Page 16 of Song of the Heart Scale (The Dragon’s Ballad #3)

I twisted in his grasp, using my body weight to break his hold, but my dress tangled around my ankles. I stumbled off-balance for just a second, but it was enough. Thorne's fist connected with my shoulder, sending white-hot pain lancing through my arm.

I bit back a cry, refusing to show weakness.

The pain in my shoulder was nothing compared to what I'd endured in Kandahar.

“Is that all you've got?” I taunted, using the distraction to reach down and tear my dress further, freeing my legs up to my knees.

“Dragon or not, you telegraph your moves like an amateur.”

His eyes widened at my continued defiance. “You should be cowering by now!”

“Not my style,” I said, circling him again. I grabbed a decorative garden stake from a nearby flower bed and brandished it like a staff. “Where I come from, we fight monsters bigger than you every day.”

Thorne's laugh was cruel. “And what monsters would those be, little human?”

“The kind who wear uniforms and hide behind flags.” I lunged forward, driving the stake toward his abdomen.

He evaded my strike with inhuman speed, but I still managed to graze his side. The stake tore through his expensive tunic and left a thin trickle of blood.

“You'll pay for that,” he growled, his voice becoming more guttural with each word.

I spun the stake like a baton. “Send me a bill.”

The air around him shimmered as his transformation continued.

His shoulders broadened, stretching his clothing with the rip of tearing fabric.

The ground beneath us trembled as he gathered power.

“I was going to keep you alive,” he snarled, “but perhaps I'll just slice that mark off your severed arm.”

“Big talk coming from someone bleeding from his nose!” I shot back, though my confidence was wavering. Fighting humans was one thing—I'd done plenty of that—but battling a dragon shifter was definitely above my pay grade.

He charged again, but before he could strike, I slammed my forehead into his face. The headbutt wasn't pretty, but it was effective. Thorne staggered back with a roar of surprise.

“ That's for ruining my hair,” I panted, yanking the rose from my bun and tossing it aside. Blood dripped where the thorns had scratched my scalp.

“You fight like no noblewoman I've ever seen,” he growled, a newfound wariness in his eyes.

I laughed, the sound short and sharp. “Because I'm not one.”

Taking advantage of his hesitation, I grabbed a decorative garden urn and hurled it at his head. He ducked, but the distraction gave me time to tear another slit up the opposite side of my dress. The expensive fabric ripped with a satisfying sound.

As Thorne recovered and advanced again, the garden air suddenly crackled with electric tension. A large shadow passed overhead, blotting out the sun.

“Get down!” a familiar voice commanded.

I dropped flat as an immense gust of wind swept through the garden, followed by the deafening sound of massive wings. Damien landed between us with his body already partially transformed; scales glittered along his exposed forearms and his dark eyes blazed with protective fury.

“Touch her again, brother, and I'll forget every shred of supposed family loyalty we are supposed to have!” he growled. Though his voice resonated with the same inhuman power as Thorne's, it was somehow warmer, deeper.

Thorne froze and genuine shock crossed his features. “Damien? You dare show your face here?”

“I dare much more than that.” Damien's stance was predatory, coiled with lethal intent. “Step away from my mate.”

Thorne's eyes darted between us, calculating. The scales rippling beneath his skin slightly receded as he straightened his posture, trying to maintain some dignity despite his bloody nose and torn clothing. “Your mate?” he spat.

I pulled myself to my feet despite the throbbing pain in my shoulder. I wiped blood from my lip and stood tall, torn dress and all.

Damien didn't take his eyes off his brother, but his hand reached back to find mine. The moment our fingers intertwined, our twin flame marks blazed with golden light, illuminating the garden with eye-squinting brilliance.

“The marks,” Thorne whispered, his face contorting with rage and disbelief. “So it is true!”

“It was always true,” Damien said with a voice like gravel. “Father knew it. It was why he took away my dragon bones and… my heart scale.”

“So the exiled prince returns,” Thorne sneered, though he took a step back. “Breaking royal decree by leaving your exile could cost you your head. I let it go at the council meeting, but…”

Damien's laugh was low and dangerous. “Royal decree? From a dead emperor? I think not.”

“My word is law now,” Thorne countered. “If I say–”

“Go ahead, then.” I stepped out from behind Damien, refusing to cower behind my mate. “I dare you. Exile him and let’s see what the people think of their new emperor. You and I have already had this discussion. I’m not a VCR. I hate repeating myself.”

Damien frowned as he looked down at me. “A what?”

I waved him off. “I’ll explain later,” I murmured.

He nodded thoughtfully and looked back at his brother.

“She,” Thorne pointed at me accusingly, “is mine !”

Damien’s growl reverberated in his chest so loudly, I was certain it could be heard all the way inside the main house. “She… is not yours. She is mine ! I dare you to lay another finger on her. Just try it, brother, and I vow you won’t have any fingers left.”

Fury radiated off Thorne in wrathful waves, but he wisely kept silent. It seemed he didn’t have the energy to pick another fight, especially not against Damien, someone who could actually beat him.

“This isn’t over!” he shouted. Kicking his cloak out of the way, he whirled and stormed out of the garden toward his waiting carriage.

We didn’t move until we saw him climb into the carriage and it clambered down the street. Once he was out of sight, we each took a deep breath.

Damien reeled on me, gripping my upper arms and sizing me up and down. “Are you okay?”

