Page 32 of Song of the Heart Scale (The Dragon’s Ballad #3)

CAT

I paced the length of the entryway like a caged animal, my shoes softly thudding against the floor with each agitated step.

The marble beneath my feet was cold, but I barely felt the chill.

My nerves were buzzing and my heart battered the inside of my ribs like a bird desperate to break free. Damien had been gone for hours .

“He should have been back by now,” I muttered for the fifth time, raking a hand through my loose hair.

Maeve stood near the wall, wringing the hem of her apron, her eyes darting between me and the front doors. “My lady, please sit. You’re going to wear a groove in the floor.” Her voice was gentle, though it lacked its usual lightness.

“I can’t sit, Maeve. I feel like... like my skin doesn’t fit right. Something’s wrong.”

Royal Prince Bai, ever the stoic royal, leaned against the base of the grand staircase with his arms folded.

But even his expression was tighter than usual.

His jaw was clenched and the lines around his eyes were more pronounced.

He'd returned earlier looking tense, but he brushed off most of Maeve's questions until I cornered him with my own.

“What do you mean, he stayed behind ? You left him to fight imperial guards on his own?” I'd demanded.

“He insisted,” Royal Prince Bai offered with frustrating calm. “He told me to shift and get out of there. There were too many eyes. And honestly if one of us were to get caught, he was the least likely to get in trouble.”

“You should have stayed !” I fumed.

He didn’t say a word. He just looked at me with something between guilt and resignation.

And now here we were. Waiting. Pacing. Dreading.

I turned toward the doors again, half-tempted to yank them open and storm into the streets. My hands curled into fists. “I need to go find him.”

Royal Prince Bai stepped away from the stairs. “Absolutely not.”

I glared at him. “You think I’m going to just stand here while Damien bleeds out somewhere in the dark? He could be dying!”

“He’s not dead,” he stated firmly, but the crack in his voice didn’t go unnoticed.

“You don’t know that.”

His eyes hardened. “He told me to leave. He had a plan. He’s fought worse battles.”

“Against dragons?” I snapped. “Because that’s what Thorne’s imperial guard is made of, right? Dragon shifters. He doesn’t have his heart scale, Your Highness. You know that. He can be hurt. He can die !”

Maeve placed a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide.

“I won’t lose him,” I whispered fiercely. “Not to Thorne. Not like this.”

He looked away, silent for a long beat. Then he said, softer, “Do you think Damien would want you putting yourself at risk? Out there? Alone? If Thorne sees you, he may remember the betrothal. He may send for you. Or worse.”

I bit the inside of my cheek and fought the frustration that swelled like a tidal wave. Of course he was right. But that didn't make it any easier.

The house was too quiet. Every creak made my spine straighten, every gust of wind against the windowpanes turned my stomach to knots. Then, just as I took another step toward the door, the heavy knocker thudded once.

Maeve screamed.

I bolted.

I flung the doors open so fast they slammed against the walls. A shadow slumped in the doorway, its broad shoulders sagging, wearing a black cloak soaked through with blood.

Damien .

“Oh my God,” I breathed.

His eyes met mine, glazed but aware. “Hey, trouble.”

Then he collapsed.

I dropped to my knees, catching him as best I could, his weight pressing into me like a boulder. “Maeve! Get bandages! Water! Something !”

His uncle was already there, lifting Damien's arm over his shoulder and helping to maneuver him inside. “I told you,” he muttered as we lowered him onto a chaise in the entry hall. “I told you he’d make it.”

“You also told me to sit still while he nearly died!” I snapped, fingers already working at the buckles of Damien's clothes. “I’m not exactly singing your praises right now, Your Highness.”

Damien groaned beneath us. His face was pale, his lips tinged with blue. Dark, sticky blood soaked through his tunic.

“What happened?” I asked, my voice trembling.

He winced. “Four of them. One clipped my side. The rest... tried harder.”

I peeled back the leather and winced. Deep gashes. Bruising. One stab wound that looked far too close to his kidney for comfort.

“You need a healer,” Maeve said, arriving with cloths and a basin of hot water.

“No time,” Damien said, his teeth gritted. “If they followed me, this place isn’t safe.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” I growled. “Let me help you. Just... let me do this, okay?”

His gaze met mine, dark and aching. Then he nodded.

As I cleaned his wounds, Damien hissed and cursed but didn’t pull away. Royal Prince Bai silently stood nearby, the firelight throwing sharp lines across his face as I used my limited first aid abilities from my time in the army.

“You fought them off?” his uncle finally asked.

“Left them bloody,” Damien muttered. “But they won’t stay down long.”

I tied the final bandage with trembling hands. “You scared the hell out of me.”

