Page 120 of Wicked Prince of Frost

A plaque is carved in the stone at the foot of each one, with the name of the monarch, their day of birth, the years they ruled, and the day they died.

I walk down the central aisle. When I near the first, I realize the caskets are not glass but enchanted ice.

Not daring to stop, I make my way toward the archway at the far end of the crypt. What I’m looking for waits for me behind a split curtain that hangs over the threshold, blocking the view on the other side. At first, it appears black, but as I slip through, I notice the shimmer of blue. The silken material cascades down my back and reveals the shrine within.

A shudder rolls through my body that leaves me trembling from a cold that has nothing to do with thecold, damp air.

Seven stone pedestals are lined up along the length of the room with space for more. The first six hold a standing woman encased in ice, making them appear as if they are statues from a distance. The last is empty.

I make my way toward the end. Up close, the details of the women come into sharper focus. Their eyes are closed, with almost peaceful expressions. But their features are gaunt as if their life had been sucked out of them. Every one of them has rounded human ears. Each stone base features a plaque that displays the name, age, and hometown of each woman.

Kiara Price, 22. Cyrindor

Rhiannon Gravelight, 27. Direvale

My legs grow weaker as I read each one.

Leila Threnody, 19. Stone cliff

Florence Ashwood, 28. Elmcrest

Nisha Winslow, 24. Avalan

Cordelia Swann, 21. Holiston

I slow, then stop when I realize the seventh plaque is already engraved. A violent wave of nausea crashes into me, making the world tilt.

My legs give out. I crash to the ground, catching myself with my hands.

Violet Hawthorn, 23. Firnhallow.

He has already begun preparing for my death. Our bargain meant nothing. The evidence before me staring me in the faceis a glaring truth I cannot deny, no matter how much I wish I could.

Did he ever intend to keep me alive long enough to break the curse, let alone even attempt to heal me after?

He intentionally deceived me from the beginning. It’s impossible to know how much of what he said was a lie or if his tongue is even capable of speaking the truth at all.

If I’d known any of this, I would never have allowed myself to get close to him—I would have guarded my heart.

Which is exactly why he hid the truth.

I don’t want to believe it. It’s at odds with the man I know—the man IthoughtI knew.

Joon lied about everything. Every word out of his mouth was meant to manipulate me into giving him whatever he wanted.

Pain twists my heart, signaling the start of an episode, but Joon’s not around to stop it this time.

I shake my head. It doesn’t matter. For years, I relied on my own techniques to stop my episodes. I can do it again.

Concentrating, I focus on breathing slowly, willing my heart to calm. As the onset of an impending episode ebbs, the echo of footsteps nears.

“Violet,” Mingi says gently.

I look over my shoulder to find him in the archway, holding the curtain aside, with Imugi hovering over his shoulder. Iseul remains just beyond the door in the room of past kings and queens. Her face is deathly pale even in the dim light as she glances around.

All three adopt an expressionless mask as they watch me, but their presence feels like an admonishment and judgment.

How do they expect me to feel? What do they expect me to think?