Page 4 of Song of the Shadow Prince (The Dragon’s Ballad #1)

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DAMIEN

“ Y ou were too harsh on her,” Gianna whispered as we entered the Ryder residence. Their servants carried Arya into the house, her limp form a stark contrast to the cozy, late-night stillness that enveloped the home. The entrance hall was warmly lit by wall sconces, casting a gentle glow on the cream-colored walls adorned with tasteful paintings of serene landscapes and still-life scenes. Much of the art had been painted by Arya herself.

The soft murmur of conversation from the servants and the muted clink of their footsteps on the polished wooden floor whispered in the air.

“She’s still a lady; you must treat her as one,” Gianna admonished, her voice soft but insistent.

I spun on my heels to face her, my frustration bubbling over. “Is that what you think?” I raised an eyebrow, locking eyes with her honey-brown gaze.

Gianna was undeniably beautiful, with plump, rosy lips and golden skin that glowed even in the dim light. Long, dark wavy hair cascaded down her back, showcasing a slim figure many young women in Elaria wished for. Yet, her personality was painfully bland, a stark contrast to her striking appearance. Boring, yes, but also safe. And right now, safety was what I needed.

“What is that supposed to mean?” she murmured shyly; her voice was barely audible over the creak of the polished wooden floors beneath our feet.

I scoffed and rolled my eyes as I looked away. “That would have been you at the bottom of River Elara if Arya had gotten her way, but she didn’t. Her plan backfired, and she ended up going overboard instead. Why must you defend a sister who is so cruel to you?”

“Damien...” she whispered, her voice trembling. “She’s young... she doesn’t know better—”

“She looks down on you,” I cut her off, my voice harsh. “She thinks because you’re the daughter of a servant, you’re lower than she is only because her mother is your father’s legitimate wife.”

Gianna gulped and dropped her eyes to the intricate patterns on the rug that lined the hallway. “Is she wrong?” She paused, her voice a mere breath. “I am a bastard. Everyone knows it.”

“It doesn’t give her the right to treat you that way!” I shouted, the echo of my voice bouncing off the high ceilings. “Stand up for yourself, Gianna! Don’t sit around and take it all the time!”

She clasped her hands together and gazed down at her feet. “I know,” she finally said, the words almost lost in the vastness of the hall. “But you still shouldn’t have fought with her. Arya doesn’t know how to fight. She’s been sheltered all her life and we’re only human, whereas you—”

I threw my head back and laughed, a bitter sound that echoed in the ornate space. “Did it look as if she didn’t know how to fight? Because correct me if I’m wrong, Gianna, but it looked like Arya was holding her own against us all. If I hadn’t used my strength, she might have subdued us all.”

Gianna lowered her head and fell silent, her shoulders slumping in defeat. She knew I was right but couldn’t bring herself to admit it. There was a complex, twisted bond between her and Arya, a relationship mired in jealousy and resentment. Arya had tormented Gianna for years, taking every opportunity to belittle and harm her. And Gianna, ever the quiet one, endured it without a word of protest, fearing the wrath of her younger sister.

“You’ve made it home safely. I need to go.” I turned to leave, the heavy oak door looming ahead of me.

Her hand darted out and grabbed my arm, her touch soft but firm. “Stay,” she whispered, her voice pleading. “The storm is still raging outside. It’s best if you stay here for a while until it subsides.”

I paused, listening to rain battering against the windows and the distant rumble of thunder filling the silence. The warmth of her hand seeped through my sleeve, grounding me. I sighed and turned back to face her, the storm outside a stark contrast to the turmoil within these walls. With a resigned nod, I followed Gianna over to a seating area in the grand hall.

The room exuded warmth and elegance, with soft light from chandeliers casting a golden glow on the rich mahogany paneling and plush, deep red carpets. The smell of polished wood and faint lavender from the fresh flowers arranged on a nearby table saturated the air, creating a sense of serene comfort.

“Bring us some tea, please,” she ordered the servants, who immediately set to work. We sat on a pair of high-backed chairs upholstered in velvet, the cushions soft and inviting after the rough night.

“Would you like to freshen up? Perhaps some dry clothes—” Gianna offered, her voice gentle.

“I’m fine,” I interrupted curtly. “The tea will be sufficient.”

Gianna pressed her lips together and nodded, lowering her head. “I didn’t thank you for tonight,” she said shyly, her voice barely above a whisper. “As you pointed out earlier, if it wasn’t for you, I would be at the bottom of River Elara.”

I locked my jaw. The thought of what could have happened made my blood boil. “Let’s not talk about that anymore.”

“But I must thank you, Damien. I don’t think I’ve ever told you how I felt… After so many years of us knowing each other, I want you to know—”

“Why?” I blurted out, looking directly at her. “Why do you care for me?”

