Page 48 of Cursed with the Dragon Prince
Kaliyah’s approach is slow, her limp more pronounced than before. If I become queen, there will be much work to do, healing my clan.
IfI become queen.
“Reina,” Drakon whispers, and when he reaches for my hand, I let him hold it. The clan looks upon us as I turn to face him, to hear his plea. “Come back to me.”
My lips tremble, and I blink back tears. He’s done much to protect me, to give me this chance. What happens next isn’t his responsibility.
“I release you from your oath,” I say, squeezing his hand.
“Don’t,” he snarls.
I cup his chin in my palm. “And I’ll make a new promise in its place, one to do everything in my power to survive this, to return to you.”
“There is no need for such an oath.” He bows his head, holding my gaze. “Reina, you are already my queen.”
My heart melts. He adores me, something I thought impossible. “I’ll be okay,” I assure him.
Scorpia scoffs, witnessing our moment, overhearing our words, but we don’t let go.
By the time Kaliyah reaches the dais, the clan has come closer, clustering around the elder. They help her rise, to join us on the obsidian dais.
Her attention is rapt upon me. “Reina, is it your intention to attempt the throne’s rite?”
“It is.”
“Very well.”
Kaliyah raises her arms, shouting to the clan. “You heard her. Prepare for the vigil. Let us begin.”
At her words, the clan breaks into movement, presumably preparing for the vigil, but I struggle to perceive what they’re doing.
The throne draws my attention, the Maledictum upon its seat. The vivid green stem and sharp thorns, the bright petals with golden hues. The fireflies have returned, their light subtle, only there for me.
Like before, it is beautiful, and I am compelled.
Surrendering to a summons only I can hear, I squeeze Drakon’s hand one final time and let him go. Striding to the throne, I pick up the rose and clench the stem, thorns pricking at my fingers. My body glides, needing little direction from me as I settle, sitting upon Wisp’s throne.
Drakon steps closer, his dark gaze concerned. Somewhere, there’s the first beat of a drum.
“Trust me,” I try to say, but words cannot fall from my unconscious lips.
Wisp
Reina
I walk on magma, but my feet do not burn.
The caldera is Wisp’s heart, and I’m entombed by its beats. The hot earth oscillates, splashing my ankles. Everything shakes, ripples becoming waves as rocks crumble, the caldera breaking. Magma spews, covering me, becoming solid, catching me like a net, pulling me…
down…
down…
down…
Into the belly of Wisp, I’m dragged through molten earth. The magma enters my lungs, burning my soul. Pieces of me are pulled apart, scoured, and returned. Again and again, I’m torn apart, body, mind, and soul. The process of rebuilding consumes an eternity, and I lose myself every time I’m rebuilt. I’m broken and I become, again and again.
I persist—survival doesn’t depend on strength of will but on my ability to endure, and I learned perseverance from a lifetime of neglect.
