Page 13 of Wicked Prince of Frost

He arches a brow, and whether it’s in disbelief or waiting for an explanation, I don’t care. I owe him nothing.

“You said you’ve come to make me pay. Which means you’ve already decided on my guilt. So, tell me how you plan to do so.”

A loud, humorless laugh bursts from his chest. I take several steps back, creating much-needed space.

“I wonder if you would be so bold if you knew who you were speaking to,” he says. Slowly reaching up, he pinches the edges of his hood and lowers it.

His shining black hair is pulled into a high ponytail so long that it drapes over his shoulder. The last several inches fade to a shining white. A pale scar slashes through one eye, from above the center of his brow to the top of his cheekbone. It makes him look dangerous—like he could cause great pain or pleasure with little effort. His irises are not ringed with the glow of a demon bond as I imagined earlier. They are abrilliant, electric-blue with one a slightly lighter shade than the other.

My gaze snags on the pointed ears that give away what he is—fae.

His clothes are different now. He wears a pale blue shirt beneath a deep blue overcoat with silver frost embroidered along the edges.

The blood drains from my face because I know exactly why he is here.

“It has been a long time since anyone dared to break the Old Laws.”

His earlier words come back to me.

A sharp smirk cuts across his mouth, noticing my recognition.

He somehow figured out that I crossed the border into the fae lands. It doesn’t matter that it was by accident.

I’m thankful I at least had the wherewithal to clean up this morning. There shouldn’t be any traces left of the tea. But exactly how muchdoeshe know? I have to say something before he does.

Demons and saints, think, Violet, think!

I scour my mind for the facts. He had my glove, so he knows I trespassed. He’s here for my life, but hasn’t killed me yet, which means he might not know about the book or the flower. If he suspects either, he can’t prove it… unless he finds my notes.

I should have burned them before I left for work. Trying to do so now would only lead him to the evidence he needs to learn the full truth of my guilt.

Unless I can somehow secure my safety before.

“Were—”

“I want to bargain,” I speak over him.

The fae man goes utterly still, lips parted.

All parents warn their children against bargaining with the fae. Both parties are bound to their promises by the magic—but they will trick you in any way they can.

It’s imperative to be as specific as possible for anyone desperate enough to make a deal.

“Bargain with me,” I say again. It is enough to bring him out of his shock.

He scoffs, scanning me from head to foot with narrowed eyes. The fae shifts, moving closer, not stopping until my back hits the wall and he’s barely a hand’s length away.

My eyes are level with his chest. Slowly, I lift my gaze to meet his. I pick my words carefully. “What happened earlier wasn’t hysterics.”

He blinks, frowning.

Good. I’ve thrown him.

“Then what was that pathetic display?”

“You frightened—you followed me home and held a blade against my neck,” I snap. “I don’t want to die.”

The anger and annoyance fade from his expression, leaving a neutral expression behind.