Page 44 of Progeny of the Cursed Egg (Dragonis Academy, Year 3)

Mina

We phase back into our nest at Malivore, and I scan the living room.

The cool air carries a hint of cedar and old parchment.

The soft creak of the wooden floor under my bare feet reminds me that nothing here is ever truly silent.

“He should be here soon,” I murmur, my voice barely louder than the whisper of the wind outside.

I glance down at the worn carpet for a moment before lifting my eyes again to study the room—yet something feels off.

I pace slowly, each measured step echoing in the quiet as I scrutinize every shadow and corner.

“What’s wrong?” Abraxis asks, his tone laced with concern as he mirrors my searching gaze.

“Something’s off. Something’s changed in my nest,” I reply, feeling the fine scales along the nape of my neck rise like tiny sentinels in unease.

“Mina, slow down and focus,” Ziggy says softly, his warm voice a gentle anchor amidst the tension.

He reaches out and takes my hands, guiding me to breathe deeply with him.

He inhales in an exaggerated, deliberate manner, and I feel the steady rise of his chest beneath my palm.

Matching my breathing to his, I force the frantic racing of thoughts to slow.

As the thunder of my heartbeat subsides, I concentrate once more.

“My nest feels off. Something has been changed,” I say, my voice low and trembling with uncertainty.

I sweep my eyes slowly across the room before meeting Ziggy’s.

His eyes glowing a mesmerizing shade of green that reflects both calm reassurance and unspoken urgency.

“What was changed?” Ziggy asks, but before I can reply, Abraxis strides over to the door. I catch the soft creak as it opens and feel a cool draft sweep into the room as he steps outside.

I resume my patrol, moving through the interior with deliberate care, each step heightening my awareness of the subtle disturbances.

Approaching the kitchen, the disquiet grows stronger—a prickling tension that tightens in my gut.

On the counter, bathed in the flicker of a solitary lamp, I spot salt and pepper shakers.

I don’t recall ever purchasing such items; their presence is foreign, even jarring, against the familiar textures of my home.

Without hesitation, I snatch them up, the cool metal clinking between my fingers, and stride to the balcony.

I slide open the door, feeling the crisp night air brush against my skin, and hurl the shakers down into the dew-kissed grassy lawn below.

The immediate discomfort eases, though a lingering unease still nestles in the corners of my mind.

Before I can resume my careful prowling, the front door swings open again. Abraxis re-enters, this time with Lysander in tow. A low, primal growl stirs within me—a sound I quickly suppress. “Miss Havock…” he begins.

“Ragnar—Queen Ragnar,” I correct him firmly, standing tall with my shoulders squared as I fix him with an unyielding stare.

Lysander narrows his eyes as he regards me. “Queen Ragnar, may I inquire why you gave me a dud egg?” he asks, his tone mingling with amusement and reproach .

‘Do I have to answer Lysander’s questions?’ I silently protest as I lean on the bond I share with Klauth for guidance.

‘No … You are his Queen—you answer to no one but me in public. Otherwise, you answer to no one,’ Klauth interjects smoothly, and I can almost feel the curve of his smile in his measured words.

Lysander fixes his gaze on me, waiting for my retort. I sigh and reply in a bored tone, “There’s only one male I answer to, and it’s not you.” I tilt my head, watching a flicker of irritation pass over his features as Abraxis muffles a laugh and looks away.

“I am still the headmaster of this academy!” he declares, his voice booming off the stone walls. I smile in return.

“For now…” I let the veiled threat hang in the air as I lock eyes with him.

A low, rumbling purr—a deep echo of my inner dragon—rumbles through me as I watch the colors in Lysander’s gaze shift from defiance to reluctant submission.

I sense his desire to launch into a tirade, yet he remains silent, simply turning and leaving my nest. I narrow my eyes as the door thuds shut behind him.

“You like pushing buttons, don’t you?” Abraxis teases, drawing me into a warm embrace. The deep, resonant rumble of his drake—a vibration that settles something deep within me—brings a small sigh of relief.

“No more than he enjoys doing it to me,” I reply with a playful arch of my brow, meeting his amused gaze.