Her honey-brown eyes widened in shock and her mouth slightly fell open. “Wh-What?”

“Why do you care for me?” I repeated, slower this time. “I’m only allowed on the mainland for twenty-four hours each month. We’ve hardly had time to get to know each other in the last ten years. We’ve seen each other for a total of a hundred and twenty days. Not even a full year. What could you possibly like about me?”

She swallowed deeply as a servant entered with a tray of tea; the tension in the room was palpable. The servant placed a silver tray on the table between us and poured rich, fragrant liquid into delicate teacups. Sensing the unease, the servant quickly retreated and closed the door quietly behind her. Gianna opened and closed her mouth repeatedly like a fish out of water, struggling to find the right words.

Her voice trembled. “I—What kind of question is that, Damien?”

“A valid one, Gianna. You know who I am and what I am. I’m a disgraced prince, banished and exiled to an island since the moment I was born,” I gritted through clenched teeth. “If you’re looking for a leg up, you won’t get it with me.”

She shot to her feet, her hands held up in protest. “No! That’s not my intention!”

“Then what is?” I asked more softly, frustration lacing my words. I wanted to smack myself. This was the opposite of what I should have been doing. I should have been courting her and trying to make her fall in love with me, but here I was, pushing her away. She was my salvation, the key to my freedom, yet I was sabotaging my future. I didn’t know what was wrong with me tonight.

“I truly care for you, Damien. I know your situation, but I don’t care. You and I… we’re very similar in certain aspects. I guess… that’s why I’m attracted to you,” she whispered, lowering her gaze to the floor. “I do not care if we’re isolated on your island for the rest of our lives. As long as we’re together.”

I glared at her and tried to tamp down my mounting frustration. That was the last thing I wanted to hear. What I craved was freedom, not another prison. If she couldn’t give it to me, then there was nothing left for me here.

The silence stretched between us, thick and heavy. The only sounds were the faint clink of the tea set and the distant rumble of the violent storm outside, a reminder of the turmoil raging inside and out. I took a deep breath, the scent of lavender and tea calming me slightly, but the knot in my chest remained. This wasn’t how I imagined it would be.

I left the Ryder residence in the midst of the storm as soon as my carriage arrived. The wind howled and rain battered the cobblestone streets, turning them into a slick, glistening mosaic. I didn’t want to stay a single moment longer with Gianna. I should have known this would be the outcome. I wanted out of my gilded cage, and she wanted to stay locked inside. It would never work between us. That much was certain. Unfortunately, I’d just wasted ten years on her, and now it felt like all that time had been for nothing.

“Where to, Your Highness?” the carriage driver asked, snapping the reins on the horses, their coats shimmering with wetness under the flickering glow of the streetlamps.

“My uncle’s residence,” I said from inside the carriage, my voice firm. “And hurry.”

“Aye.” He snapped the reins again, urging the horses into a swift trot.

I peered out the window of the carriage at the rain streaming down the glass in relentless sheets. Even under the deluge, the mainland was a sight to behold. The cityscape was a blend of old-world charm and modern elegance. Stately buildings lined the streets, their stone facades adorned with ivy. The soft glow of gas lamps cast a warm, golden hue on the wet streets, reflecting off the puddles and creating a mesmerizing dance of light and shadow.

The scent of rain-soaked land and the faint aroma of fresh bread from a late-night bakery mingled in the air, a comforting reminder of the mainland’s vibrancy. The streets were mostly deserted, with only a few hardy souls braving the storm, their cloaks pulled tight against the wind. The clatter of hooves on cobblestones was the dominant sound, punctuated by the occasional murmur of conversation from the rare passerby.

As we passed the marketplace, the usually bustling stalls were now closed and shuttered, their brightly colored awnings drooping under the weight of the rain. The rich, earthy scent of freshly turned soil from a nearby garden mingled with the sharp tang of spices from a closed spice shop, creating an intoxicating blend that spoke of the mainland’s diversity and vitality.

Further along, the grand mansions of the affluent Northern district loomed, their impressive facades glowing softly in the storm’s dim light. Manicured gardens, now soaked and glistening, stretched out before them, a testament to the wealth and status of their occupants. The carriages of other noble families occasionally passed by, their occupants peering out curiously, wondering who else dared to travel in such inclement weather.

The rhythmic clop of the horses' hooves and the gentle sway of the carriage were almost hypnotic, a stark contrast to my inner turmoil. I couldn’t shake the image of Gianna’s downcast eyes, her words echoing in my head. As the carriage sped through the storm, a sense of urgency built within me. The mainland, with all its beauty and life, was a reminder of what I sought – freedom, adventure, and a life beyond the confines of my exile.

