Page 17 of Song of the Heart Scale (The Dragon’s Ballad #3)

DAMIEN

T he doors to the dining hall loomed ahead, tall and dark like the gates of a silent execution chamber.

I walked just behind Cat, her steps unflinching even with the bruises blooming along her jaw.

The scorch mark at the hem of her torn dress hadn’t gone unnoticed.

Neither had the blood on her split lip. But she carried herself like a queen—a little battered, maybe, but not broken.

She didn’t speak as the guards opened the doors for us.

Lord Zacharia was waiting.

He stood at the far end of a long dining table with his arms folded behind his back, his posture as stiff and elegant as ever. His cool eyes swept over Cat the moment she stepped through—and the corner of his mouth twitched.

It wasn’t a smile. It was a smirk.

“Well,” he said smoothly. “I see the Crown Prince left his mark.”

Cat didn’t flinch. “You should see the other guy,” she quipped, then winked at him.

His smirk vanished like someone had flipped a switch. “You insolent little—”

“Oh, come on,” she cut in, her voice breezy. “You called me here for a scolding. Or are we pretending this is an intervention?”

Lord Zacharia’s eyes narrowed to slits. “You laid hands on the next emperor.”

“He laid hands on me first,” Cat said evenly. “I just have better aim.”

“You are not some mercenary brat brawling in the slums of the Southern District!” he growled. “You are Lady Arya Ryder, daughter of the Minister of Rites, and you do not strike the emperor—”

“He’s not the emperor yet!” she snapped. “And even if he was, it doesn’t give him the right to manhandle anyone.”

Zacharia’s voice rose, the biting tone sharp enough to slice air. “Do you have any idea the damage you’ve done? The tongues wagging, the alliances strained? I had one task— one —and that was to keep you presentable long enough to marry you off without anyone seeing through the ruse you’ve become.”

Cat’s expression shuttered into something I recognized too well. I’d seen it on warriors after the first blood was spilled. Cold. Controlled. Distant.

“Well, guess you’ll have to pencil in ‘damage control’ between your wine tastings and bribery meetings,” she said coolly. “Or maybe ask Gianna to be your wingman. I’m sure she’s dying to be helpful.”

Lord Zacharia’s face reddened. “You will be punished for this.”

Cat arched a brow. “Let me guess. A public flogging again? You really are a one-trick pony, Zach.”

“ You will address me as your father !” he thundered.

“Oh, pardon, I forgot,” she said sarcastically with a mocking bow.

He took a step toward her, but I moved first.

I stepped between them, calm and quiet but unmistakably present. “Touch her again,” I said, my voice like frost creeping across stone, “and you’ll answer to me .”

Lord Zacharia blinked. Just once. Slowly. “You forget yourself, Prince Damien.”

“No,” I said. “I remember everything. Including the way you stood by while Thorne laid his hands on her like she was a bargaining chip he owned. I’ve tolerated a lot, but this ends now.”

Zacharia’s eyes boggled. He sputtered, “You don’t have the authority to—”

“I don’t need authority,” I snapped. “I only need motive.”

His eyes flicked toward Cat, then to me, calculating. “This is not your family, Your Highness. You are merely a guest in this house.”

“Then consider this my exit,” I said. “But if you ever raise a hand to her again, I’ll make sure it’s the last thing you do.”

The silence that followed was thick, electric. Even the guards near the doors stilled.

Cat slowly exhaled behind me. “Well…”

I didn’t look away from Zacharia. “We’re leaving.”

“She’s not going anywhere!” Lord Zacharia thundered, his gaze never leaving mine.

I smirked. “I’d like to see you try and stop me.”

“Damien—” Cat whispered, gripping my sleeve.

My expression hardened. “She’s not staying.”

Zacharia’s shrewd glare held the faintest trace of mockery. “You don’t get to decide that.”

“She’s not your property!” I thundered. “And if you think I’ll stand by while you raise a hand to her again, you’ve grossly miscalculated who you’re dealing with.”

Lord Zacharia took a step forward, but I matched him.

“Move out of the way,” I commanded.

Hatred coiled in the minister’s eyes. “She’s not leaving this house until I say she can.”

Cat looked between us, the set of her jaw like carved stone.

“Then you’ll have to stop me,” I said coldly.

The guards by the doors shifted, uncertain. Lord Zacharia noticed and his expression twitched—just barely. Not with fear, but doubt.

“She’s under my roof, under my care.”

I snorted. “Then she’s in the wrong house.” I turned to Cat. “Let’s go.”

She hesitated for half a heartbeat before stepping to my side.

