Page 41 of Song of the Heart Scale (The Dragon’s Ballad #3)

DAMIEN

T he sharp clip of my boots echoed down the marble steps of Uncle Bai’s mansion as I adjusted the cloak over my shoulders.

The sun was beginning to dip behind the tiled rooftops of the Northern District, casting long, golden fingers across the cobblestone streets.

My mind wasn’t on the dusky beauty of Elaria, though. It was on the meeting ahead.

Tonight, Lord Mercer. Tonight, the Nightwing.

Silent and contemplative, Uncle Bai walked beside me with his hands clasped behind his back in that ever-calculating posture of his. He was dressed in formal garb that was plain enough to avoid attention, but rich enough to command respect if recognized.

“You’re too quiet,” I said, arching a brow.

“I prefer to remain focused when the stakes are high,” he replied. “You could stand to learn the same.”

I slowly exhaled, nodding. I didn’t disagree. My nerves weren’t from doubt—I knew what needed to be said to Lord Mercer. What had to be asked. What had to be done. But there was always the worry about striking the right balance between diplomacy and desperation.

We had just stepped out into the street and turned toward the waiting carriage when the thunder of hooves on stone reached us. I turned on instinct, hand brushing the hilt of my hidden blade.

A rider burst through the alley cloaked in deep navy, his horse lathered with sweat. As he approached, he pulled hard on the reins, the beast skidding to a halt and releasing a sharp whinny. Jacob Ryder jumped down in a frenzy.

“Prince Damien!” he gasped. “It’s Arya!”

My heart turned to ice. Cat .

“What about her?” I snapped, striding forward. “Speak!”

“The marketplace,” he choked. “There was a riot. The grain shipment never arrived and the people... they went mad. Then... the Imperial Guard came. Arya was caught up in it. They took her!”

For a moment, everything stopped.

My breath was ragged. My pulse thundered in my ears.

“Took her?” I repeated, my voice low and deadly. “How? Why weren’t you with her?”

Jacob flinched when I stepped closer, his voice faltering. “We met at the market, like I asked. We kept it discreet—just a quick exchange, and I left right after. I was already past the main gate when the riot started. I saw the guards move in. They were arresting anyone who resisted.”

“And you didn’t go back for her?” I snarled.

His eyes darted to Uncle Bai, then back to me. “I thought she’d be fine! She’s the emperor’s betrothed, isn’t she? No one would dare harm her.”

I lunged.

Jacob barely had time to flinch before Uncle Bai’s arm shot out and caught me by the shoulder. I shoved against it, growling, but he held firm.

“Let me go! I’m going to kill him and then I’m going to Dragon Valley to get her back!”

“Enough!” Uncle Bai snapped. “This is not the time to make enemies of possible allies.”

My eyes were wild. “He left her!”

“And you abandoning your plans now won’t bring her back any faster,” he said, lowering his voice. “You know what’s at stake tonight. You want her safe? We need Lord Mercer. We need the Nightwing.”

My jaw clenched as fury trembled inside me, white-hot and overwhelming. I wanted to throw Jacob into the gutter. I wanted to fly to Dragon Valley, tear open the dungeon doors, and burn down every stone that stood between me and Cat.

But Uncle Bai was right. Damn him.

Cat would want me to think like a soldier. Like a commander. Like a prince.

I stepped away from Jacob, though cold fury leaked from every pore. “You should go home,” I said darkly. “Before I change my mind.”

Jacob looked as though he might argue, but then he wisely thought better of it. He quickly bowed and mounted his horse again, galloping away without another word.

Uncle Bai released a breath. “You handled that better than I expected.”

“I want to kill something.”

“So use that fire to get what we came for.”

I turned toward the waiting carriage, its lacquered black door gaping open like the mouth of a beast. I climbed in without another word, Uncle Bai following.

As the carriage rolled through the shadowed streets of the Northern District, I stared out the window, every muscle rigid with frustration.

Torches flickered to life along the main roads as the sun inched closer to the horizon.

At a glance, the city looked peaceful, but I knew better.

Beneath the stone and steel, Elaria was cracking. Fracturing.

And if Cat was hurt...

I pressed my fist to the side of the window.

We passed into the Southern District and The Gilded Serpent came into view, its opulent silhouette framed in glowing lanterns and flowing silk banners. Music trickled into the street from inside, faint but distinct. Laughter, perfume, and poison. A house of secrets.

Tonight, I would secure our army.

And then I would raze the empire to get her back.

Because I made a vow.

And nothing in this realm—or the next—would keep me from her.

The Gilded Serpent loomed like a shadow-draped mirage in the heart of the Southern District—its roof aglow with lantern light, flinging golden reflections across the cobblestone streets.

The scent of jasmine smoke and spiced wine lingered in the air, bleeding through the heavy velvet curtains that guarded its entry.

Music wafted from within, sensual and slow, while the muted hum of voices hinted at whispered secrets and indulgent sins.

Uncle Bai walked beside me, his posture regal even beneath the cover of his traveling cloak. We moved through the main hall without a word, flanked by dancers swaying in silks and half-masks, their bodies draped in gold chains that caught the lamplight like stardust. I ignored them.

My mind was elsewhere.

Cat .

My hands clenched at my sides. The image of her being dragged into one of Thorne’s prison cells would not leave me.

My dragon stirred beneath my skin, clawing to be released, but there would be no help for her unless this meeting succeeded.

It took every ounce of discipline I had not to turn on my heel and fly to Dragon Valley.

We reached the second floor where Lysandra waited, her corseted silhouette framed by flickering firelit sconces. She dipped her chin in greeting as her eyes briefly flicked toward me, though her expression was unreadable.