We turned a corner and my uncle’s residence came into view. A sprawling estate with towering stone walls and ornate iron gates, it was both imposing and inviting. The carriage rolled to a stop and I took a deep breath, the smell of rain and earth grounding me.

Once we entered my uncle’s property, I bounded down the carriage steps and strode into his sprawling residence. The rain continued to pour, drenching everything in sight, but the warmth and light from the house were welcoming beacons. His servants were there to open the heavy oak doors, the hinges creaking softly, and they immediately offered me towels to dry myself off.

“Your Highness,” they greeted me, their voices respectful. Few people ever addressed me as such.

“My uncle?” I asked, patting my clothes and skin with the soft, absorbent towel.

“In his study, Your Highness,” one of the servants responded with a polite bow.

Handing the soaking wet towel back to them, I hurried through the grand foyer. The walls were adorned with fine art and tapestries, the polished wooden floors gleaming under the dim glow of crystal chandeliers. The air smelled faintly of beeswax and lemon from recent polishing, mingling with the subtle fragrance of fresh flowers arranged in ornate vases.

I reached the study and knocked before entering. “Uncle Bai?” I closed the door behind me and strode across the room to sit opposite him at his massive, intricately carved mahogany desk. The study smelled of aged parchment, leather-bound books, and a hint of sandalwood—scents that always reminded me of my uncle. He was the only family member I had known intimately, having raised me from birth and shared my exile on the island. He was my constant companion and mentor, the only one who had stayed by my side.

“I heard there was trouble.” He peered up from the book he was reading, one bushy eyebrow raised. His eyes, though weathered, held a spark of sharp intelligence.

I smirked. “Arya,” was all I said.

He snorted and laughed, a deep, resonant sound. “Of course. But I assume all is well now?”

I nodded. “As well as it can be, I guess.”

“Explain.”

I sighed and tossed my head back in frustration. “Gianna is not the one, Uncle.”

He set his book down with a soft thud. “But you already knew that, Damien.”

I straightened, my eyes narrowing. “Don’t start—”

“She doesn’t have the mark,” he cut me off. “You know this.”

“It’s been decades!” I shouted, leaping to my feet. “ No one has the mark!” I began to pace the room, the soft rustle of my damp clothes the only sound breaking the tension. “I’m tired of waiting, Uncle. I just need to find a wife and gain my freedom—”

“It’s not that simple, and you know it.” He slowly rose from his chair.

As the elder sibling, Uncle Bai was the rightful heir to the throne, but he relinquished the throne to my father to avoid a war. From what I understood, he was close to a thousand years old. Though he radiated strength, his age was starting to show in his shoulder-length, salt-and-pepper hair and bushy white eyebrows. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and laugh lines spoke of countless years of experience, but he stood tall and refined, ever the warrior. His posture was straight and his presence commanding, exuding an air of wisdom that could only come from centuries of life. And his dragon was even more formidable; a massive crimson creature with spikes along its back that could lay waste to nations in seconds. It was why he decided to abdicate the throne instead of going to war with my father… he knew the damage he could cause.

His study was a testament to his life’s work and interests. Shelves filled with ancient tomes and scrolls lined the walls. A large window behind his desk overlooked the manicured gardens, now glistening with rain. The room was dimly lit by a few strategically placed lamps, casting a warm, inviting glow that contrasted with the storm that continued to rage outside. The crackle of the fireplace added a soothing background to our otherwise tense conversation.

“You know the importance of the mark, Damien,” he continued, his voice calm but firm. “It’s more complicated than simply finding a wife.”

I stopped pacing and faced him, the frustration evident in my eyes. “What if the one with the mark never comes? What then?”

Uncle Bai walked around the desk and placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “Patience, my boy. Everything happens on its own time. Rushing into something out of desperation will only lead to more suffering.”

His words, though wise, did little to ease the turmoil inside me. The scent of sandalwood and parchment, the warmth of the fire, and the familiar surroundings of the study were small comforts compared to the weight of my predicament. I looked into his eyes and studied the depth of his wisdom and years of sacrifice etched into his features. He had always been my guide, and though I wanted to rebel against his advice, I knew deep down he was right.

“I know, Uncle,” I said softly, my shoulders slumping. “I just… I’m tired of waiting.”

His eyes glinted dangerously. “That’s what your father is hoping for. He hopes you’ll get tired of waiting and choose someone at random,” he said. “He doesn’t want to give you your freedom. Don’t fall for it.”

He was right. My desperation was leading me to make dire mistakes that could cost me everything.

“It’s been fifty-five years since the mark on my forearm appeared, Uncle… I haven’t found a single person with it since.” I rolled up my sleeve and looked at the twin flame mark emblazoned on my arm.

His wizened eyes seemed to peer into my soul. “She’ll appear when you least expect it, Damien. Just give it time. Because when she arrives, nothing will ever be the same again.”