Page 26 of Song of the Heart Scale (The Dragon’s Ballad #3)

CAT

T he sky rumbled like a warning.

I was standing in front of the window in Royal Prince Bai's mansion with my fingers pressed to the cold glass when thunder cracked again—louder this time, and closer.

The clouds churned, swollen with a storm that refused to break.

Not a drop of rain had fallen and yet the air was thick with anticipation, as if the heavens held their breath.

“Come on,” I whispered, scanning the horizon for even the faintest flash of lightning. “Give me one storm. Just one. That’s all I need.”

The portal would only open in the middle of a thunderstorm.

A real one. Not this eerie dry thunder that skittered across the sky like the world’s worst tease.

It was like waiting for a bus that might never come—if the bus was your one-way ticket out of a fantasy realm with dragons, evil emperors, and way too many people trying to whip or marry you.

And hell, I was tired. Not just physically, but soul-tired. The kind of exhaustion that seeped into your bones and made everything feel just a little too heavy.

The glass fogged from my breath. I pressed my forehead to it, the coolness offering a small relief.

Behind me, slippered footsteps padded across the polished stone floors. Maeve’s familiar presence drew closer, the scent of roasted meat and sweet root vegetables trailing with her.

“My lady,” she said softly, pausing just behind me. “Dinner is ready. You should eat something.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You haven’t eaten all day.” Her tone edged toward scolding, motherly and firm, but she didn’t push too hard. Not Maeve. She knew me too well by now.

I slightly turned, just enough to see her in my periphery. She wore a simple house gown and her hair was tied back in a neat braid. Her face was worried, her brows gently furrowed. And still— still —she tried to smile.

“There’s pie,” she added, hopeful. “Jane baked it herself.”

“Unless she baked it with an interdimensional thunderstorm, I’m not interested.”

Maeve sighed and came up beside me, following my gaze through the window. “Is that why you keep watching the sky?” she asked. “You’re waiting for it?”

I nodded. “It’s the only way I can get home.”

She hesitated. “And do you still want to go?”

That made me pause. I glanced at her, surprised. “Of course I do. Don’t you want me to? It’s the only way I can get Arya and send her back here.”

“Of course I do… but…”

“But?” I echoed, my voice trailing off. I looked down at my hands, filled with calluses on my palms from my time in the military and stunt work. “It’s complicated.”

“Because of Prince Damien.”

I smiled wryly. “Is it that obvious?”

She smiled, too. “Only to someone who sees the way you look at him. And the way he looks at you.”

I turned back to the window. “He was supposed to be back by now.”

Maeve shifted beside me, worry tightening the corners of her mouth. “Perhaps the enthronement is taking longer than expected.”

“Or perhaps something went wrong.” My voice came out sharper than I intended.

Maeve reached for my hand and squeezed it. “He’ll come back. You know he will.”

I didn't answer. I wasn’t in the mood for optimism.

Another eerie crack of thunder split the sky.

Still no rain.

Somewhere behind us, the sounds of clinking silverware and low conversation drifted from the dining room. The rest of the estate’s staff were already seated, trying to pretend everything was normal while the empire teetered on the edge of who-the-hell-knew.

“Please,” Maeve said softly. “At least come sit with us. You don’t have to eat much. Just… be with people.”

She had a point. Stewing in my gloom wouldn’t make the storm come any faster.

I sighed and let her tug me away from the window.

The dining room was warm, lit with dozens of short candles perched in gold sconces along the walls.

The long table was covered by a pale blue cloth with silver embroidery, and the smell of freshly baked bread and herbs wrapped around me like a hug.

A few of the mansion’s permanent staff—guards, cooks, and steward-types—glanced up when I entered and quickly looked back down again.

I slid into a seat near the end of the table and Maeve sat beside me. Someone passed me a cup of water and I held it, not drinking, just needing something to do with my hands.

“Anything from Dragon Valley?” I asked the room at large.

The staff shook their heads. One of the footmen spoke up, a lean guy with graying hair and a scar across his jaw. “Nothing official, my lady. Only that the ceremony was scheduled at sundown. Might still be underway.”

I stared into my water. Sundown had long passed.

“What if something’s happened?” I murmured.

Maeve leaned closer. “If something had, we would have heard by now.”

Would we, though? This place was a fortress of secrets.

I picked at the edge of my napkin. My stomach still felt like a knotted rope. Something was wrong—I could feel it like a splinter in my spine. A tension. A shift.

