Page 11 of Song of the Heart Scale (The Dragon’s Ballad #3)
DAMIEN
T he high peaks of Dragon Valley pierced the clouds like the talons of an ancient immortal, jagged and snow-dusted.
I flew beneath the shroud of mist, weaving through rock and cloud with Uncle Bai close behind in his own dragon form—a flash of old power in the sky.
The valley stretched wide below, dotted with banners and settlements nestled along its slopes, but all roads eventually led to the same place: the imperial palace, carved into the mountain itself, a fortress of basalt and obsidian shrouded in legend and fear.
It was my first time seeing it. It was the place of my birth, but I was too young to remember being taken away after being ripped from my mother’s dead arms.
The palace emerged from the cliffs like it had grown there, with its sharp spires, narrow windows, and bridges arching like veins. When I landed on the outer platform reserved for royal flights, the tremor it sent through the structure echoed the tension already waiting inside.
I smoothly shifted, my boots hitting stone with a solid thud and the cloak falling into place around my shoulders. This was the first time many had seen me—the third prince. The Shadow Prince. Let them stare. Let them wonder.
Uncle Bai landed moments later and shifted with a practiced breath, straightening his long coat and brushing ash from his sleeves. “Well,” he muttered, “this will be unpleasant.”
“Understatement,” I replied.
The palace guards stationed at the archway—four of them, all in ceremonial crimson and gold—stiffened as we approached. They didn’t raise their weapons, but they didn’t bow, either.
Recognition dawned in their eyes like a slow, dawning horror.
One of them—young, barely twenty—cleared his throat. “You… are you Prince Damien?”
Uncle Bai stepped forward with the grace of a courtier and the weight of a war general. “Announce us. Prince Damien Drakonar and Royal Prince Bai Drakonar seek entrance to the Imperial throne room.”
The guard’s mouth worked soundlessly for a moment before he nodded and hurried off.
I turned to Uncle Bai. “I take it they weren’t expecting us?”
“Let them be surprised. The moment the emperor died, your exile was null and void. And if Thorne is the good brother he always pretended to be, he will lift your exile.”
My uncle was right, but it didn’t mean it would go the way we wanted it to.
Inside, the palace was stifling. Its air was redolent with incense and old secrets, the labyrinthian halls lined with tapestries that told stories no one believed anymore. We walked in silence, the clack of our boots swallowed by ancient stone and red velvet carpet.
We passed servants who paused mid-step to stare, diplomats who blinked twice and hurried out of our way, and a few old guards who simply bowed their heads and didn’t meet my eye.
And then we reached the doors to the throne room.
Two golden dragons curled around the archway with their mouths open in a silent roar, claws raised as if to guard what waited beyond. The heavy doors slowly swung open—almost theatrically—and the sound from within spilled into the corridor like a breaking storm.
“—a dangerous mistake to declare it now!”
“We cannot delay! The empire will eat itself in speculation!”
“You’re all fools if you think the people won’t see through a cover-up!”
“I said order !”
The throne room was vast, cavernous, with a domed ceiling painted with the celestial wheel; stars, moons, and golden dragons coiled through the constellations. The long table beneath it was curved like a crescent, lined with high-backed chairs occupied by the empire’s highest-ranking ministers.
And at the apex of the crescent, seated like he belonged there, was Thorne.
My brother.
The self-crowned emperor.
His expression was unreadable, carved of stone and steel, with eyes colder than I remembered. He wore the imperial black with a crimson sash, the Drakonar crest shining at his throat. His hands rested on the armrests of the obsidian throne like he’d always known he would sit there.
Julian stood to his left with his arms crossed, his golden armor catching the light like a beacon. Just as arrogant as I’d been told, his smirk deepened the moment he spotted me.
“Well, well,” Julian drawled. “Look who decided to crawl out from his exile.”
The room turned in unison.
There were murmurs. Gasps. One of the ministers—an older woman in sea-blue robes I vaguely remembered as Lady Mirena of Ships—clutched her chest like she’d seen a ghost.
Thorne’s eyes slightly narrowed, but he didn’t move. “Brother.”
I gave a shallow bow. “Brother.”
That got a few murmurs.
