Page 25 of Cursed with the Dragon Prince
If I wanted to return home, I trust him to release me. Except I don’t want to leave, not yet. This situation makes something within me flutter. The potential of wings pushes my shoulder blades to expand, stretching and testing the possibility.
My body might be rebuilt, but I’m not sure I can be remade. All my life, I’ve been limited by roles. First as a daughter, a wife, and finally, an unwanted sister. Limitations are all I know, and while my shoulders might expand, my stomach constricts.
Wisp requires that I surrender everything to end the curse. My broken family in exchange for this divided clan of dragon fae. With Scorpia’s poison so recent, the prospect of staying seems dire. How can an outsider become a queen? If my body isn’t built to bear children, how can I nurture the clan into healing?
Home isn’t great, but it’s the home that I know.
We’re quiet again, this time for even longer. For the sake of doing something, I check the stew, finding the waterfowl still needs much more time. The evening grows long, and we’re waiting to eat.
“What do you think happens next?” I ask, turning to face him.
“It’s up to you,” he replies. “If you’re ready to leave, everything will be as Scorpia wishes.”
“Or?” I prompt.
His eyes lift from the cavern floor, reaching for mine. My stomach flutters, my gaze trailing the red scales of his cheekbones to land on his gold-rimmed eyes. “Or we stay here, together. This cave is my secret, and Scorpia won’t find us.”
“I want that,” I reply too quickly and add. “I mean, I need more time to consider.”
If I’m considering this opportunity, it should be because I need a new life, but holding his gaze, I face the truth: I’ll stay because I want to remain by his side.
Drakon
She should not trust me. Nobody should. Not with my dragon’s rush. After she ran from me at the beach, she never should have looked back. My darkest colors showed that day, the worst of me, willing to do anything in pursuit of a prize.
But Kaliyah, with her unwarranted trust, has placed me here. First when I watched Reina sleep, unable to help when the Maledictum appeared, and now, giving Reina a chance to decide what she wants without Scorpia’s interventions.
Despite my unworthiness, she’s under my care.
I can’t imagine what she must be experiencing—from shipwrecked to frightened, transformed and then poisoned—I long to comfort her.
Aching for her, recalling our embrace, I shouldn’t be the one staying by her side. I’m dangerous. Like my father and grandfather before—the clan reminds of this heritage every day.
And yet, even after I chased her and despite Scorpia’s deceit, she doesn’t fear me. Selfishly, it’s a relief. Her company soothes me, a kindness I’ve longed for, the salve I need.
I’ve tried not to worry her, but concern chokes at me. Kaliyah—my clan. Scorpia did something unthinkable toclaim the upper hand. What will she be willing to do next? Hopefully we can speak with someone, anyone, come morning.
The shock of it all narrows my focus on survival, simplifying the next step forward. First, I found us shelter, bringing Reina to my secret dragon’s hoard, a hovel I claimed decades ago, for times when I needed to be alone. Now I’m providing food.
While the stew cooks, there’s no distraction. Just Reina, her eyes wide with a shock that’s all her own. I don’t know how to comfort her.
Neither of us is okay. That much is clear to me. That much is reasonable.
Her body shakes, like she’s cold. I retrieve a blanket from the sleeping chamber, but when I offer it to her, she shakes her head. This isn’t what she needs.
“Can you…” She swallows, her throat bobbing as she questions her own words, gazing into my soul with her deep brown eyes. “Can you hold me?”
Touch.My body softens at the thought, craving it. I need this too. Needing to deny her, closing myself off, I step back.
She lifts a hand, raising it toward me, an offering. “I want to trust you,” she whispers, almost to herself.
I want that too.I can’t say it, and the words lodge in my throat.
Still, she extends her hand. Her offer stands.
This time, I reply by stepping closer, wrapping her hand in mine. Our scales brush, sliding like silk, when I settle on the bench beside her. I wrap my arm around hershoulder—she hesitates, unsure, and then cuddles closer, settling her head against my bare chest.
It feels natural, us, entwined like this. As the stew simmers, my fears are lightened, muscle by muscle. My burden is no longer one I carry alone.
