Page 25 of Wicked Prince of Frost

The prince leans forward. “Do you think I miss the way you look at me with disgust behind that pleasant facade? You might fool the rest of the world when you bat your lashes, but not me.”

The way I look at him?

He sits back, turning his face away. “You are no different than the rest of them. They would gladly take my head for a prize if given half a chance.”

All my irritation vaporizes at the underlying hurt in his angry words.

When the entourage arrived, no one booed him or committed any acts that could be interpreted as treasonous or unkind. Everyone obeyed and acted as expected.

Surely, he didn’t expect to be loved. He is far too observant for that.

It’s understandable that we fear him. Every wife he’s chosen has ended up dead to appease the dragon that terrorizes the cities and towns of the kingdom. Though little good their sacrifices have done. The dragon’s attacks have only increased in frequency over time.

His words speak to an old wound. He hears hate in the voices of others and sees it in furtive glances, regardless of whether it’s there or not.

Had my earlier silence, caused by fear and uncertainty… added to that?

It’s an irrational feeling, not entirely unfounded, that I can relate to. However, my experience is with pity rather than hate.

I smooth out wrinkles in my skirt.

“Everyone has always been pleasant to my face most of my life,” I say. “When I was old enough to work, the only ones willing to hire me were family friends. It was around that time when I finally understood the looks for what they were.” I sigh and flick a quick look at him. He listens, his head cocked. “Most people don’t know how to handle what they do not understand, and it can make them seem uncaring even when the opposite is true.”

From the corner of my eye, I can see him shift, turning his full attention on me. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Making conversation, I suppose.” I shrug.

The carriage door opens, putting an abrupt end to my attempt to ease his mood.

“What is going on?” the prince asks.

Mingi stands with utter calm. “The bridge ahead is out.” He looks over his shoulder, then back at the prince, shaking his head in answer to an unspoken question. “The men are looking into the cause. It will be a little while before the repairs are done.”

The prince nods. After the door is closed again, he sits back in his seat and resumes glaring. Whatever progress I could have made is gone. His walls are firmly back in place. Instead of trying again, I choose to ignore it in favor of trying to gather what information I can while we are stuck in close quarters.

“Did your previous wives die helping you this way?”

“Hardly,” he scoffs.

“Then, how did they die?”

He shrugs, then shifts forward. “Perhaps it was the dragon,” he says, moving closer until he is bending over me, caging me in with his hands braced on the back of the seat.

He is playing with me. The fae are infamous for toying with humans. I stand my ground, refusing to be intimidated.

A chill radiates off him as if he were made of ice instead of flesh and blood. He lowers his face until his mouth hovers over mine. His breath caresses my lips when he speaks. “Or perhaps I stole their lives with my cursed kiss.”

His eyes spark. The same feeling that washed over me when he tracked me down swallows me up again now. A brush of something, an invisible touch wrapping around me, squeezing me as if demanding my compliance.

I bring my hands up and shove his chest. He backs up and drops down into his seat, blinking at me.

A tightness grows in my chest, and I try to hide the quickening of my breath.

“I don’t believe in deadly kisses,” I barely manage to get the words out, though they sound weak and lack conviction in my attempt to hide the effect he had on me.

His lip curls, baring his teeth. “What would you do if I had killed them with my bare hands?”

I cannot think of an answer, nor tell if he even expects one.I close my eyes and take slow, shallow breaths, fighting against my weak heart.