Page 2 of Wicked Prince of Frost

The frost bloom grows nestled between the roots of other plants where magic is thin.

On this side of the border, there is a stretch where magic still seeps from the fae lands. Which means, there’s a possibility of one of these plants growing on this side of the border. Getting there is simple enough. It’s only a little more than an hour’s ride at a leisurely pace.

I don’t see what harm it would do to at least scout the area. I have time to cover a small segment before work if I leave within the half hour. If there is no sign of the frost bloom, then I can search the next section another time until I can determine whether this plant exists or is simply beyond my reach.

Closing my notebook with a snap, I decide to go over the rest later, after I determine whether the frost bloom is real or a thing of legend.

I fill my satchel with gloves, flower shears, and a small tin box with a silk handkerchief folded inside. I dress in woolen stockings and a warm riding skirt that will block most of themorning chill without being cumbersome, then don my long coat.

The click of my bedroom door closing behind me accentuates the emptiness of the otherwise silent house. I hesitate for a brief moment, then stride toward the bedroom on the other end of the hall. I knock as I open the door just wide enough to speak.

“I’m leaving to get a few things I need before work.” I pause. “I will try to be back in a few hours.”

There is no answer.

There never is.

It’s still early by the time I near the border. The late spring morning feels refreshing. However, even on perfect days, one must always be prepared in case a nasty winter storm comes out of nowhere. They are unnatural and come regardless of the season, fueled by the wicked prince’s tumultuous moods and his cold magic for the past fourteen years.

While I’ve gone to the forest many times in the past to gather herbs and roots, and though I’ve come close, I have never ventured quite this far.

Curiosity sparks within. Do the fae know the moment someone sets foot on their lands? Are there guards hidden by glamour right out in the open, waiting for humans foolish enough to break their law? Is being close considered a violation? Or so much as one toe over the line? Or are they lenient and only consider it breaking the second law if both feet are planted firmly on the other side?

There is no use worrying about the consequences of something I haven’t done.

While I am curious, I have no desire to risk my neck to find out.

Even without a signpost or barrier to mark the line between the two territories, the border is unmistakable.

The trees on the other side are massive and pale, as if most of the color has been leached out. They look as if they belong to another world entirely. Without crossing, it’s hard to tell if they graduallybecomeice or if they are covered in frost that thickens the further in they grow until they are armored in a thick sheet of it.

Slowing my mare Zasu into an easy walk, I guide her as close to the perimeter as I dare, then begin scanning both sides for any sign of the flower.

With a slight shift of my weight, Zasu obeys my commands as if she can read my mind. She was a gift from my parents when I was five. They tried to persuade me to give her a typical horse name like Thunder, Victory, Cinnamon, or Midnight, but I insisted on Zasu Moon. Though I can no longer remember how I came up with it, the name stuck.

After several miles, the trees grow closer together. The frost on both sides has grown thicker. Everything ahead and on either side appears the same for as far as I can see, blurring the line. I have to look closely to spot the boundary.

Halting my mare, I dismount and loosely tie the reins to a low branch, then make my way into the grove. The frosted ground crunches lightly beneath my boots as I wander between the trees, avoiding the patches of snow that pepper the loam.

The snap of a small branch comes from behind, sending my heart hammering painfully in my chest. I whip around, gaze darting in search of the source. But nothing is out of place. All I see is Zasu, exactly where I found her waiting, calm and patient.

I take a moment to slow my racing pulse to avoid having an unnecessary episode.

Stop overreacting, Violet,I scold inwardly.

“It’s not as though I’m doing anything wrong. I come into the forest all the time,” I lecture myself under my breath.

Ducking under low branches, I weave my way forward.

A low plop comes from the side, slightly behind me. I blink, and as I turn, I catch the shift of a shadow from the corner of my eye.

I release a deep sigh that’s part nervous laughter.

It was only snow falling from a branch, partially melted from the gradually warming morning.

Being so close to the fae lands has my nerves on edge.

It’s about time I returned home to get ready for work. I can search again tomorrow.