“Oh, calm down, Brax. Mina did exactly what you would have done if you were in her place,” Ziggy chimes in with a light laugh.

He holds up an odd little knickknack. It’s a curious trinket etched with intricate designs.

I gesture for him to toss it out the sliding glass door.

With a swift motion and a cheeky wink, he complies.

“Does everything feel better now?” Abraxis asks, studying my face for any lingering sign of discomfort .

I close my eyes and breathe in deeply, letting the cool air fill my lungs as I stretch my senses across every inch of my space.

In those quiet, closed-eye moments, every creak of the floor, every whisper of wind against the window becomes an extension of myself.

Satisfied that nothing is amiss, I open my eyes and murmur, “Everything is okay now.” A contented smile curves my lips, reassured that my sanctuary is secure once more.

Ziggy moves to lock the front door—the click of the bolt echoing in the stillness—then returns with his hands extended.

“Let’s go home,” he whispers. I take his hand and give it a reassuring squeeze.

Within seconds, as our hands remain clasped, we phase back to my nest, the familiar contours of home gradually materializing around us.

Back in the living room, I find Cora and Warwick with their baby seated on the couch alongside the others. “Hey, little man,” I coo softly, and the baby’s eyes light up as he reaches for me with innocent eagerness.

“Oof, settle down, William—Auntie Mina will pick you up,” Cora teases with a gentle laugh as she passes the squirming bundle to me.

I cradle William in my arms and rock him slowly, the rhythmic motion a soothing balm in the quiet room.

His tiny hand pats gently against the soft fabric of my blouse, and he instinctively attempts to latch on, as if seeking dinner.

“Whoa, little man, those don’t work,” I giggle, carefully adjusting his position and swaying with him in a tender, timeless dance.

“We were coming to invite you to dinner with us in the compound—in the main kitchen area,” Cora explains with a warm smile as she watches me cradle her son like the most precious treasure. “Mom is taking over the kitchen tonight to cook, and she wants our nests to blend together. ”

I turn to Klauth, tilting my head ever so slightly.

“Can we?” I ask, my tone taking on a devilishly playful lilt as I lean in with the baby still in my arms. I glance up at him from beneath long, fluttering eyelashes.

“Please?” I pucker my lower lip in a silent plea, fully aware of how difficult it is for him to resist my requests.

Klauth leans forward and presses a lingering kiss to my forehead, his warm breath a soft caress against my skin. “If that will make you happy, then we shall go,” he whispers. I smile and lift my face to meet him, returning his kiss with gentle affection.

“My brother isn’t the lead drake anymore?” Cora inquires, and I cringe at the question, a flash of discomfort crossing my features.

“For the safety of the nest, it’s best that the elder be in charge,” Abraxis admits, his tone measured yet resolute. “He’s stronger and larger than I am—both defensively and offensively, he surpasses me on every front.” I can sense the weight of his reluctant honesty in every word.

Ziggy maneuvers the nest into the shadowed corridors of the Risedale compound.

I tread carefully through halls that once echoed with laughter and secrets—each step stirring memories, both unsettling and familiar.

One part of me tingles with apprehension, my scales prickling like a swarm of tiny needles, while the other part welcomes me home.

The cool, damp air carries the musty scent of ancient stone and worn wood, mingling with a faint trace of long-forgotten incense.

I still cradle the sleeping baby and the snug egg carrier pressed against my stomach.

Holding them fills me with an unexpected contentment.

At this moment, every burden is lifted, and everything is perfect.

The baby’s gentle, rhythmic breathing soothes my frayed nerves.

I marvel at his cherubic face: soft cheeks and full, delicate lips, each feature igniting a tender warmth deep inside me.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Leander’s low, melodic murmur drifts toward me as he settles beside me on the cool bench. His presence is a balm against the residual chill of the corridor.

I nod, determination and vulnerability mingling in my eyes.

“I want this,” I reply, gently gesturing to the baby in my arms. “But I need us to be safe first. I can’t bear the thought of my hatchlings being hunted or stolen—to be used against me.

