Page 12 of Song of the Heart Scale (The Dragon’s Ballad #3)

I swept my dark gaze around the room, lingering on a minister here and there.

“As you all know, I’ve been in exile since birth.

This is my first time in the castle and I’m meeting Julian for the first time now.

But… I’ve known Thorne for years.” There was a pause as everyone processed the information.

“Thorne reached out to me a few decades ago, wanting to get to know me, even though it was against our father’s wishes, which was why we kept our meetings a secret.

But also… because we were together at The Gilded Serpent.

” I smirked and looked over at Thorne, who visibly relaxed.

I shrugged. “We’re men. What can I say? My big brother was going to get married.

What’s a few whores before he gets tied down for eternity? ”

The room burst into laughter, but Julian and Thorne weren’t laughing. Neither of them even cracked a grin.

“Well, that settles that!” Lady Mirena chuckled awkwardly, laughing but not finding any of it hilarious in the slightest. “But the question still stands: how do we proceed? Royal Prince Bai brought up a good point. His Majesty was healthy, which means he couldn’t have died due to natural causes.

Someone must have poisoned him, but to poison a dragon to death is no easy feat. ”

“I agree,” Lord Vauren said. “We have a traitor in our midst.”

Everyone looked around, wordlessly accusing one another of the deed.

“While I agree with the assessment,” Thorne said, his head held high, “I don’t believe we should alarm the public.

We need to let Elaria know that the emperor is dead.

I agree that we cannot wait any longer, but they don’t need to know how he died, or that we have doubts.

We keep it simple and vague. Anyone who dares to question us… ”

He left the statement hanging, but the implication was there. Whoever dared to defy him would be killed.

“I will put out an official statement first thing tomorrow morning,” Lord Zacharia said as he jotted down some notes.

“Excellent,” Thorne said. “Now, as for my wedding with Lady Arya, we all know I am supposed to mourn for a year before any sort of celebrations or rites can take place, but in light of–”

“No buts!” Uncle Bai cut him off. “These laws were set by the Immortals. We cannot go against their wills.”

Thorne narrowed his gaze at our uncle and if looks could kill, I was sure Uncle Bai would be dead on sight.

“Royal Prince Bai is correct,” Lady Mirena agreed. “We cannot go against the Immortals.”

Julian scoffed and rolled his eyes. “When’s the last time any of us even saw an immortal? They’re long dead and gone! Who cares what they think? I say we get on with this wedding and get it over with.”

“ You may not have seen an immortal, but the fae have. And they remember,” I said somberly. “History should not be forgotten. We do not know what the repercussions of it would be.”

Julian exhaled loudly, clearly annoyed.

I glanced over at Lord Zacharia, who was nervously nibbling on his bottom lip.

He stared intently at Thorne, practically begging him to defy everyone and go ahead with the wedding.

I knew it was because he had already figured out Cat wasn’t Arya, but what did he stand to gain from selling her off like cattle?

“We’ll wait…” Thorne said reluctantly. “But an empty throne cannot wait. As Crown Prince, I am mandated to take up the throne. Anyone who opposes this natural ascension will be accused of attempting to usurp the crown.”

I wanted to snort but kept my expression neutral. Technically, he wasn’t wrong. As Crown Prince, he was next in line for the throne. But how did he assume the title of Emperor so quickly?

Lord Vauren looked around the room and sighed. “I have no objections.”

“Neither do I,” Lord Rolen said, followed by Lady Mirena, Lord Zacharia, and the rest of the council members.

Thorne almost couldn’t hide the sinister smile spreading across his face. “Very well, then it’s settled. Lord Zacharia, please prepare the rites for tomorrow.”

Lord Zacharia nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Just hearing his soon-to-be title made Thorne brim with pleasure. In stark contrast, I wanted to gag. Something was wrong about all of this, and I had to figure it out before the next thunderstorm.

