Page 35 of Song of the Heart Scale (The Dragon’s Ballad #3)

DAMIEN

T he music drifted like incense through the velvet-draped halls of The Gilded Serpent.

Low and sultry, the sensual melody curled through the air and tangled in the sway of dancers’ hips and clinking wine goblets.

From my private room tucked above the main floor, I saw glimpses of the revelry through the sheer golden curtains that framed my lounge.

Cloaked in shadows and silk, I remained a ghost among the living—present, though unseen.

I leaned back on the silk cushions, holding a wine glass. A bowl of pomegranate seeds and sliced figs rested on a tray beside me. The cloak I wore was a deep forest green with a high collar and lined with charcoal silk, the kind of subtle luxury that masked royalty in the underbelly of the city.

The Gilded Serpent pulsed with life, its heart beating to the rhythm of the drums below.

I came here often, not for the pleasures of the flesh like most men, but for information.

Pleasure houses were fountains of gossip and confession.

Secrets spilled easier when paired with moans and mead.

And Lysandra... Well, Lysandra had always known how to get people talking.

I reached for another fig, savoring its sweetness on my tongue, when the music shifted. A hush fell over the room, and then the soft, haunting sound of a voice wove through the air like thread through cloth.

Oh gather ‘round, ye weary folk, and hear a tale of fire,

Of dragons born with hearts of gold and wings that never tire.

Two brothers rose from embers bright, twin scales of sky and storm,

But one grew dark with envy’s flame, and broke the ancient norm.

I paused. This was a new song. One I’d never heard before.

He stole his brother’s heart-scale red, the one that guards the soul,

A sacred gem from dragon's breast, a shield that made him whole.

And with that theft he claimed a crown, with greed that burned the land,

He took the throne, the phoenix bride, and ruled with iron hand.

Oh, heart-scale bright, oh heart-scale torn,

The dragon weeps, the fields go worn.

The phoenix cries where love once lay,

And famine sweeps the land each day.

Rise up, ye folk, and break his chain,

Restore the flame, undo the pain.

The song hit me like a blade to the gut.

It started with sorrow, a lilting lament, then built to a tale of betrayal and ruin. Of twin flames torn apart, of a stolen heart scale and a stolen throne. Of a dragon prince betrayed by blood, his lover ripped away, and an empire cursed by the Immortals themselves.

The woman born of mortal flesh, she loved the younger one,

The gentle prince with flame of gold who warmed her like the sun.

But cursed by twin-flame severed deep, she dreams in ash and rain,

While he—alone, unguarded now—knows naught but loss and pain.

The tyrant holds two heart-scales now, and boasts his stolen might,

But those who cheat the sacred bond shall face eternal plight.

The Immortals have turned, the skies run dry, the crops refuse to grow,

The rivers rot, the winds blow cold, the moon weeps silver woe.

Oh, heart-scale bright, oh heart-scale torn,

The dragon weeps, the fields go worn.

The phoenix cries where love once lay,

And famine sweeps the land each day.

Rise up, ye folk, and break his chain,

Restore the flame, undo the pain.

I slowly sat up, my wine glass long forgotten. That song...

When the door creaked open, I didn’t even look up.

“Lysandra,” I said, my voice tight.

She entered like she always did—with grace, the scent of jasmine clinging to her skin, her gown a deep crimson that shimmered like blood under candlelight. Her eyes found me immediately, curious and calculating. The moment she stepped inside, I was already on my feet.

I crossed the space between us in three strides and grabbed her wrist. She gasped, her eyes widening. “What is the name of that song?” I demanded.

She blinked, startled by the roughness in my tone. “What song?”

“The one the girl is singing. The one about the princes, the heart scale, the betrayal, the famine.”

Her brows rose in realization. “Oh. That one. It’s called Song of the Heart Scale .”

My breath caught in my throat. It felt like the floor tilted beneath me. “Who wrote it? How long has it been circulating?”

She looked thoughtful, then uncertain. “I… I don’t know who wrote it. People say it just started popping up in different taverns. A bard sang it once in Eastwatch, then another in the Southern Market. Now everyone knows it. It’s spreading faster than the plague did two decades ago.”

