Page 5 of Wicked Prince of Frost

I don’t understand what he means. Why would anyone have to die for my sake?

The reflection twists and lengthens, reshaping to a tall figure. A man I do not know, shrouded in shadow. He lifts his head and… it is my face, twisted in rage and disgust and hate. “You killed them!”

No!I try to shout, but my mouth refuses to move.

I jerk back. A crack forms in the glass where my palm was. The fissure spreads, spiderwebbing out to the edges. The mirror shatters in a violent explosion. I raise my arms to cover my face, but I’m not fast enough—a searing pain pierces my eye.

Blood fills my vision as I drop to my knees. Slowly, I lift my head. The mirror is whole again. My body trembles violently at what I see in the pristine surface.

A large fragment of glass protrudes from my eye. I rip it out and fall forward, catching myself with my hands.

“You are nothing. Less than nothing.”

Slow footsteps circle me as the words echo around me. I can only stare at the scar cutting through my eye from brow to cheek.

“The world will see you for what you are. Weak and pathetic.”

I try to scream but can’t find my voice.

“You do not deserve the peace of death for what you have done.”

I try to think about what he means and fail.

The voice continues speaking, but the words become too muffled, growing farther and farther away until they fade entirely.

I lift my head. I am alone before the mirror that is somehow whole again. A faint ghostly shimmer of lines dances over the surface.

My reflection behind the ghostly shapes is nothing more than a fourteen-year-old boy.

The slash through my eye has become a pale scar. As a member of the royal family, I was born with the ability to heal, the innate magic erasing all traces. This line is a sign of weakness—that I lack even the ability to heal completely.

A deafening roar fills my ears as something deep within struggles to break free.

Blinding pain rips through me as impenetrable darkness swallows my consciousness.

I bolt upright, drenched in a cold sweat. A deep ache lingers from the dream as all detail fades from my mind, leaving behind nothing but fear, self-loathing, and regret too strong to escape.

Light streams in from the window. It is mid-morning. Although I slept in, I do not feel rested.

A shrill warning bell goes off, signaling that the magical wards placed around the forest have been broken. The sound is silent to all except for me and two others.

Who would dare cross the border just to forfeit their life at my hands?

I throw the blankets off and climb out of bed. Dressing quickly, I ignore the fact that I am the only royal in my family’s line to ever perform such a menial task on my own.

After the first year, I grew to prefer it this way. Now, the idea of having anyone dress me would feel awkward, as if I were nothing but a mere plaything for servants.

A frost-white dragon, nearly the length of my forearm, passes into my room through a wall. “The wards have been breached,” they say.

“I am aware, Imugi,” I snap.

They are entirely unfazed by the terse reply as they float in large circles above my head. “Perhaps it is a faulty warning?” they offer. “It’s been years since a human dared.”

I snarl at the demon, and in response, they draw up, curling their long body to face me. Their winter-blue eyes flash the red of molten gold.

The moment is broken by a knock at the door.

“What is it?” From the pure irritation in my voice, no one could mistake my mood for anything pleasant.