Speaking of…

“Thorne?” I called out, refusing to call him Your Majesty . “Where is Malachar, the seer?” Our father’s right-hand man was conspicuously absent.

Thorne cleared his throat and straightened. “He remains by Father’s side. He did not want to leave.”

Now that was loyalty. But if anyone knew the truth, it was him.

I nodded. “Any chance I could see Father before I leave?”

There was a pause, almost as if everyone in the room was holding their breaths. Almost as if everyone had asked the same question.

“Right now is not suitable,” Thorne cryptically replied.

I furrowed my brows. “Pardon?”

He ignored me and returned his attention to the council. “All right, since there’s nothing else to discuss, we will adjourn.”

Everyone awkwardly began to pack their belongings and leave. I turned to Uncle Bai, who gave me a stern look as if he was thinking the same thing.

“What did that mean?” I whispered as everyone shuffled around us.

“I don’t know,” Uncle Bai whispered back. “But it can’t be good… for your father. They are obviously hiding something and Malachar is either helping them, or he is being kept captive.”

“You know what that means…” I murmured.

Uncle Bai smirked. “It’s time to do what you do best.”

It was time to play in the shadows.

The palace of Dragon Valley changed when the sun dipped below the mountains.

By night, it wasn’t a monument—it was a labyrinth.

Every hallway seemed to shift and every corridor swallowed sound.

I slipped from my guest chambers just after the second bell chimed, dressed in shadow-dyed leather that didn’t rustle when I moved.

The moment I stepped past the threshold, the silence pressed against me like a long-held breath.

Moonlight filtered through narrow, pointed windows, flinging fractured beams across mosaics that stretched up to vaulted ceilings.

I paused at an intersection, unsure which way to turn.

Three halls extended before me, each identical in construction—same black marble floors, same crimson tapestries edged in gold.

I chose the left hall, padding quietly with my hand grazing the wall. The stone was warm beneath my fingers, fed by the veins of magma rumored to run beneath the keep. It pulsed faintly, like a living thing.

I passed rooms sealed behind iron-etched doors, some warded with unfamiliar runes. The scent of burnt sage and lavender clung to one chamber so heavily it made my eyes water. I doubled back.

My path took me through a domed gallery lined with ancient dragon relics.

I crept past massive, fossilized claws mounted on plinths, each one labeled with old Drakonar glyphs.

The echo of my footfalls was too loud in here.

I winced at every soft tap of boot on stone. The space was too open, too reverent.

A shuffle.

Voices.

I darted behind a column, my heart pounding as two robed acolytes entered from a side door. One carried a stack of parchments, the other a box of sealed scrolls.

“I told you, the rites aren’t meant to be performed so soon—”

“We don’t have a choice. Prince Thorne gave the order himself.”

“That’s Emperor Thorne now.”

After they passed, I waited ten full breaths before emerging again.

I followed their path and descended a spiral staircase, brushing my fingers along the iron rail slick with condensation. The further down I went, the colder it grew. Here, the torches burned blue-white. Their flames hissed.

The lower levels weren’t on any public tour. These halls were narrower, filled with storage alcoves and sealed chambers. Dust coated everything.

It took several false turns and another near miss—ducking behind a tapestry just as a patrolling pair of guards rounded the bend—before I found a servant’s corridor that sloped downward.

The air changed.

Incense. Strong and cloying. Not temple incense—this was funeral incense.

I crouched and pulled open a small ventilation grate. Cold air rushed through and stung my cheeks.

I crawled inside.

The crawlspace was barely wider than my shoulders. I dragged myself forward inch by inch, the stone scraping my elbows. Rats scurried ahead, their claws scratching like whispers.

Ten minutes. Then fifteen.

I turned once, then twice. I thought I’d gotten lost until the scent grew stronger. Something herbal. Cloying. Too much of it.

A faint glow shone ahead.

I came to another grate, pressed against it, and peered through.

