lead the procession outside.
I catch Abraxis’s eye one last time. There’s no going back now, and the darkness of this night seems to shimmer with countless possibilities—and threats—just beyond the threshold.
The thunderous clopping of hooves against the stone reverberates through the courtyard, instantly commanding silence from the gathered onlookers.
My pulse thrums in time with the steady cadence of Leander’s footsteps as he walks, in his shifted Nightmare stallion form, side by side with Abraxis’s heavily armored warhorse.
Flames lick across Leander’s mane and tail, causing the surrounding air to shimmer in the humid night.
The tang of smoldering ember mixes with the cold bite of metal, curling into my lungs in a heady rush .
Though every fiber of me itches to scan the crowd, I force myself to keep my gaze forward—chin high, shoulders back.
This is as much a performance as it is a test. Abraxis, regal and unyielding in the saddle, tilts his head in acknowledgment of the spectators, while I grip the front of Leander’s saddle, the heat from his blazing mane warming my gloved hands.
We approach the royal box in a synchronized march; Leander’s fiery hooves spark against the flagstones in unison with the clang of Abraxis’s warhorse.
The crowd’s hush deepens, a tense current of curiosity and awe.
A wisp of incense drifts my way from somewhere off to the left, mingling with the sweet fragrance of roses—the chosen symbol of this entire farce of a ceremony.
My gaze lands on Klauth, seated in the royal box alongside my other mates. Even from this distance, I sense the weight of his scrutiny, as though he’s taking my measure in real time. A whisper of excitement and dread slides across my skin. Any misplaced step could risk everything we’ve planned.
Leander draws nearer to the box, his nostrils flaring to release plumes of steam in the night air. At my soft cue—my palm brushing his shoulder—he slows, lifting his head. Abraxis’s warhorse matches the tempo, a testament to the endless hours of practice we’ve poured into these precise movements.
We draw alongside the royal box, and Leander rears up, his flaming hooves striking at the air. The spectators gasp in unison, and adrenaline jolts through me, heightening every sensation—the roar of the crowd, the crackle of his mane, the frantic pulse in my ears.
“My treasure,” Klauth calls, offering a crimson rose so close to the shade of his scales that it sends a shiver rippling through me.
I feel the weight of a thousand gazes, but I school my features into a calm mask.
Removing one glove, I accept the rose with careful grace, inhaling the delicate perfume as though committing it to memory.
I hand Klauth the hair ornament and the braid of my hair.
His eyes flair for a moment before he nods his head at me.
Leander’s flame-wreathed hooves drop back to the ground, and we ease into the procession line.
Hugging the rose to my chest, I exhale, trying to calm the pounding in my veins.
The most nerve-wracking part of this spectacle is over.
Now we must head behind the scenes so I can prepare for the sham wedding and the public bite exchange.
The knowledge that the purge begins in four days hangs over me like a storm cloud, electrifying the air.
But for this fleeting moment, I hold tight to the rose and cast a small, measured smile.
Leander, Abraxis, and I have played our roles to perfection—at least for now.
Tonight’s performance only sharpens the eyes already fixed on me, but there’s no turning back.
As we move away from the royal box, I grip the rose tighter, each fiery flicker from Leander’s mane illuminating my next step into the darkness that waits.
Cora, Cerce, and Ziggy meet us in the staging area, where the other horses are being led into their stables amid the earthy tang of hay and the soft whicker of restless animals.
I can feel the cool night air brush against my skin as I listen to the steady rustle of leaves and distant murmurs from the academy’s corridors.