Page 59 of Song of the Heart Scale
Reluctantly, I nodded. “She’ll hate being left behind.”
Uncle Bai’s eyes narrowed. “She’ll hate losing you more.”
As if on cue, Cat sauntered in with her dress swishing at her ankles, already wrinkling her nose in distaste at the scent of tea, which she hated. “God, I miss coffee,” she groaned. Noticing our tense postures, she asked, “What are you guys talking about?”
I handed her the invite we’d just received by raven. She took it and read its contents. Her brows shot up in surprise, but then she nodded. “Sounds about right.”
“Not surprised?” I asked with a smirk.
She shook her head. “Nah. If he killed the emperor, then he needs to take the throne before anyone figures it out. It’s… I hate to say it, but it’s smart.” She sighed. “When do we leave?”
Uncle Bai and I exchanged looks before I turned my attention back to her. “We’re leaving this afternoon, but you… you’re staying here.”
Her brows shot up to her hairline. “Wait, what? You’re sidelining me?”
I tilted my head. “I don’t know what that means, but we’re keeping you safe. If Thorne sees you, he could try to reignite your marriage with everyone there as a witness. We… no,Ican’t afford that. I’d rather not give him a reminder.”
She swallowed deeply and nodded. “Okay… you’re right.”
I narrowed my gaze on her. “It can’t be that easy. You’ll really stay here?”
She scoffed and nodded. “Yes! I will! You’re right, I don’t want to marry the bastard, and the last thing I need todo is remind the newly minted emperor about our betrothal. Especially when he’ll be in the position to change the rules.”
I sighed. “Okay, good.”
“Just… come back safely.” Cat reached for my hand and gently squeezed.
I offered a soft smile and squeezed back. “I will.”
“What about me? Does anyone care aboutmegetting back safely?” Uncle Bai interjected.
I snorted and Cat laughed. “Yes, you too, Your Highness,” she said with a bow.
The journeyto Dragon Valley was marked by silence. I rode beside Uncle Bai on horseback with a small battalion of guards trailing behind in a tight formation. We could have flown in our dragon forms, but we needed to bring our guards along, just in case things went sideways. The mountain road twisted through jagged cliffs and fog, the acrid air carrying the metallic tang of snowmelt and pine. Dragon Valley's peaks loomed ahead like ancient sentinels watching our approach.
When we arrived at the palace gates, the entire valley shimmered with celebratory excess. Banners in Thorne’s colors proudly waved from every spire. Flower petals imported from the southern coasts blanketed the streets, perfuming the air with a cloying sweetness that turned my stomach.
Every noble house had sent a cadre of delegates. Sleek carriages lined the palace courtyard, decorated with a litany of illustrious family crests. Expensive perfumes tinted the air, punctuated by brightly colored silks and jewels along with something more bitter—anticipation, tension, and unbridled fear.
The grand plaza outside the palace had been transformed into a ceremonial stage. A towering arch of polished obsidian framed the altar, behind which rose the High Throne itself—carved from ancient stone and laced with veins of gold, said to have been formed by the first dragon emperor.
I stood to the side with Uncle Bai, watching as the council members took their seats near the dais. Lord Zacharia, ever composed, wore his house’s deep blue with a stiff spine and unreadable eyes. His son, Jacob stood rigidly beside him. Julian, our ever-charming second brother, lounged nearby like a peacock, his polished boots propped lazily on a step, his gold-embroidered tunic unwrinkled despite the chaos.
With a flare of piercing trumpets, the ceremony began.
All heads turned to watch as Thorne emerged from the palace.
He wore the imperial robes: layered velvet, silver threads coiled like dragon scales over his shoulders, and a blood-red sash crossing his chest. A small circle of iron sat against his forehead—temporary, until the crown itself was bestowed.
He ascended the stairs with the poise of someone who had dreamed of this moment every day of his life, which he undoubtedly had. Cheers erupted from the crowd. Court sycophants stood, applauding and bowing low as if the man was divine.
My fingers curled into fists at my sides.
Since Malachar was being held hostage inside the palace, the High Priest stepped forward, holding the ancient crown—hammered gold set with black sapphires—between outstretched hands.
He droned on and on about boring traditions and responsibilities that now rested on Thorne’s shoulders. I rested my eyes as the darkness of the evening and the guttering torcheslulled me into a trance. I leaned into Uncle Bai. “Wake me when it’s over,” I muttered.
He elbowed me harshly. “Stand up straight and pay attention! Stay alert.”