The emperor’s chamber.

Enormous. Still. Lit by dozens of candles, their light turned gold by the silk-draped walls. A dragon mural coiled above the bed like a guardian spirit. And on that bed—still and pale—lay the emperor, shrouded in black silk.

Malachar sat on the floor beside him, cross-legged with one arm chained to the bedpost. His head was bowed. One eye was swollen shut, the other glowing weakly beneath the hooded lid.

I drew my dagger, twisted the screws loose, and pushed the grate aside.

I dropped silently onto the floor.

Malachar didn’t flinch.

“You’re late,” he rasped.

I straightened. “What happened?”

“You know what’s happened.”

I glanced back at the body. “Was it poison?”

“I don’t know.”

“What did you see?”

“I saw a death with no shadow,” he whispered. “No echo. No last breath. He died… and the room didn’t notice.”

Chills traced my spine.

I looked down at the chains. “Who locked you in here?”

Malachar looked toward the door. “Ask the one who wears the crown.”

My jaw tightened.

He suddenly gripped my wrist with surprising strength. “They think I don’t know, but I do. I saw a flame snuffed before it burned its brightest. I saw a throne left warm by a dead man’s weight. I saw three brothers, and only one walking away.”

“Tell me plainly,” I hissed.

“You must walk the path in shadow, Damien. Because if you walk in light, they will see you—and they will kill you for what you find… and for what you are.”

I stood and looked down at the bed, at the emperor’s still, pale face beneath the silk. At the cooling, sacred place where power had died and something else—something wrong—had taken its place.

I squatted down to be at eye level with the seer. “When is the next thunderstorm?”

Malachar laughed and threw his head back. “You think you can escape? The Immortals are not happy, boy. The punishment is about to begin.”

I frowned. “What are you talking about? Stop talking in riddles, Malachar!”

He finally turned to me and met my gaze. “You are the one true king, Your Highness. I told His Majesty before his death. I told him about the vision I had, about the devastation that would be brought upon Elaria if we continued on this path.”

I swallowed. “You had a vision… about me ?”

He nodded. “The Immortals were not happy with the emperor for his mistreatment of you. They wanted retribution. To make up for it, His Majesty was going to name you Crown Prince.”

I couldn’t hold back my startled gasp. “What?”

“His death was no accident, Your Highness. And you are the one who is in danger now.”

“What kind of punishment will Elaria be forced to endure?” I thought about the innocent people who would be left to deal with the repercussions when I left.

“Famine was the first plague I saw. It will begin when the usurper takes the crown,” Malachar calmly stated.

“That’s tomorrow.”

“Then you don’t have much time, boy.”

I couldn’t stop the rites even if I wanted to. It was happening and everything was already in motion.

“I can’t stop it, Malachar. What do I do?”

“You are the one true king, Your Highness. Only you have the answers.”

I snorted and stood. “Don’t give me that! You worked with my father… or my so-called father, to take away my fate. None of you wanted me on the throne, and now all of a sudden I’m supposed to believe you all do? I don’t buy it.”

A faint clink of chains as he shrugged one bony shoulder. “Believe what you want, Your Highness, but running away to another world won’t help the mess you leave behind here.”

“Why now? Why did you change your mind now? You’ve been helping my father all this time. It doesn’t make sense!”

Malachar sighed. “The Immortals have been quiet… until now. Damien… you can’t run away from your fate.”

He was right. I knew he was right. I just didn’t know what to do.

“Do you want me to help you escape?”

Malachar shook his head. “No. I will stand guard by His Majesty and protect his body until you have pulled the curtain on his murderer. When you’ve done so, I’ll be here, waiting.”

I nodded. “At least tell me when the next thunderstorm will be so I can send Cat home. She needs to be safe from Thorne.”

Malachar laughed bitterly. “You still don’t get it, Damien. There will be no storm. As long as Thorne sits on the throne, Elaria will see no rain.”