Page 31 of Wicked Prince of Frost

As she continues to go over the schedule for the day, the first woman pours an amber tea into my cup.

The food smells amazing. One plate holds a colorful array of steaming, bite sized dough, stuffed with aromatic vegetables and meat. I lift the lid from the bowl before me to find a broth soup with vegetables. I start with a long drink, then pick up the spoon and start with the closest dish.

It’s uncomfortable being waited on when I don’t knowhow to address anyone. I should ask their names. Only, I don’t get a chance as every minute of the day is outlined in detail.

As the final vestiges of sleep fade away, my nerves tangle into knots.

Growing up with my condition, I never even considered marriage. Yet, I’ve somehow found myself here… about to marry the fae prince I agreed to help with some mysterious task in exchange for restoring my parents. The same prince, who is known for his cruelty, and whose six previous wives have all ended up dead.

A small part of me is afraid he will bring me the same fate through some subtle wording of our bargain I’ve yet to realize. However, I am not worried about finding an early death at his hands because, irrationally, a much larger part trusts him.

Prince Joon might need me because of the flower, but he didn’t need to promise my freedom. He didn’t just say he would keep me alive—he swore to keep mesafe.

I’ve already lived three years past the age I or anyone else expected. And he is giving me more time.

After breakfast, I’m ushered into the side room and bathed in perfumed water. The five attendants scrub me, wash my hair, then massage oil into my skin. Any attempt on my part to do anything myself results in my hands being pushed aside.

My mind swirls with thoughts of Joon’s contradicting nature. He is harsh and cold, but he will say and do things to belie all I thought I knew of him.

It takes all five women a painfully long time, tugging, twisting, and tying twenty layers of sheer material fabric into knots to create a dress that gives the illusion of being crafted from ice. Without a moment’s break to breathe, they move onto my hair, drying, brushing, and styling it into an intricate knot of twists and braids.

My back aches even before they start the makeup portion. I don’t think I have ever been forced to remain so still for so long before in my life.

The older woman chides me whenever I squirm.

At last, the five attendants finish their work and step back. I hardly recognize myself in the mirror. My hair is styled into complicated knots, and my features look flawless. They are beyond talented. This is what I would look like if I had been born to a life like this.

The older woman dismisses them, then turns to the one who woke me. “Make sure to stay on schedule, Iseul.” Her eyes flick in the direction the others had gone as worry tugs at the corners of her mouth.

“Yes, Mistress,” Iseul says with a low bow as the woman retreats.

Alarm turns the blood in my veins into rivers of ice.

“Are you ready?” Iseul asks.

When I don’t respond, she places a hand on my shoulder. I startle and whirl to face her. “What?” The question comes out breathless.

She holds up a large veil in her hands, and I allow her to place the material over my head. It’s thin, making everything appear covered in fog.

“We must go now, My Lady.”

My throat goes painfully dry. I nod, then follow her out.

CHAPTER NINE

JOON

Imugi floatsthrough the wall as if they were made of nothing more than mist and shadow.

Upon birth, all fae of royal blood are bonded to a demon who has proven their heart is free from greed and hate. Our magics are irrevocably linked and multiplied for life. It is a test to ensure those who rule are strong enough to do so without being corrupted by the immeasurable power. At any sign of a mismatch, the ritual is stopped, and that child remains unbonded for life, never eligible to sit on the throne. There have only been a few instances since the kingdom was established.

Imugi comes to hover near my shoulder.

“And where have you been? It’s not like you to hide for so long,” I ask, without taking my eyes from the view outside the window.

The sky is a ceiling of thick, gray clouds, occasionally allowing the sun to shine through temporary openings before swallowing it up again.

It is the last few minutes before the preparations begin. Iwould gladly skip this part if I could. It is not as though anyone of note will be there. Nobility and officials have not bothered attending since my fourth bride came to the palace.