Page 132 of Wicked Prince of Frost

“There is something I would like to give you.”

The thought of the king gifting me with anything seems unnecessary, especially when I’ve done nothing to earn it.

He takes hold of my wrist before I can refuse, reaching into a pocket with his other hand. His thumb rests on my pulse point as he shoves a vial into my palm.

I curl my fingers around it, yet his grip on me remains.

“Have you been in the library again lately?”

“No,” I answer, unable to take my eyes off our hands. My breath stutters as a pulse cascades through my body, like a heartbeat that is a little too strong.

“I have never seen a human study so diligently on their own here. I must admit, my curiosity is piqued as to what it is you are hoping to learn.”

The longer I look at his grip on me, the stranger it feels. I try to tug my arm lightly, not enough to offend, but to bring it to his attention that he has yet to let go.

“The royal family line,” I say, the words flowing too freely from my lips. The unfiltered level of honesty stops me in my tracks. It was a truth I only intended to share with Joon for now. I haven’t even said as much to Iseul yet.

The strong hand wrapped around my wrist is distracting, but that alone isn’t enough to explain the slip of my tongue. Perhaps the soft haze of alcohol in my system is having a stronger effect on me than I first thought.

Slowly, I drag my gaze up to the king’s passive expression. As he watches me, his head lists slightly to the side. There is something unnatural about the movement, though I can’t put my finger on it.

I pull harder on my hand, but his grip only tightens.

Another pulse surges through me in panic. My heartbeat quickens, becoming a sharp beat, striking against its cage of bone.

“You look pale, Lady Violet. I meant this draught to fortify you for your presentation, but the excitement of the night has taken a toll on you. Perhaps you ought to take it now. It will make you feel better.”

He means well, but his gift cannot stop or lessen an episode. I have tried countless draughts over the years, among other things, and the only thing that could ever stop them once they truly began is Joon’s magic.

My lips don’t even have time to form a sound before there is yet another pulse. As I open my mouth, I can feel the agreement on the edge of my tongue.

“I think I will… save it for the presentation,” I manage to get it out with some effort. “I am all right.”

The king’s fingers tighten. He tugs on me, and I stumble closer.

I gape at him for this strange change of demeanor. A sickening feeling twists my insides into knots.

He pins me with his narrowing stare. All kindness and pretense evaporate, as cold detachment takes its place, turning his features into hard lines. “There is something… off about you.”

This time, the pulse is strong and painful, striking me like a punch to the chest. There is no mistaking it for anything other than what it is. It is not an episode coming on due to the usual reasons, but one forced into being by this man’s powers.

He tilts his chin, the angle making the points of his ears appear like small horns. His eyes flash again—the red light coming from within, not the reflection of fire.

A cold smile spreads over his mouth as the king brings hisface closer. Something dark edges his expression. “Sothatis where it is,” he murmurs, but not to me.

“Where what is?” My teeth chatter through my question.

He ignores me, continuing to speak to himself as though I’m not even here. “I was wondering how my nephew could keep a human heart from destroying itself.”

My throat tightens.

How does he know about my episodes? Joon wouldn’t have told him… would he?

“I don’t know what you’re saying.” I pull roughly on my arm, trying to get free and no longer caring if I offend him.

He blinks and finally seems to see me again. “I suspected as much after I sent for you. You were weak. I needed to get you alone to know for certain. If we had not been interrupted, I could have put an end to this far sooner. A human with a heart condition should have ended up bedridden for weeks at a time—or dead. Yet, you always managed to find your feet as if it were nothing,” his voice rises in pitch, taking on a sinister glee.

I struggle to follow his line of thought as he continues to ramble vaguely.