Page 82 of Song of the Heart Scale
His eyes hardened. “He told me to leave. He had a plan. He’s fought worse battles.”
“Against dragons?” I snapped. “Because that’s what Thorne’s imperial guard is made of, right? Dragon shifters. He doesn’t have his heart scale, Your Highness. Youknowthat. He can be hurt. He candie!”
Maeve placed a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide.
“I won’t lose him,” I whispered fiercely. “Not to Thorne. Not like this.”
He looked away, silent for a long beat. Then he said, softer, “Do you think Damien would want you putting yourself at risk? Out there? Alone? If Thorne sees you, he may remember the betrothal. He may send for you. Or worse.”
I bit the inside of my cheek and fought the frustration that swelled like a tidal wave. Of course he was right. But that didn't make it any easier.
The house was too quiet. Every creak made my spine straighten, every gust of wind against the windowpanes turned my stomach to knots. Then, just as I took another step toward the door, the heavy knocker thudded once.
Maeve screamed.
I bolted.
I flung the doors open so fast they slammed against the walls. A shadow slumped in the doorway, its broad shoulders sagging, wearing a black cloak soaked through with blood.
Damien.
“Oh my God,” I breathed.
His eyes met mine, glazed but aware. “Hey, trouble.”
Then he collapsed.
I dropped to my knees, catching him as best I could, his weight pressing into me like a boulder. “Maeve! Get bandages! Water!Something!”
His uncle was already there, lifting Damien's arm over his shoulder and helping to maneuver him inside. “I told you,” he muttered as we lowered him onto a chaise in the entry hall. “I told you he’d make it.”
“You also told me to sit still while he nearly died!” I snapped, fingers already working at the buckles of Damien's clothes. “I’m not exactly singing your praises right now, Your Highness.”
Damien groaned beneath us. His face was pale, his lips tinged with blue. Dark, sticky blood soaked through his tunic.
“What happened?” I asked, my voice trembling.
He winced. “Four of them. One clipped my side. The rest... tried harder.”
I peeled back the leather and winced. Deep gashes. Bruising. One stab wound that looked far too close to his kidney for comfort.
“You need a healer,” Maeve said, arriving with cloths and a basin of hot water.
“No time,” Damien said, his teeth gritted. “If they followed me, this place isn’t safe.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” I growled. “Let me help you. Just... let me do this, okay?”
His gaze met mine, dark and aching. Then he nodded.
As I cleaned his wounds, Damien hissed and cursed but didn’t pull away. Royal Prince Bai silently stood nearby, the firelight throwing sharp lines across his face as I used my limited first aid abilities from my time in the army.
“You fought them off?” his uncle finally asked.
“Left them bloody,” Damien muttered. “But they won’t stay down long.”
I tied the final bandage with trembling hands. “You scared the hell out of me.”
He caught my wrist and gently tugged me down until I was eye level. “I always come back.”