He caught my wrist and gently tugged me down until I was eye level. “I always come back.”

I sniffed. “One day you might not.”

“Then I’ll haunt you,” he said with a ghost of a smile.

I rolled my eyes. “Great. A dragon-shaped poltergeist. That’ll really help me sleep.”

He laughed, then winced. “Ow. Don’t make me laugh. Ribs feel like they’re doing a puzzle back there.”

Royal Prince Bai finally exhaled and turned away. “I’ll double the watch and send word to our allies. Thorne’s becoming more reckless.”

I nodded, barely hearing him.

All I could see was Damien’s blood staining my hands.

Dread settled deep in my gut, heavier than stone.

If this was what resisting Thorne looked like now, what would open war bring?

And how many of us would survive it?

Damien was heavier than I remembered, or maybe it was just the fact that he was bleeding like a stuck pig and half of his weight was slumped over my shoulder.

His arm dangled uselessly around me as I helped him up the winding staircase of Royal Prince Bai’s mansion, his boots dragging more with each passing second.

“Stop trying to carry me,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

“You weigh more than my stubborn emotional baggage, and that’s saying something!” I snapped, adjusting my grip. “Just be glad I’m not making you crawl.”

He didn’t respond except for a grunt as I all but shoved the bedroom door open with my shoulder and helped him stagger to the edge of the bed. Maeve scurried in behind us with a bowl of warm water, cloths, and a stack of fresh bandages cradled in her arms.

“Put that there.” I nodded toward the nightstand. “And then wait outside.”

“My lady, I can help—”

“I’ve got this, Maeve,” I said gently but firmly. “Go.”

She hesitated, clearly torn between duty and giving us privacy, but eventually nodded and slipped out the door.

I turned back to Damien, who was trying to pull off his tunic with one hand while holding his ribs with the other. “Stop. You’re going to rip it worse.” I squatted in front of him and swatted his hands away.

He sighed and let me undress him. Carefully, I peeled the dark fabric up over his head and removed the bandages I’d haphazardly placed downstairs, revealing the angry bruises painting his torso.

Gashes crisscrossed his abdomen and shoulders, one especially deep cut seeping crimson just below his ribs.

I winced. “Damn. That’s... artistic.”

“Let’s call it abstract suffering,” he muttered hoarsely.

I grabbed a cloth, dipped it into the bowl of water, and began wiping the blood away more carefully this time. “We should call Garrick.”

“No.”

“You’re bleeding.”

“I heal fast.”

“You also lie fast.”

His dark eyes met mine. “No to the warlock. He’s done enough already.”

I didn't argue. Not because I agreed, but because I knew how stubborn he could be and I had other priorities right now—like making sure he didn’t bleed out on the duvet.

“You’re lucky you’re hot,” I noted dryly as I cleaned the wound near his ribs. “Otherwise, I’d be very annoyed at how much work you’re making me do.”

A crooked smile tugged at the edge of his lips. “That’s the only reason you keep me around, huh?”

“One of several.” I tossed the bloodied cloth aside and grabbed a fresh one. “Though your current audition for Worst Patient Ever isn’t doing you any favors.”

We worked in silence for a while, save for his occasional hiss when I touched a particularly tender spot. Once satisfied I’d cleaned and bandaged what I could, I helped him lay back against the pillows. He let out a breath like a man trying his damnedest not to fall apart.

I curled up beside him, careful not to jostle his wounds. I didn’t touch him—not yet. But I stayed close. After a few moments, I felt his fingers search for mine.

When they found them, I laced ours together.

“You scared the hell out of me,” I whispered.

“I told you I’d be fine.”

“Liar.”

He slightly turned his head toward me, his gaze half-lidded but burning with the same intensity I was drawn to when we first met. “I couldn’t let them take my uncle. He’s the only family I’ve got.”

I swallowed hard. “You have me.”

He squeezed my hand. After a moment, he said, “We met with Lord Rolen, Lady Mirena, and Lord Vauren before the ambush.”

I looked over at him, surprised. “And?”

“They’re in. They want Thorne gone.”

“Just like that?”

“It wasn’t easy. They don’t trust me.” His voice was low, like the memory still tasted bitter in his mouth. “But they trust Uncle Bai. And they fear what Thorne is becoming more than they fear me.”

“That’s progress,” I said.

He exhaled through his nose. “I’m also going to speak to Lord Mercer. If there’s anyone who can sway the shadows, it’s him.”

“Lord Mercer?” I frowned. “Where have I heard that name?”

Damien smirked. “He’s the commander of the Nightwing army and also… Lord Zacharia is trying to marry Lord Mercer’s daughter to Jacob.”