I winced at the residual pain in my shoulder. “He got me good here.” I motioned to my shoulder.

“Let me see.” He started to pull my dress down when I stopped him.

“Damien!” I shrieked. “We’re in public!”

He looked around as if realizing his surroundings and nodded. “Apologies.”

“It’s okay,” I chuckled. “Thanks for coming to my rescue. Although I totally had him.” I winked.

Damien snorted. “Sure you did. He was ready to burn you to a crisp.”

I rolled my eyes. “I guess, but I’d totally go out like a Targaryen.”

“Like a what?” Damien furrowed his brows in confusion.

I sighed dramatically, throwing my head back. “We have so much work to do when we get to my world. First order of business, we have to binge Game of Thrones . It’s a requirement if you want to be a citizen of the United States of America.”

“Really?” Damien’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Really. Trust me, I’d never steer you wrong,” I said solemnly as I patted him on the shoulder, wincing at the motion of my own.

“Easy,” he murmured and lowered my arm.

The garden looked like it had weathered a hurricane—or in this case, a royal temper tantrum.

The rose trellises were torched, one of the stone lanterns lay toppled in the grass, and there were fresh scorch marks marring the mosaic path.

The sunlight didn’t soften the wreckage; if anything, it made the aftermath look far worse, highlighting the broken petals and cracked marble.

Damien stood beside me with his arms crossed as he surveyed the damage with a frown that deepened by the second.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” I asked, realizing he’d shown up in my backyard out of the blue.

“I got word that Thorne was paying the Ryders a visit. I knew he couldn’t be up to any good, so I came to see for myself.

” He ushered me toward the only bench still standing after the fight.

Now he crouched in front of me, his eyes narrowing as they scanned my face.

His fingers ghosted over the side of my jaw where I knew a bruise was forming.

“He got too close,” Damien said, his voice pitched low. “Too close to you.”

“He’s always too close.”

Damien didn’t smile. His touch was gentle but sure as he reached into his coat and pulled out a small cloth bundle. He unfolded it to reveal a tiny flask and a strip of clean linen. “This might sting.”

I raised a brow. “Is that your version of a bedside manner?”

“Would you prefer silence?”

I didn’t answer, just tilted my face as he dabbed the cut on my temple. The liquid stung like a motherfucker and I winced, grabbing the edge of the bench.

“Thought you said you’ve had worse,” he murmured.

“I have,” I bit out. “Doesn’t mean I enjoy it.”

He pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this at all.”

I blinked at him. “Damien, you know who I am. You know what I do. Hell, you know what I’ve done. This—” I gestured vaguely to the wrecked garden and my busted lip “—comes with the territory.”

“You’re not in a warzone anymore, Cat.”

My breath caught.

“And you’re not a soldier.”

“No,” I said slowly. “But sometimes it feels like I’m still in enemy territory.”

He didn’t argue. Just resumed cleaning the cut. When his thumb brushed my cheekbone, the contact sent a ripple of warmth through me. Not lust. Not adrenaline. Something quieter. Deeper.

He looked up from beneath his lashes. “You terrify me, you know.”

I blinked. “Me?”

“You charge into fights. You mouth off to dragon princes. You take on more than anyone I know and pretend you’re fine. But one day...”

“Damien.”

“I’m serious.” He wrapped the cloth around my knuckles, binding them with care. “One day you’re going to get hurt and I won’t be there to stop it.”

“You were here today.”

“Barely.”

“It was enough.”

The tension between us stretched and hummed. He held my hand a beat too long before finally letting go.

That was when Jacob’s voice rang out.

“Arya?”

We both turned.

Jacob stood just beyond the garden archway, blinking rapidly as he took in the wreckage. His eyes found Damien still kneeling before me and widened.

“You’re not... I thought Crown Prince Thorne was with you!”

“He was,” I said. “He’s gone now.”

“Gone?” Jacob frowned. “I heard shouting. I came as soon as I could. I—” He glanced around at the garden’s rubble and back at Damien again, clearly trying to work out if he was allowed to be here. “Father has requested your presence. Urgently.”

Damien slowly stood, the shift in his posture immediate. Guarded. Ready.

“You heard shouting, yet you’re just now coming to check on your sister?” he asked skeptically.

“Damien…” I gripped the sleeve of his shirt to stop him.

Jacob glared at him. “I do not need to explain myself to you , of all people, but if you must know, our father stopped me. He said…” Jacob looked at me nervously, almost as if he didn’t want to say what Zacharia had said.

“What did he say, Jacob?” I pushed.

He gulped. “He said Crown Prince Thorne had every right to discipline you and we shouldn’t get involved.”

Damien scoffed and laughed. “Right.”

“Father of the Year,” I mumbled and scratched the side of my head. “Whatever. Where is he?”

“Dining hall.”

“Lead the way.” I stepped past Damien to follow Jacob, when Damien gently gripped my arm.

“You’re not going alone,” he insisted.

Jacob opened his mouth to argue, hesitated for just a moment, then nodded. “Alright. But be careful. He’s... not in a forgiving mood.”

“Is he ever?” I muttered.

Damien reached for my elbow, steadying me. “Let’s get this over with.”

I nodded, casting one last glance over the ruined garden. Whatever was waiting behind those doors couldn’t be worse than what had just stormed out.

But then again... this was Elaria.

And I wasn’t sure anything was off the table anymore.