Page 24 of Cursed with the Dragon Prince
He finishes with the waterfowl, adding the meat to the pot. My stomach growls anew—I’m eager for this dinner we’re creating.
He lowers his lips closer to the pot. “Step back,” he instructs.
Once I’m safely away, he breathes upon it, a long, slow exhale. His breath is hot, not quite the flame of a dragon, but fervent all the same. I quiver, still surprised he is no normal man.
Like a catching fire, the pot stays hot of its own accord. Drakon finds a long wooden spoon, spins it clockwise three times, and it stands up straight. It continues to stir without assistance.
He digs through the stores, pulling forth salt and seasoning. He adds a little of each. There’s no more help needed from me, and I feel secure enough to settle my dry throat. I settle upon the bench, sipping from a waterskin, as I watch Drakon shifting through our supplies.
There’s nothing more to do. The pot might be magical, but it still takes time to heat that much water, to cook that much meat. Drakon hands me some sort of ration. “It won’t taste good. But it’s nutritious.”
I accept, and he settles, eating a second ration himself. He fidgets, clearly not ready for stillness either. The bustle of cooking had been a welcome distraction.
For a while we’re silent, eating our rations. He’s right, it’s not tasty, but it settles my stomach. As my body becomes increasingly alert, my need for understanding grows.
I’ve fallen overboard, wandered through a dark cave, and turned into a dragon fae. I’ve been poisoned.
At least I’m not alone.
“Thank you,” I tell Drakon, “for taking me from Scorpia.”
He nods, his lips tightening, debating the right thing to say. He chooses not to speak.
I continue, “It feels like most of the poison has left my system…” I breathe. “Scorpia did this because of me, didn’t she?”
Now he speaks, correcting me. “It’s not your fault.”
His words surprise me. I’m used to accepting blame; it’s comfortable to do so. “Still, I feel responsible.”
He scoffs, and I’m reminded of how Scorpia blames him for my transformation, as if he could have stopped me from touching the Maledictum.
It’s difficult to justify that Wisp has marked me since birth. “Is the clan safe?” I ask instead. “From the poison?”
“Cyran poison is a light sedative, the effects passing in about a day. Like you, the clan will recover, but I can’t see the scope of Scorpia’s plans, especially since she failed to capture you.”
“Oh.”
“Hopefully we will learn soon.” He points to a palm-sized blue stone. “That’s a speaking stone, linked to one Kaliyah carries. We will check it at sunrise and sunset, as is custom. There was no message from her at sunset, but presumably, she was still recovering. I hope to hear from her in the morning.”
So we’re in the dark, with no information about the clan. I still worry, but watching his brow furrow with doubt, I don’t question him further—he’s nervous too.
“Scorpia wants me,” I say. “She wants to send me home before I risk the caldera or the throne’s rite. Why?”
He takes a long moment to reply, and for a time, I worry the words will never come. His eventual answer is simple. “She wants to send you home because she loved the second human to become the Blessed One.”
“Loved?” I ask, recalling how kindly Scorpia introduced the food.
“It didn’t end well.”
I glance at the stew, just starting to simmer. Kaliyah trusts Drakon, but I know there’s something darker here. “What happened between you and Scorpia?” My voice quivers.
He blinks, his gaze trailing the stirring spoon. “She and my father had a disagreement. In my youthful haughtiness, I took my father’s side. It was the wrong decision.”
“Your father?” I ask. “Was he at the banquet?”
“He has passed,” Drakon explains, continuing before I can question further. “As for my mother, she fell in love with a better male than my father and now lives on another isle, hoping tostart a new brood. I visit on occasion. Scorpia is my only family that remains.”
I sense he’s simplifying matters, but this also feels like truth. I’m not ready to press him further—he’s feeding me, granting immediate safety. We’re terrified together, and this is enough.
