Page 50 of Cursed with the Dragon Prince
As Reina’s eyes close, I’m unable to look away.
The throne welds itself to her—legs, torso, and back transmuting to gold. The gold spreads to her flesh, gilding her as it consumes her. Her scent fades, becoming metallic. She stops breathing, and the sight of her silent chest unhinges something in me.
I’m afraid.
I wish she had run away.
I should havechasedher away.
“It was her choice,” Scorpia whispers. “Don’t blame yourself for what happens next.”
Clenching my jaw, I stop myself from gnashing my teeth at her. “Minutes ago, you accused me of providing her with misinformation.”
“Can you fault me for checking?”
No. I can’t. Not if she felt for Alinae what I feel for Reina. If Reina had been the one forced upon that throne,if I’d been forced to watch her be consumed… I would have done anything to prevent that tragedy from happening again.
“I am not my father.”
Scorpia frowns, slow to respond, and our moment is weighed down by the throne. Reina remains silent and may remain that way for hours before we learn if she passes the throne’s rite.
“No, Drakon, you are not your father. If you were, you wouldn’t have let her attempt this.”
I’m unsettled, how this affirms my newly born fear and its accompanying instinct to hide Reina away, ensuring she is safe within a cage. Yet my aunt sees me in a fresh light, because I have not acted on this impulse.
She runs her fingers along her arm, tracing the scar I gave her. “It is difficult to forgive. It means accepting that the past is unchangeable, that it’s time to move forward. And I’m still furious—” she clenches her bicep, clawing into her own arm “—so fucking furious. But perhaps my fury has been misplaced, so focused upon you.”
I still, silent under her evaluation, my gaze homed in on Reina.
“I wish you would speak more,” she continues. “And I apologize for the part I played in that. For the future… if there is a future for our clan, I will do my part to ensure you are heard.”
Words fail me. Scorpia’s confession, an acceptance I had long thought impossible, only glances at the surface of my senses. My emotions are tangled with Reina, imagining what pains she could be experiencing, until I’m numb.
Seeing this, she pats my shoulder once, then twice, and steps aside. “We should talk more. When it is over. Until then, let us join the vigil. Together, the clan will support her.”
She’s right—this is how I can be with Reina now; this is what we failed to do for Alinae—and I follow my aunt, stepping down from the dais, and we settle, sitting side by side, our gazes locked on the throne.
Kaliyah leads the clan, drumming a meditative beat, leading a series of humming and chants. The air thickens as incense is lit, and time becomes hazy, lost to a hypnotic daze. Together, we unite, the clan becoming one.
We sway, we wait, and we help our queen to return.
Reina
I become ethereal. It’s not the pain that drives me to the edge; it’s the lack of self. I’m eviscerated, individuality lost as my body vanishes. No longer me, I’m becoming…more.
My spirit rises, and I look down upon the throne—the true one, with the clan facing it—experiencing their vigil as Wisp does. I see from every angle, hear and smell their presence. There’s another sensation too, as if I can feel the color of life forces, one composed of textures. Smooth scales and pointy barbs. Flame and power. Confidence, arrogance, and hunger.
They’re within me, the womb of Wisp’s great hall. The isle admires her creation—they frustrate her. She’s conflicted, doubting her capability to nurture them. She sees them with love and hate, with frustration and fear.
Wisp’s doubt swirls, spiraling. How is a curse a blessing, a blessing a curse? Was she ever worthy of a clan? Her spiraling doubts expand, spitting fire, accelerating.
“All communities have struggles,” my soul speaks. “And each individual has the capability to grow. The journey begins when we forgive ourselves.”
With the words, she calms, her spitting fire settling, as the deity becomes a warming hearth. Somewhere, I hear the beating of a steady drumbeat. Wisp’s clan settles into her calmed protection. She aids them, aiding me.
Resolved, my spirit rises higher still, merging with Wisp. Becoming her, I learn how it feels to be land. The feel of the waves washing over pebbles and sand. The pitter-patter of creatures, their feet thumping upon my stone. I sway with the trees and speak to the sea. Magma rises within me, overflowing, transforming as it massages my surface in molten rivers.
Expanding, my soul becomes and becomes and becomes… until, after a time, I steady, looking down upon the land from high above. Wisp sprawls beneath me, her countless volcanoes spewing lava that crashes into the sea. She’s furious and strong, courageous and impertinent, isolated and compassionate.
