Page 115 of Song of the Heart Scale
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 itisoccupied.”
“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 isdying. 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.Thatdoesn'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.