“He’s waiting in the crimson chamber,” she said, then turned on her heel to guide us down a winding hallway.

We entered a private room at the back of the pleasure house, one far quieter than the rest. Thick rugs muffled our steps and floor cushions were scattered around a low carved table in the center where a single man sat, swirling amber liquor in a short glass.

Lord Mercer, Commander of the Nightwing. Neutral in the conflict. And currently our best hope.

He rose to greet us, his frame tall and broad-shouldered, with dark eyes like twin blades under a shock of silver-streaked hair. He looked no older than half a millennium, though his reputation was one of a man seasoned by war and far older in mind.

“Prince Damien,” he greeted with a stiff nod. “And...” His gaze slid to my uncle.

“Royal Prince Bai,” my uncle offered smoothly.

Lord Mercer arched a brow. “You usually stay out of politics, Your Highness.”

“Desperate times,” my uncle replied coolly, shrugging off his cloak.

“Indeed. Sit.”

We took our places on the cushions and Lord Mercer gestured for the wine to be poured. When the serving girl placed a glass in front of me, I ignored it.

“What do you want, Your Highness?” the commander asked without preamble.

“We want your army,” Uncle Bai said without flinching. “The Nightwing are the best-trained battalion in all of Elaria. You know that better than anyone. It’s why my brother favored you so much before his passing.”

Lord Mercer leaned back and crossed one leg over the other, swirling his drink again. “And why should I throw them into this chaos? The throne is not yet secure, but it is occupied.”

“By a tyrant!” I snapped before I could stop myself.

Uncle Bai threw me a warning glance, but Lord Mercer didn’t even blink.

“All kings are tyrants to someone.”

“Thorne is cursed. You were at the ceremony—you saw what happened,” Uncle Bai said.

“I saw poor weather and weak symbolism,” Lord Mercer smoothly countered. “Hardly enough to risk civil war.”

I bit back a growl. Every second we wasted here was another second Cat spent in chains.

“You saw more than that and you know it,” Uncle Bai calmly retorted. “The land rejected him. The sky rejected him. The Immortals turned their backs on him.”

Lord Mercer finally took a sip of his drink. “And if I believe that... what then? The Nightwing serve the realm. Not politicians. I need more than superstition to betray the Crown.”

Uncle Bai leaned forward. “You know the signs. That was no simple weather shift. The Immortals—”

“—have been silent a long time,” Lord Mercer interrupted. “And who among us can claim to know their will?”

My patience thinned like stretched parchment.

“You say you serve the realm,” I said, my voice sharper than intended. “Then look around. The realm is dying . There's a famine in the streets, and the people are ready to riot. They already have.”

Lord Mercer swirled his glass again, betraying no emotion. “Riots come and go. Fear spreads quickly, but it fades. What you want is war. That doesn't fade. It burns.”

“We don’t want war,” Uncle Bai corrected. “But we must be ready for one. Because Thorne won’t release the throne quietly.”

The commander’s eyes glittered. “And what do you offer in return? Power? Titles? A seat at court?”

“No promises,” I said, honestly. “Just the chance to put the right person on the throne.”

Lord Mercer finally looked me dead in the eye. “And who would that be? You?”

I stood, my heart hammering. Uncle Bai’s eyes widened as he realized what I was about to do.

I’d had enough of the commander’s glib answers.

“You say you don’t believe in superstitions, but what about prophecies?”

Uncle Bai froze. “Damien, don’t—”

I ignored him. With shaking hands, I peeled off my gloves and pulled back the sleeve of my tunic. The flickering lanterns illuminated the skin of my inner forearm, where the intertwined shapes of a dragon and phoenix flared faintly with gold.

Lord Mercer stiffened. “Is that...”

“A twin flame mark,” I confirmed. “The first seen in centuries.”

“And the other bearer?”

“Lady Arya,” I said. “The woman currently rotting in Thorne's dungeons. My mate. My twin flame.”

Lord Mercer went perfectly still. “Are you saying that the prophecy is manifesting now ?”

“Yes.” I stepped closer, my voice low and sharp as steel. “You claim to serve the realm. If so, then serve it. Because that bastard sitting in Dragon Valley doesn’t have a true claim. I do.”

Lord Mercer slowly rose to his feet.

And then he knelt.

“By flame and by blood,” he intoned solemnly, bowing his head, “I pledge the Nightwing to you, Prince Damien of the House Drakonar, bearer of the true mark.”

Uncle Bai exhaled beside me, both impressed and wary.

Lord Mercer looked up. “I will begin mobilizing the legions immediately. It will take time to organize the officers and supply lines, but I estimate that within the week, we can strike.”

“Make it sooner,” I said. “Every second counts.”

Lord Mercer stood, his face expressionless. “The people will follow if they believe. But understand, Prince Damien—just because you bear the mark doesn’t mean you’re fit to wear the crown.”

“I don’t want the bloody crown,” I muttered.

Lord Mercer smirked. “Good. That means you might actually be worthy of it.” He turned and strode to the door, already barking orders to the attendant standing outside.

Uncle Bai stepped up beside me. “That was reckless.”

“It was necessary.”

He sighed. “You just painted a target on your back even bigger than the one before.”

“I don’t care.”

“And what if the people rise up against you for it? What if the other houses begin to question your motives?”

“Let them question,” I said coldly. “Let them doubt. I don’t need their belief. I need Cat back.”

Uncle Bai stared at me a moment longer, then slowly nodded. “Then may the Immortals be on our side.”

There was no turning back now.

The rebellion had a face.

Mine .