He wears the crown, but not the right.

He stole the fire, he quenched the light.

Two lovers cursed, two worlds undone—

No tyrant stands when truth is sung.

So spread this song from mount to glen, from market stall to keep,

Let every voice become a torch, and rouse the land from sleep.

For love once torn can still be healed, the heart-scale still can gleam,

But only when the dragon wakes and breaks the tyrant’s dream.

Oh, heart-scale bright, oh heart-scale true,

He fights for love, not throne or due.

The phoenix waits, the curse may end,

If hearts arise, and hands defend.

Rise up, ye folk, and join the flame,

Let truth be sung in dragon’s name.

He took the heart, not meant for his chest,

With blood on his hands and gold on his breath.

But storms are brewing where shadows fall,

And the phoenix waits to burn it all.

I let go of her and stepped back. My mind was spinning.

Cat.

She had to be behind it. Who else would know the truth wrapped in that poetic armor? Who else would use music as a weapon? It was clever. Dangerous. And brilliant.

Lysandra rubbed her wrist but didn’t say anything about my grip. She knew better.

“It’s become the anthem of the people,” she said after a moment. “Especially with all the unrest in the city. The way Thorne parades through the streets like an Immortal himself. People are starting to whisper again. Starting to question. And that song certainly doesn’t help his case.”

I moved back to the lounge and sat heavily. My fingers ran through my hair, tugging gently as my thoughts spun.

“He’ll know,” I murmured. “Thorne will hear that song and know it’s about him. He’ll try to crush whoever wrote it. He won’t care if it’s true.”

Lysandra sat beside me, her presence soft but unwelcome. She still watched me like I was something she could possess. But those days were long gone, if they ever existed at all.

“You should be proud,” she said quietly.

“Proud?”

She nodded. “You’ve become a symbol. Even when you’re in the shadows, people sing about you.”

I didn’t respond. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that assessment.

She shifted slightly closer, letting her leg brush against mine. “I’ve secured a meeting for you,” she said, lowering her voice.

That got my attention.

“Lord Mercer. He’ll be here tomorrow night.”

I turned to her, brow raised. “How?”

She smirked. “He’s a creature of habit. Comes here every Thursday and requests the same girl, same room, same drink. He likes predictability. Which makes him easy to corner.”

“You’re sure?”

“Of course I’m sure! I know this place like the back of my hand.”

I nodded. “Good. I’ll be here.”

She smiled, though there was a touch of melancholy behind her eyes. “I still remember the first time you came here. You barely spoke. Just watched. Colder than the northern wind.”

“And yet, you still talked to me.”

“I like puzzles,” she said. “And you were the biggest one I’d ever seen.”

“Were?”

“Still are. Just with sharper edges.”

I looked at her, really looked, for the first time in a while. Sadness lingered in her eyes, along with regret. Maybe even longing. But I couldn’t give her what she wanted. I never could.

“Thank you for the intel, Lysandra. That will be all.”

She stiffened slightly but nodded before standing and brushing down her skirts. “One day, you’ll wish you hadn’t shut me out,” she said, sounding more weary than bitter, almost as if she’d forgotten how she betrayed me to Thorne.

“Maybe. But today isn’t that day.”

She paused at the door, turned back to me, and offered a small, rueful smile. “Goodnight, Your Highness.”

When she left, I sat in silence for a long time. Downstairs, the music continued, the bard's voice echoing the words I hadn’t realized I needed to hear.

He took the heart not meant for his chest, With blood on his hands and gold on his breath. But storms are brewing where shadows fall, And the phoenix waits to burn it all.

I didn’t need the song to know the truth.

Thorne had taken everything from me.

But now, the world was starting to sing it back.

And that meant it was time to rise.

I had just arrived at Uncle Bai's mansion, the air still heavy with the brothel’s perfume and spice, when I saw Cat, stepping out of the carriage like nothing was amiss, as if she hadn’t just shaken the entire foundation of Elaria with a single song.

I didn’t wait.

I crossed the stone path in long, furious strides, ignoring Maeve’s startled expression and the servant who tripped over his own feet trying to bow and get out of my way at the same time.