And still no Damien.

The moment the thought crossed my mind, a gust of wind slammed against the windows.

Everyone jumped. The candles flickered. One blew out.

Maeve gripped my arm.

Then—nothing. The wind faded. The silence that followed was thicker than before.

I stood and pushed back from the table. “I need some air.”

Maeve stood, too. “I’ll come with—”

“No,” I said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Stay. I just need a minute.”

She reluctantly nodded.

I left the dining hall and made my way back to the window in the sitting room, the one that looked out over the eastern gardens. The sky was glittered with twinkling stars and a glowing full moon. I wrapped my arms around my stomach and stared up at the wide expanse.

“Damien,” I whispered. “Where the hell are you?”

The storm answered with more thunder.

But still… no rain.

No storm.

No escape.

Just then, the front doors burst open with a bang loud enough to make my heart drop into my stomach.

I spun around, dress swirling around my ankles, just in time to see Damien charge into the foyer. His dark hair was windswept, his clothes were damp with sweat and mist, and his eyes—those endless, obsidian eyes—locked onto mine like I was the only solid thing in the room.

“Cat!” he breathed, crossing the marble floor in great strides before I could even say his name.

He didn’t stop to explain. He didn’t ask permission.

He just wrapped me in his arms, strong and shaking and all-consuming.

The force of him pulled the breath from my lungs.

I clung to him, burying my face in his chest and inhaling the familiar scent of pine smoke and something darker—something uniquely Damien.

“By the Immortals,” he whispered into my hair. “I thought you might have left.”

I pulled back just enough to look up at him. “I’ve been here, waiting for you. But I wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye. I just... needed air. And maybe some emotional stability.”

He exhaled a shaky laugh, resting his forehead against mine for the briefest second before he straightened, though he still gripped my arms as if to convince himself I was real.

Royal Prince Bai stepped in behind him, his expression tight. His eyes briefly met mine, then shifted away. Whatever had happened, it wasn’t good.

“Damien…” My hands slid down his chest to rest on his forearms. “What happened?”

His jaw clenched. The shadows in his gaze deepened. “It was chaos,” he said quietly. “The ceremony... it started fine. Thorne said all the right words, wore all the right robes. The High Priest crowned him.”

“Okay,” I said slowly. “And then?”

He looked me dead in the eyes. “Thunder cracked. But it wasn’t natural. It came from the earth, not the sky. The flowers died. Everything died. It was like the ground itself rejected him.”

I blinked. “An omen?”

Damien nodded. “Worse than that. The crowd panicked. People screamed. Fainted. Some tried to flee.”

My chest tightened. “Did anyone get hurt?”

“Not during the omen,” he said. “But after? Yes. Thorne lost it. Declared that anyone who didn’t bow to him was a traitor. He forced the guards to surround the plaza. Said anyone who didn’t kneel would be executed.”

I stared at him. “You're joking.”

His eyes were grave. “I wish I was. He controlled the crowd by fear alone. The council knelt. The nobles, too. Even the High Priest. Not because they believed in him... because they were afraid.”

My stomach turned. This was like a freakin’ episode of Game of Thrones .

His uncle finally spoke. “He took the crown, but not the blessing. And the Immortals answered.”

I turned to look at him. “And what happens now?”

Damien’s mouth twisted. “Now he rules. At least on paper.”

“But not in spirit,” I whispered.

Damien slowly nodded. “Exactly.”

I reached for his hand, threading my fingers through his. “You’re safe now. That’s what matters. You came back.”

He brought my hand to his lips and placed a soft kiss on my fingers. “I had to. By the Immortals, Cat, you don’t know what it was like, not knowing if you were okay. I thought you would think the thunder was enough to open the portal and leave. I needed to see you.”

My heart pounded faster. “I waited for you. I didn’t eat. Didn’t rest. I just... waited.”

He touched my cheek, brushing his thumb along the edge of my jaw. “You shouldn’t have to. I promise not to leave your side ever again.”

I smiled, but it didn’t quite reach my eyes. “Then let’s make sure we survive long enough for you to keep that promise.”

When he pulled me close again, I didn’t resist. I leaned into him and pressed my ear against his chest, comforted by the sound of his heart thundering beneath the surface. Or maybe that was the storm still rumbling above.

Either way, it felt like a warning.

And a beginning.

“We should eat,” Royal Prince Bai announced, his voice cutting through the tension like a dull knife. “There are matters to discuss that require sustenance.”