Lord Zacharia’s voice cracked like a whip. “Guards—”

“Try it,” I said without looking back. “Give them the order. Let them raise a hand to me. Let them try to touch her. Let’s see who makes it out of this hall still breathing.”

Silence.

Then—slowly—the guards stepped aside.

I took Cat’s hand and led her through the doors.

Lord Zacharia didn’t speak again, but I felt his glare burning into my back long after we’d passed out of sight.

The sun had barely crested the hills when we returned to Cat’s chambers, the tension from our confrontation with Lord Zacharia still clinging to our skin like smoke.

Her steps were rigid, her jaw set, but I saw the flickers of emotion darting behind her eyes.

Anger, frustration, a dash of panic she refused to let surface.

She didn’t need to speak. I knew what she was thinking.

We had to leave. Now .

Maeve was already there, probably tipped off by Jacob, standing near the hearth with a stack of folded dresses in her arms. Her eyes widened when she saw us, but to her credit, she didn’t ask questions.

She didn’t have to. She took one look at the bruises on Cat’s face and the rigidness in my posture and knew everything she needed to know.

“Take only the essentials,” I told her. “Nothing you can’t carry in one trip.”

Maeve briskly nodded and crossed to the wardrobe.

Cat opened her trunk with a grunt and tossed the lid back. “Never thought I’d be fleeing this place with you, of all people,” she muttered, kneeling to pull out a bundle of underthings and shoes.

“Strange world,” I said. “Stranger choices.”

“Don’t tempt me to regret them.”

I arched a brow. “You won’t.”

Maeve moved like lightning, folding dresses and gathering toiletries. Twenty minutes later, she was tying the last satchel shut and Cat was adjusting the strap across Maeve’s chest.

“The carriage is waiting,” Maeve said, slightly out of breath.

I nodded. “Let’s go.”

We swiftly moved through the halls, avoiding the main corridors and the curious eyes of the house staff. Maeve led the way through a side garden gate where the carriage was tucked between hedges like a secret waiting to be whispered.

Cat climbed in first, followed by Maeve, and I stepped in last, shutting the door firmly behind me. The wheels began turning a moment later, the horses trotting smoothly through the Northern District as the Ryder residence vanished behind us.

For the first few minutes, no one spoke.

Cat sat across from me with her legs crossed and her bruises catching the light that filtered through the curtained windows. She didn’t hide them. Never had. But I saw the way her fingers restlessly drummed against the seat.

“Where are we going?” she finally asked.

“Uncle Bai’s estate in the Northern District.”

She tilted her head. “Not Obsidian Reach?”

I briefly looked out the window before answering. “I told myself the moment my exile ended, I’d never set foot on that island again. It’s not a home—it’s a prison that forgot it was a cage.”

She slowly nodded as if weighing the truth of my statement. “So… fresh start?”

“Something like that.”

“Uncle Bai won’t mind us crashing his party?”

“He’s already made up the guest rooms. He’s been trying to get me to stay there since I returned.”

Cat leaned back, one brow arching with something that looked suspiciously like a smile. “So he’s the pushy type.”

“He’s the only family I have,” I said. “He’s earned the right to meddle.”

Quiet fell between us again, but this time it was lighter.

Then her fingers brushed mine, tentative at first. I turned my hand palm-up and she settled hers into it.

Neither of us said a word.

We held hands the rest of the ride.

The district along the refined streets of the Northern District peeled past the window. The houses here were larger, built of pale stone with flowering balconies and colorful mosaic paths. It smelled of citrus and roses.

By the time the carriage turned onto the long, tree-lined road leading to Uncle Bai’s estate, the sun was easing to dusk.

The house—if it could be given such a modest name as that—was carved into the hillside.

It sprawled out in graceful curves of white stone, with columns wrapped in ivy and terraces brimming with blue flowers.

A shallow stream trickled through the front gardens, winding around polished statues of dragons and phoenixes poised in mid-flight.

The air buzzed with the hum of bees and the scent of lavender.

When we pulled up, Uncle Bai was waiting at the base of the stairs.

He stood tall in his travel robes. His hands were clasped behind his back and his salt and pepper hair was bound into a neat knot. His eyes narrowed the moment he saw Cat’s face and I watched the temperature of his expression plummet.

“Lord Zacharia?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Thorne.”

Cat offered a wry smile and repeated the joke she’d tried earlier with Zacharia. “You should see the other guy.”

Uncle Bai’s jaw tightened. “I’m not laughing.”

“She is,” I said. “Which means she’s fine.”

“She looks like she got in a brawl with a wildling berserker.”

I shook my head. “She gave as good as she got.”

Uncle Bai turned to Maeve and offered a courteous nod. “You must be Maeve.”

She bowed politely. “Yes, Your Highness.”