I grabbed Cat’s wrist and she barely had time to blink before I was hauling her through the front entrance, past the shocked faces of guards and attendants.

“What the hell, Damien?!” she shouted, trying to yank her arm back.

I didn’t stop.

We reached the corridor that led to our private rooms and I hurled the door open before shoving her inside. She stumbled back a step before spinning around with fire in her eyes.

“What the actual hell is your problem?!”

I shut the door behind us, the click of the lock echoing with finality. I paced the length of the room like a caged beast, fury burning through my veins hotter than dragon fire.

“Did you do it?” I demanded.

Her brow furrowed. “Did I do what?”

I stopped. Turned to face her. “The song,” I ground out. “Did you write it?”

A flicker of something dangerous danced in her gaze. Then came the smirk. The smug, wicked, beautiful smirk that told me everything before she even opened her mouth.

“Oh,” she drawled, sauntering closer, “you heard it?”

I growled.

In two quick strides, I closed the space between us. My hands found her waist and I lifted her onto the desk, pushing her skirts aside to step between her legs. She gasped, not from fear, but from the proximity.

“You’re playing with fire, Cat,” I said, my voice low and deadly. “If Thorne finds out it was you—”

She placed a single finger on my lips.

“Shh.”

I froze.

Her eyes held mine, fierce and unwavering. “I’m not afraid of him. And it won’t come back to me or anyone. Trust me.”

I stared at her, at the insane, infuriating woman who had no sense of self-preservation. But Immortals help me, I believed her.

“Are you sure?”

She nodded. “Positive.”

I exhaled, dragging my hands up her thighs and resting them on her hips. My forehead dropped to hers as the tension seeped out of me. “You’re going to be the death of me,” I muttered.

She chuckled, her fingers tangling in the back of my hair. “I’ll make it a good death.”

“I’m not laughing.”

“Then maybe this will cheer you up,” she said, leaning back slightly.

I raised a brow. “What now?”

Her smile widened. “I went to see Klaus.”

My entire body tensed. “You what?” I gritted between my teeth in fury.

“Relax.” She tugged me closer when I tried to pull back. “I needed answers. And I got them.”

“Cat, the fae—”

“—are powerful allies,” she finished for me. “The wards in Faelight Forest are weak. Barely holding. You know the iron mines have been depleted for years, and after a little test, I discovered that the current barrier is made of magic, not metal. And magic can be broken.”

I blinked and took a moment to process her words.

“So... you’re telling me...”

“That Klaus and his people can be freed. And he’s agreed to help us.”

“Why? What’s in it for him?”

“Freedom. Revenge. A little chaos.”

I groaned and dropped my head. “Cat—”

“Trust me,” she whispered again, her tone softer now. “I wouldn’t have gone to him if I didn’t think it would work.”

I studied her. That stubborn jaw. Those fire-lit eyes. The way she never backed down, even when it was reckless. “This is madness.”

“Most things worth doing are.”

I shook my head. “You really want to bring the fae into this war?”

“If it keeps Thorne from burning Elaria to ash? Hell yes.”

I let out a sharp breath as the weight of her words pressed into me. She was serious. She was always serious when it came to saving others.

“You know Klaus can’t be trusted.”

“Neither can Thorne, yet he’s sitting on the throne while the skies refuse to rain.”

I clenched my jaw. She had a point.

“So what’s the plan?”

“We test the wards. Garrick already confirmed their weakness. Once we’re sure we can get the fae out, we hit Dragon Valley with everything we’ve got. Songs, soldiers, shadow and steel.”

I felt a strange sensation rise to the surface. Hope. Real, tangible, terrifying hope.

“You’re insane,” I murmured.

She grinned. “That’s why you love me.”

“Immortals help me, I do.”

We stayed like that for a moment. Her on the desk, me standing between her legs, the world momentarily quiet around us.

“I hate how right you are,” I finally muttered.

“Get used to it.” She leaned in to kiss me lightly on the cheek. “It’s going to happen a lot.”

I pulled her into my arms and held her tight, grounding myself in the only thing that made sense anymore.

Her.