Page 32 of Wicked Prince of Frost

“I have been investigating,” they say. “An unusual presence has been lingering since the incident at the bridge.”

That snags my attention. “How so?”

The demon dragon shakes their head. “Something about it is familiar, but it is too faint to pinpoint.”

Could the curse be reaching out its long fingers, ready to consume me once and for all? Or is it the beginning whispers of a treasonous movement?

“The frost bloom already flows within her,” Imugi states. Their glacial eyes flash with flecks of a glowing golden-red, then back to normal.

One must look for it to find it. I glance sidelong at them. “You checked.”

“It is fortunate the thief knew how to use it effectively, wouldn’t you agree?” The demon is less than subtle.

“It does not matterhowshe stumbled across the knowledge, but that it is in my possession, and nothing of this kind will happen again.”

Imugi’s head swivels toward the door at the sound of approaching footsteps. “It is time to ready yourself for your bride.”

“Go, see what more you can learn about thispresence.”

Wordlessly, the demon departs through the walls like mist.

Mingi enters without knocking and hurries to my side.

“I have done as you asked, My Prince. Iseul was all too happy for this assignment.” He shakes his head and chuckles under his breath. “She seems to think the two of them will become the best of friends. It will be a nice reprieve from her constant nagging to help.”

“I appreciate your willingness to put your sister in thissituation. It is not entirely without risk,” I say, then, quietly, I add, “I know she is all the family you have left.”

Mingi’s expression softens. “You will always have our loyalty. We know who you are, even if you’ve forgotten.”

By the time the arduous preparations were finished, the sky had cleared. From where I stand, I have the perfect view of her. The late afternoon sun shines down, turning her dress a pale…

Violet.

It is no secret that a death sentence is the burden of being my bride. Yet rather than walking toward her untimely end with downcast eyes, Violet’s head peeks between the gaps of her entourage as she tries to see around them. More curious than afraid.

Violet’s steps falter as she leaves the covered pathways, and the full scale of the Temple Tower comes into view. In contrast to the ground-level structures of the rest of the palace, the temple’s several stories make for an imposing silhouette.

The bridal procession stops at the base of the steps, leaving Iseul to lead her the rest of the way.

Within the shadows of the antechamber, Violet blinks to adjust her vision. Warm honey eyes pierce the veil covering her face. Their color contrasts against the icy colors of her clothing. Her gaze briefly passes over Mingi before coming to land on me.

Her mouth forms an uncertain pout as I approach, but she takes my offered arm without hesitation. Used to my brides approaching me with fear, I am momentarily taken aback byher lack of it.

Violet’s fingers curl, gripping my sleeve, and without thought, my other hand moves to rest atop hers. She glances curiously at the touch, then faces ahead.

The doors to the vast inner chamber slide open. Standing crystal candelabras bordering the long, frost-white carpet are the only decor in the otherwise empty space.

We walk forward, with Mingi and Iseul trailing. Violet’s brow furrows as she takes in the only one awaiting our arrival. There is not a single noble, court member, or government official present to witness the binding. Save for the Minister of Ceremonies waiting at the end of the aisle.

Because this is the seventh time.

“Hold out your hands,” Minister Molan says when we stop before her. Her robes are an iridescent white that resembles snow when she shifts, appearing to be transparent without actually being so.

I gently take Violet’s wrist when she doesn’t respond and guide it into position. Her lashes flutter as she only now notices how she gripped my arm as if it was the only thing keeping her tethered.

Minister Molan’s face is a placid mask that fails to hide her true feelings. Disapproval radiates from her stiff movements as she wraps a thin ribbon of frost around our wrists, and again in her voice as she recites the binding incantation in the Old Language.

The spell reverberates within the vast chamber, creating a song that grows upon itself.