Page 128 of Wicked Prince of Frost

I push a stray lock off his forehead, running my fingersthrough the long, black strands that fade to the color of frost at the ends. Soft as silk.

I cup his cheek. He touches me in ways no one ever has—creating a desire, an insatiable need within me I never realized was possible. He makes me long for things I cannot have. He makes me believe I could live a life as ordinary as anyone else’s, one where it is not pointless to give my heart away.

We knew this arrangement would be temporary from the beginning. Already, I fear it’s too late for us. With every look and touch and word, he further deepens his claim on my broken heart, turning our illusion into a star-crossed fate.

The second night of the new moon allows the stars to shine impossibly bright in the cloudless sky. The air is warm again, making tonight perfect for dinner beside the gentle stream. We sit on the uncovered section of the pavilion overlooking the water. The protective barrier over the Western Court outer garden shimmers faintly when the flames of our fire send tiny motes of ash into the air.

Joon has never looked stronger. The reason why brings a flush to my cheeks, which can easily be attributed to the milky-colored frost wine we share if he notices.

After the first siphoning this morning, he proved to be stubbornness-made-flesh when I pressed the issue of his not taking enough power. Joon eventually gave in and siphoned again. His ploy became obvious when our limbs tangled again before he had barely even siphoned.

Half the day passed before he finally siphoned all heneeded. I can’t complain, as the process was far from a hardship on my behalf.

My stomach clenches at the memory of him taking me over and over, his hands traveling over every inch of my body as if trying to memorize it, the way we worshiped each other with our mouths.

Even from across the table, I can still feel his touch on my skin—can still feel him moving over and in me.

I swallow thickly and take another sip of the wine. When I look up, I find Joon watching me with a sensual smile and eyes that shine like deep blue flames. I wonder if he knows where my thoughts are or if his are the same.

Determined to focus on this moment, I offer him a placid smile. I pluck one of the many pieces of bite-sized finger foods and pop it into my mouth and chew, pushing those thoughts aside for now.

Joon continues his story, one of the few, clear memories from his childhood he has. How he used to sneak pastries from the kitchen and then take them to Iseul and Mingi before he brought them to the palace.

We take turns sharing pieces of our lives that once felt mundane and unimportant but now feel sweet and significant as we talk over good food and good wine. It’s as much learning more about each other as it is listening to the sound of each other’s voices.

Tonight is for the present alone. I do not let thoughts of what must come to pass, or what cannot be, infringe on our evening.

“I have been meaning to ask how you found the book that told you of the frost bloom,” he says thoughtfully as he brings his drink to his lips.

The change in topic takes me aback. Then I smile inwardly. He’s asked before, but things were differentbetween us then. There is no malicious intent behind his curiosity.

“I found it in the back room of the archives when I was working. It must have been mixed in with the antiquated texts by mistake.”

Joon sits a little straighter and arches a brow. Suspicion flickers in his expression. “Are there more?”

“No.” I frown down at my glass in concentration. “Not that I noticed. I’ve been through half the main library, and all of the back room shelves, but it is possible I missed others.”

“I am glad to hear it.” He takes another sip of his drink, never taking his eyes off me as I do the same. A gentle curl forms over his lips. He is smiling more and more these days. I would like to think that I could be the reason for it.

“Tell me about your work. What does one do cloistered in the back room of the archives?” Joon wrinkles his nose. “Please do not tell me they kept my wife busy with mind-numbing tasks such as dusting,” he says with faux horror.

If more people could see this side of him, I know he would win his people over in a heartbeat.

“There wassomedusting, but I mostly rebound and repaired books.”

Joon nods, keeping the smile plastered across his lips until it takes on a strained edge. “That is… much better than dusting.”

Laughter bursts from me. “I suppose to a prince, it might sound tedious, but I enjoy working with my hands, and taking something worn and making it like new again.”

Joon’s teasing fades into an expression of warmth as I speak.

“I studied in my spare time, filling countless notebooks with everything that could be useful, from common illnesses to rare conditions.” I smile inwardly. “Over the past few years,I’ve had a few opportunities to help neighbors and acquaintances. Even if I couldn’t find answers for myself, I enjoyed being able to help my city.” I sigh wistfully. “I loved being able to help others get well with my own two hands…”

Realizing how long I’ve been going on, I pause to look up. Joon’s chin is propped in his palm as he leans on the table. He watches me closely, with such intensity, I feel self-conscious.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

His smile is sleepy. He inhales in a deep, contented way. “You are beautiful. More so when you speak of things you are passionate about.”