Page 24 of Song of the Heart Scale
“Almost certainly.”
I groaned and stood. “This world is mad.”
“Welcome to L.A., my lady.”
And with that, I followed her out of the suite, still not entirely sure if I had just performed a sacred rite or participated in a circus.
Possibly both.
7
DAMIEN
The high peaks of Dragon Valley pierced the clouds like the talons of an ancient immortal, jagged and snow-dusted. I flew beneath the shroud of mist, weaving through rock and cloud with Uncle Bai close behind in his own dragon form—a flash of old power in the sky. The valley stretched wide below, dotted with banners and settlements nestled along its slopes, but all roads eventually led to the same place: the imperial palace, carved into the mountain itself, a fortress of basalt and obsidian shrouded in legend and fear.
It was my first time seeing it. It was the place of my birth, but I was too young to remember being taken away after being ripped from my mother’s dead arms.
The palace emerged from the cliffs like it had grown there, with its sharp spires, narrow windows, and bridges arching like veins. When I landed on the outer platform reserved for royal flights, the tremor it sent through the structure echoed the tension already waiting inside.
I smoothly shifted, my boots hitting stone with a solid thud and the cloak falling into place around my shoulders. This wasthe first time many had seen me—the third prince. The Shadow Prince. Let them stare. Let them wonder.
Uncle Bai landed moments later and shifted with a practiced breath, straightening his long coat and brushing ash from his sleeves. “Well,” he muttered, “this will be unpleasant.”
“Understatement,” I replied.
The palace guards stationed at the archway—four of them, all in ceremonial crimson and gold—stiffened as we approached. They didn’t raise their weapons, but they didn’t bow, either.
Recognition dawned in their eyes like a slow, dawning horror.
One of them—young, barely twenty—cleared his throat. “You… are you Prince Damien?”
Uncle Bai stepped forward with the grace of a courtier and the weight of a war general. “Announce us. Prince Damien Drakonar and Royal Prince Bai Drakonar seek entrance to the Imperial throne room.”
The guard’s mouth worked soundlessly for a moment before he nodded and hurried off.
I turned to Uncle Bai. “I take it they weren’t expecting us?”
“Let them be surprised. The moment the emperor died, your exile was null and void. And if Thorne is the good brother he always pretended to be, he will lift your exile.”
My uncle was right, but it didn’t mean it would go the way we wanted it to.
Inside, the palace was stifling. Its air was redolent with incense and old secrets, the labyrinthian halls lined with tapestries that told stories no one believed anymore. We walked in silence, the clack of our boots swallowed by ancient stone and red velvet carpet.
We passed servants who paused mid-step to stare, diplomats who blinked twice and hurried out of our way, and a few old guards who simply bowed their heads and didn’t meet my eye.
And then we reached the doors to the throne room.
Two golden dragons curled around the archway with their mouths open in a silent roar, claws raised as if to guard what waited beyond. The heavy doors slowly swung open—almost theatrically—and the sound from within spilled into the corridor like a breaking storm.
“—a dangerous mistake to declare it now!”
“We cannot delay! The empire will eat itself in speculation!”
“You’re all fools if you think the people won’t see through a cover-up!”
“I saidorder!”
The throne room was vast, cavernous, with a domed ceiling painted with the celestial wheel; stars, moons, and golden dragons coiled through the constellations. The long table beneath it was curved like a crescent, lined with high-backed chairs occupied by the empire’s highest-ranking ministers.
