Page 25 of Song of the Heart Scale (The Dragon’s Ballad #3)

Julian simply crossed his arms and stared. Almost as if bored, but also as if not believing his own brother would kill him. Unfortunately, I wouldn’t put it past Thorne to kill either of us for his own goals. I wanted to warn Julian, but he was too far away.

I could feel Uncle Bai’s tension beside me, his hand drifting to the hilt of his sword. But even if he drew it, it would be pointless. He would be only one against dozens of guards who were armed and ready to fight. We wouldn’t stand a chance.

Thorne’s gaze swept across the plaza like a hawk.

“Bow,” he growled. “Or bleed.”

I clenched my jaw.

He may have taken the throne.

But today, the Immortals had whispered their warning.

And I heard it loud and clear.

A ripple passed through the nobility. The High Priest, still pale, was the first to kneel. One by one, the rest followed, either from fear or pressure. The council fell to their knees. The dignitaries bowed. Even the guards—those not already under Thorne’s command—lowered themselves to the ground.

And slowly, one by one, Elaria bent the knee—not to a crowned emperor blessed by the Immortals, but to a man who had seized power with blood, shadow, and steel.

Not because they believed.

But because they feared.

And still, the flowers remained black.

The wind, cold and unnatural, continued to howl through the plaza.

He had taken the crown.

But not the blessing.

And all of Elaria would remember it.

The palace corridors were a serpent's maze—endless stone passageways draped in silks and shadows.

I moved through them like a plume of smoke, my steps silent, my presence tucked into the folds of darkness that clung to the walls.

The marble beneath my boots gleamed with firelight from the sconces, flickering as I passed, the only proof that something had disturbed the stillness.

Everyone was too preoccupied with the chaos of Thorne's coronation to pay attention to a ghost slipping through the halls. It worked to my advantage. I hadn’t been back inside the palace since my last visit the other day to see Malachar.

Other than that, I had very few memories of the palace.

I’d snuck in there a couple of times in my youth, but my memories of these corridors were fractured and distant, colored with resentment and exile.

But instinct guided me; that strange sixth sense the shadows gifted me when I wore them like armor.

I knew where I needed to go.

Malachar. The emperor’s seer.

The man who had once whispered prophecies into my so-called father's ear. The man who had warned me that famine and ruin would descend on Elaria if Thorne took the crown. A warning we all now felt pulsing in the very earth beneath our feet.

I passed a pair of guards at the far end of a corridor and ducked into an alcove, pressing myself against the cool stone. The shadows swallowed me whole. They passed without incident, too focused on securing the palace to notice the Shadow Prince weaving through their defenses.

The emperor’s quarters were quieter. More ancient. This was where the former emperor had once kept his most trusted circle. Including Malachar.

A heavy door marked with old runes stood at the end of the hall.

Two guards were posted outside.

They hadn’t seen me. Not yet.

I took a slow breath and slipped along the opposite wall. One step at a time. A whisper of movement. Nothing more.

When I reached the nearest column, I held my position, waiting for the moment they turned their backs.

The guards shifted.

“Can you believe it?” one muttered. “Flowers rotting? Thunder from nowhere?”

“Keep your mouth shut!” the other snapped. “You want to be next?”

They both faced away.

I moved.

A silent rush.

A pinch at the back of each neck.

They slumped to the floor quietly, unconscious before they hit the marble. I caught one by the collar, gently dragging him to the side, then did the same with the other. No blood. No noise. Just silence.

I pressed my palm to the runes on the door. Its magic resisted at first, like a stubborn beast testing my worth. But the shadows recognized me. Bent for me. The door softly groaned open.

And there he was.

Malachar.

The seer sat slumped in a chair, wrapped in tattered robes that once shimmered like starlight but now clung to him like withered parchment.

“Ah,” he rasped. “Shadow Prince. You have returned.”

I stepped into the chamber and shut the door behind me. “You look like hell,” I said.

His laugh was weak but real. “So do you.”

I knelt in front of him, searching his face. “Why are they keeping you here? What do they want?”

“To silence me,” he said simply. “My visions displeased the crown.”

“Thorne,” I growled.

Malachar nodded. “He fears prophecy. Always has.”

“You told me there would be famine if he wore the crown.”

“And you witnessed the first omen yourself.”

I remembered the flowers, the dying grass, the thunder that cracked the sky like a whip. “Why, Malachar? Why does the land turn against him?”

Malachar's eyes glimmered. “Because the throne was never meant for him.”

I stiffened. “Then who?”

He reached forward, his fingers trembling, and touched my chest. “The one who walks between shadows. The orphaned flame. The blood that was cast out will rise anew.”

My mouth went dry. “You mean me.”

He didn’t answer.

He didn’t have to.

I slowly stood, anger and dread coiling in my gut. “They can't keep you locked away.”

“They already have. My visions frighten them.”

“Then I'll get you out.”

His hand caught mine. “Not yet. If I leave now, they'll know you're coming for them. Let me be your ghost in the walls. When the time is right, I'll guide you.”

I stared at him, torn. Then I nodded. “You also don’t want to leave the old man, do you?” I nodded toward my father’s body, which still lay on his bed.

Malachar smirked. “Are you ever wrong?”

I snorted. “What good ever came from following him? Look where it led you!”

Malachar shook his head. “It led me exactly where I needed to be. Have no fear, Shadow Prince. I know what I’m doing and what needs to be done.”

I exhaled loudly and ran a hand through my hair, unsure what to do or say.

“You must protect the twin flame, Damien,” Malachar said. “Without rain, she will not be able to return home. That means her existence here places her at risk.”

I whirled on him. “I won’t let anything happen to her!”

He smiled knowingly. “I know. But Thorne has plans for her. You must be careful.” The seer patted his chest over his heart. “You, too, are vulnerable.”

I scoffed. “You think I don’t know that the old man gave my heart scale to that bastard?”

Malachar pressed his lips together. “It’s… complicated. Things are not always as they seem, Damien.”

I rolled my eyes. “Sure.”

He sighed. “Leave me here. I’ll be your eyes and ears, and I’m well placed to protect the emperor. You will know when to come see me again.”

“Fine. But don’t die.”

He smiled weakly. “I’ll try my best.”

I turned back toward the door and slipped into the waiting shadows once again. My heart pounded—not from the risk, not from fear.

From truth.

The land had rejected Thorne. The Immortals had warned us. And now Malachar had confirmed what I refused to consider.

The throne was never his.

I was the one destined to take it.

Problem was, I didn’t want it—and I wasn’t going to take it.