Uncle Bai smoothly stepped forward. “Forgive the interruption. We came as soon as we were informed. We thought it wise to attend… given the gravity of the situation.”
Julian scoffed. “Bold of you to show your face here, Damien. You’re not even allowed to leave Obsidian Reach! Now that Father is dead, you think the rules and laws are gone with him?”
“Not exactly,” I answered evenly. “But I like to know when people are making world-altering decisions. Especially if they’ll impact me.”
Thorne waved a hand. “Let him stay. If nothing else, he’s earned the right to hear this.”
There was a pause, then begrudging nods from several ministers.
Lord Zacharia, seated near the right flank, said nothing. His face was unreadable, his hands steepled before him. I saw no flicker of surprise at my presence.
The discussion resumed, albeit with a lot more side-glancing.
I looked around the room, recognizing most of the faces, even if they hadn’t immediately recognized me. I didn’t walk the shadows for nothing. I made sure I knew everyone who was important.
“We cannot lie to the people,” said Lord Rolen, Minister of Finance. “If they find out we’ve concealed the emperor’s death, chaos will erupt in the streets!”
“And if we announce it before we’ve confirmed the cause?” snapped Lord Vauren, Minister of Defense. “Do you want panic? Riots? Accusations of treachery?”
“We don’t even know if it was natural causes!” cried Lady Mirena.
“Which is why,” said Lord Zacharia at last, “we need a careful, ceremonial statement. Not a confession. Not a eulogy. A transition. We tell them the emperor passed peacefully and the rites will be prepared immediately.”
“Of course you’d say that,” Julian muttered. “Your daughter’s marriage hinges on the transition, doesn’t it?”
Lord Zacharia didn’t flinch. “My only concern is preserving the empire’s stability.”
Uncle Bai leaned toward me and murmured, “He’s more dangerous with a straight face than Julian with a sword.”
“I noticed,” I murmured back.
The arguing escalated again. Talk of poison. Talk of coronation. Talk of Thorne’s right to rule.
Through it all, Thorne remained silent. Watching. Measuring.
I stood there quietly, not yet playing my hand.
But I was watching, too.
And I wouldn’t forget a single word they said.
“If I may interrupt?” Uncle Bai raised a hand and stepped forward from the corner where we stood.
Everyone quieted and turned to look at the royal prince.
“My brother was healthy and robust. As such, it would be impossible for him to die of natural causes. We must declare an investigation into his death.”
Julian snorted. “My question is, who would want the old man dead the most?” He eyed me knowingly and everyone’s attention shifted to me. “ Brother , where were you the day of our dear father’s demise?”
“Julian!” Uncle Bai thundered. “How dare you!”
“Uncle, please,” Julian scoffed and rolled his eyes. “You can’t protect him forever. We all know he’s your favorite, but if he dared to kill our father, he deserves to be punished.”
I leaned against the stone wall and crossed my arms over my chest. Tilting my head to the side, I offered an infuriating smirk.
“I have no problem providing an alibi. My only concern is… I’m not so sure our dear brother Thorne would want me saying it to everyone in this room.
” My gaze trailed lazily toward Thorne. I smiled and watched as realization dawned.
His jaw tightened, his hands fisted, and if he gritted his teeth any harder, I worried he’d crack a tooth.
A vein on the side of his temple pulsed and I knew I hit a nerve.
Thorne didn’t care about Cat. He didn’t love her, much less like her. But he viewed her as a possession. Something he needed to obtain in order to gain the throne… to gain the peoples’ approval. And if I told everyone in this room that I spent the night with Cat… well, he’d lose his possession.
“Damien did not kill our father,” Thorne stated bitterly.
Julian whirled on him in shock, as if he’d expected Thorne to side with him. “What? Brother—”
“I was with Damien all night, which was why I wasn’t in Dragon Valley,” Thorne said slickly, giving himself an alibi as well.
I raised a questioning brow but kept quiet.
“Then why wouldn’t he want you to tell everyone in this room?” Julian deadpanned as if nothing was making sense.
Thorne didn’t have an answer. He was stuck.
I laughed, garnering the attention of everyone in the room. “Apologies brother, but I think we’ll just have to tell everyone.”
“Damien…” Thorne warned as he leaned forward, his hands fisted on the table.