” My voice trembles as a single tear escapes, glistening in the dim light and tracing a slow path down my cheek.

The ache in my heart deepens as I imagine a future where my offspring are prey to those who would see us destroyed.

Leander draws me into his embrace, his warm body pressing against mine, and his lips rest softly against my temple.

“Why do you cry, mate?” Klauth asks, his tone laced with quiet concern. I lift my gaze, meeting Klauth’s compassionate eyes as he offers me a steadying hand.

I accept his hand and adjust my hold on the baby with delicate care before Cora steps forward to take him. “I … I’m afraid of having a family that will be hunted,” I confess, my lower lip quivering as I search Klauth’s eyes for understanding.

“What else?” he murmurs. His fingers trailing lightly along my cheek before leaning down to press a gentle kiss against my lips—a promise of solace and strength.

“I want it—I want it all,” I admit, my voice gaining strength as I speak of dreams and desires.

“The hatchlings, the snuggles, even the little fire starters darting around, stirring delightful chaos. But it’s not safe.

” More tears fall, and Klauth tenderly brushes them away with his thumb, his touch warm and reassuring .

“We will give it to you, Mina,” he vows, his words echoing softly in the quiet room as he kisses my lips once more.

Leander boldly leans in, his mouth trailing a fervent path down my throat while Klauth continues his tender ministrations.

The combined sensations send my pulse racing, my heart thundering against my ribcage as if it might burst.

Both men eventually pull away, leaving me panting and struggling to regain control of my emotions.

The intensity of their combined affection feels as if it could overwhelm me entirely.

I step back into the dining room and take a seat near the head of the table.

As the others file in, a quiet reassurance settles within me—like a solitary ember glowing amid cold, unyielding stone.

Cerce emerges from the kitchen, carrying the first tray laden with steaming dishes whose savory aromas mingle with the soft clink of porcelain.

She offers me a warm, motherly smile before slipping back into the busy kitchen.

I survey the table and sigh softly as reality returns—I have a flight.

Once, I never wanted this responsibility.

Even now, part of me resists it. But here I stand, the dominant dragoness presiding over a growing flight.

“How many others have come to join us?” I ask, glancing toward Vox and Warwick. Their eyes meet mine with a mix of deference and pride.

“Several couples from my parents’ flight wish to join us here—with your permission, of course,” Warwick replies, his tone respectful as he bares his neck in a silent gesture of submission.

“I want to meet the potential couples with my mates,” I declare, flexing my hands as my talons catch the soft light of the chandeliers overhead.

“There is much to be done here for the good of the flight.” I watch my talons shift, the movement a quiet testament to the power and responsibility I hold .

“Very fair of you, my queen,” Warwick murmurs, bowing his head in deference. I glance over at Klauth and Abraxis, both nodding their silent approval with pride gleaming in their eyes.

My attention drifts to Cerce as she takes a seat next to Vox. Then Vox lowers his head to me, and I tilt my head, waiting. “Anything I need to know, Vox?”

“Nothing of note, except that three of our younger couples would like to join you,” he says, his voice measured and observant as he watches for my reaction.

“The same applies to them—we must meet them first before they are allowed to join,” I reply firmly, exchanging a proud smile with Abraxis and Klauth.

“Your mom would be proud,” Cerce adds softly, and I stifle a low growl—the comment pricking an old wound.

In that moment, Ziggy appears beside me, clutching the letter I have folded and unfolded a million times.

I silently motion for him to pass it to Cerce.

As Ziggy hands over the letter, my eyes drift downward to the egg carrier nestled under my chest. Its quiet presence captures my attention, and I almost turn when Cerce gasps—a reaction that reminds me of the past. I know she sees why I growled: my mother once rejected me for bearing my father’s green coloring.

It wasn’t my scales that took after her, nor my horns and strength—it was the green that branded me with my father’s legacy.

Here I stand, the dominant dragoness of a burgeoning flight.

I have seven devoted mates, with an eighth waiting to hatch from his confinement.

Part of me swells with pride at all I have accomplished.

Yet another part remains wary—always alert for the silent threat of betrayal, as if a new knife might suddenly appear in the dark at my throat.