Page 24 of Song of the Heart Scale (The Dragon’s Ballad #3)
DAMIEN
T he news came by raven at dawn.
Thorne was to be crowned emperor by sundown.
I stood by a window, staring out at the vast gardens of Uncle Bai’s estate bathed in early morning mist. The letter in my hand bore the royal seal—its message was brief, formal, and smug. The ink hadn't even fully dried before I was cursing under my breath.
“He's really doing it,” I muttered. “That snake is actually going to sit on the emperor's throne.”
Behind me, Uncle Bai folded his arms. “We expected this. Still, it’s… sooner than we thought.”
I turned toward him, my heart pounding with a slow, dark rhythm. “He’s rushing it. Why?”
Uncle Bai slowly paced, his expression unreadable. “Either he wants to consolidate power before the truth spreads—or he’s afraid of something.”
“And he should be,” I growled. “We still don’t know who killed the emperor.”
He gave me a long, considering look. “We’ll go to Dragon Valley. But Cat stays here.”
I opened my mouth to argue, then stopped.
Uncle Bai was right. She’d be a target in a den full of wolves, especially now.
Thorne might not strike directly, but others wouldn’t hesitate.
And if the enthronement was anything like the last court gathering that saw the death of a common singer, I couldn’t guarantee her safety.
Reluctantly, I nodded. “She’ll hate being left behind.”
Uncle Bai’s eyes narrowed. “She’ll hate losing you more.”
As if on cue, Cat sauntered in with her dress swishing at her ankles, already wrinkling her nose in distaste at the scent of tea, which she hated. “God, I miss coffee,” she groaned. Noticing our tense postures, she asked, “What are you guys talking about?”
I handed her the invite we’d just received by raven. She took it and read its contents. Her brows shot up in surprise, but then she nodded. “Sounds about right.”
“Not surprised?” I asked with a smirk.
She shook her head. “Nah. If he killed the emperor, then he needs to take the throne before anyone figures it out. It’s… I hate to say it, but it’s smart.” She sighed. “When do we leave?”
Uncle Bai and I exchanged looks before I turned my attention back to her. “We’re leaving this afternoon, but you… you’re staying here.”
Her brows shot up to her hairline. “Wait, what? You’re sidelining me?”
I tilted my head. “I don’t know what that means, but we’re keeping you safe. If Thorne sees you, he could try to reignite your marriage with everyone there as a witness. We… no, I can’t afford that. I’d rather not give him a reminder.”
She swallowed deeply and nodded. “Okay… you’re right.”
I narrowed my gaze on her. “It can’t be that easy. You’ll really stay here?”
She scoffed and nodded. “Yes! I will! You’re right, I don’t want to marry the bastard, and the last thing I need to do is remind the newly minted emperor about our betrothal. Especially when he’ll be in the position to change the rules.”
I sighed. “Okay, good.”
“Just… come back safely.” Cat reached for my hand and gently squeezed.
I offered a soft smile and squeezed back. “I will.”
“What about me? Does anyone care about me getting back safely?” Uncle Bai interjected.
I snorted and Cat laughed. “Yes, you too, Your Highness,” she said with a bow.
The journey to Dragon Valley was marked by silence.
I rode beside Uncle Bai on horseback with a small battalion of guards trailing behind in a tight formation.
We could have flown in our dragon forms, but we needed to bring our guards along, just in case things went sideways.
The mountain road twisted through jagged cliffs and fog, the acrid air carrying the metallic tang of snowmelt and pine.
Dragon Valley's peaks loomed ahead like ancient sentinels watching our approach.
When we arrived at the palace gates, the entire valley shimmered with celebratory excess. Banners in Thorne’s colors proudly waved from every spire. Flower petals imported from the southern coasts blanketed the streets, perfuming the air with a cloying sweetness that turned my stomach.
Every noble house had sent a cadre of delegates.
Sleek carriages lined the palace courtyard, decorated with a litany of illustrious family crests.
Expensive perfumes tinted the air, punctuated by brightly colored silks and jewels along with something more bitter—anticipation, tension, and unbridled fear.
The grand plaza outside the palace had been transformed into a ceremonial stage. A towering arch of polished obsidian framed the altar, behind which rose the High Throne itself—carved from ancient stone and laced with veins of gold, said to have been formed by the first dragon emperor.
I stood to the side with Uncle Bai, watching as the council members took their seats near the dais.
Lord Zacharia, ever composed, wore his house’s deep blue with a stiff spine and unreadable eyes.
His son, Jacob stood rigidly beside him.
Julian, our ever-charming second brother, lounged nearby like a peacock, his polished boots propped lazily on a step, his gold-embroidered tunic unwrinkled despite the chaos.
With a flare of piercing trumpets, the ceremony began.
All heads turned to watch as Thorne emerged from the palace.
He wore the imperial robes: layered velvet, silver threads coiled like dragon scales over his shoulders, and a blood-red sash crossing his chest. A small circle of iron sat against his forehead—temporary, until the crown itself was bestowed.
He ascended the stairs with the poise of someone who had dreamed of this moment every day of his life, which he undoubtedly had. Cheers erupted from the crowd. Court sycophants stood, applauding and bowing low as if the man was divine.
My fingers curled into fists at my sides.
Since Malachar was being held hostage inside the palace, the High Priest stepped forward, holding the ancient crown—hammered gold set with black sapphires—between outstretched hands.
He droned on and on about boring traditions and responsibilities that now rested on Thorne’s shoulders. I rested my eyes as the darkness of the evening and the guttering torches lulled me into a trance. I leaned into Uncle Bai. “Wake me when it’s over,” I muttered.
He elbowed me harshly. “Stand up straight and pay attention! Stay alert.”
I groaned. This was the last place I wanted to be.
The High Priest’s voice rose. “Do you swear to serve the realm and the bloodline of dragons? To protect the peace and preserve the legacy of the Immortal Flame?”
Thorne’s voice rang out clear, confident. “I swear.”
I opened my eyes just in time to see the crown being lowered onto his head.
Thunder cracked.
Not from the sky.
From the ground.
A rumble echoed through the plaza, sharp and deep. Gasps rippled through the crowd as petals scattered into the wind. The bright flowers lining the dais withered in seconds—vibrant reds and pinks turned to gray husks. Leaves curled and blackened. Grass died where it stood.
People screamed.
“What’s happening?!”
“The Immortals—have we angered them?”
The High Priest dropped the ceremonial scroll. A tremor rippled beneath our feet. I caught sight of Lady Mirena clutching her chest and collapsing. Lords drew back. Guards pressed forward.
Julian, who had looked bored moments before, now stared up at the darkening clouds with a twitch in his jaw. “That’s not supposed to happen.”
No rain fell.
Just thunder.
And death blooming where life should have thrived.
Thorne stood frozen, the crown heavy on his brow, his robes fluttering in a wind no one could feel.
Uncle Bai leaned in close to me. “An omen.”
“A bad one,” I muttered. My eyes never left the dais as I thought about what Malachar told me the other day when I went to the emperor’s room and found him shackled to the foot of the bed.
He mentioned there would be no more thunderstorms or rain.
The seer warned we would be struck with famine if Thorne took the throne. Is this what he meant?
Whispers rose, not just from the crowd, but from the council.
“The enthronement must be invalid.”
“This is a curse—an affront to the Immortals!”
Thorne raised a hand to speak, to calm and control the crowd, but no one listened.
Because nature had spoken louder.
And even emperors must bow to something.
My mouth went dry.
I turned to Uncle Bai. “We need to get out of here. Now .”
He nodded once. “It’s begun. Thorne won’t stand for this for long.”
I swiveled my head to search for an exit, but the plaza was in pure chaos and I didn’t see an immediate path. Since we hadn’t wanted to sit up front with the rest of the royal family, Uncle Bai and I were in the back of the crowd.
The shadow of something far greater than a crown had just fallen across Elaria.
And we were standing in the heart of the storm.
Thorne raised his hands high, and his voice boomed unnaturally over the square, magically enhanced to pierce the fear. “ENOUGH!”
The crowd stilled, frightened eyes turning upward to the dais.
Thorne stood tall, his crown gleaming despite the unnatural chill that had spread through the air. “Do not mistake a freak of nature for divine protest. The Immortals are not so fragile, nor so foolish.”
He gestured, and rows of guards began to march from the palace gates, lining the perimeter with drawn blades.
“No one leaves,” he commanded as gates began to shut and lock.
Gasps rippled through the nobility and royalty.
“Until my authority is recognized, no one departs. Any man or woman who refuses to bow will be deemed a traitor—and will be executed on the spot.” One by one, guards pulled out their swords to intimidate the crowd.
Screams erupted. Mothers clutched their children. Council members rose in protest, but the guards closed in. Several people dropped to their knees in terror. A few, reluctantly, followed suit.