Page 51 of Wicked Prince of Frost

“This is why humans cannot rule—they are afraid of lesser demons,” Imugi says under their breath.

I glare at the demon dragon.

“No wild demon will approach us,” Joon says. His tone is unexpectedly reassuring.

Imugi snorts, expelling two small wisps of smoke from their nostrils. Then, with a silent signal from the prince, the demon leads the way, breathing a fog of magic over each guard we pass. As the mist touches them, they stop in place, blink, and then shake it off to continue their patrol. None of them reacts to our presence. It’s almost as if they cannot see us at all.

Imugi stays behind as we leave the main gate, with orders to take any necessary measures to prevent people from asking questions about our whereabouts.

Less than half an hour later, we are on the main road beyond the city that surrounds the palace. Once again, we share the same frost-white horse. With the distant howls of wild demons in the distance, I am too nervous to speak, let alone ask for a horse of my own.

I tighten my hold, curling my fingers in the material of his jacket, and press myself up against his back.

Whether he’s using his power or his mere presence to keep the wild demons at bay, I’m just glad to have him as a shield.

At the edge of the forest, Joon calls up a fae road. I don’t think I will ever get used to seeing something so fantastical.

The horse’s hooves thunder over the ground as we cut west through the trees. It takes minutes, rather than hours, to reach the tundra on the other side.

Out in the open, the stars glitter against the blanket of night, unobstructed by clouds. Straight ahead, the ice wall has the same soft glow as the moon.

With no place for demons to hide here, their howls grow distant. I relax slightly, straightening to take in a version of this world I never dreamed of seeing. I remain silent, ignoring the occasional questioning glance the prince sends me.

The chilly air seeps through my gloves, numbing my fingertips. Gradually, the sky fades from black to purple and pink, then red and gold, before finally blooming into a cheery blue that couldn’t be more opposite of the prince’s mood.

We stop alongside a partially frozen river to stretch and quickly eat the packed breakfast, then we are off again.

By the time the sun is at its zenith, the ice wall is only a few miles up ahead. I tilt my head back. My breath catches from the dizzying height.

Joon urges the horse faster. His heart hammers in my ear as I lean against his back. Anticipation speeds up his breathing as we bear down on the wall.

“Joon?” His name is a question, though I’m not sure what I’m asking. But he’s so focused on his mission anyway that he doesn’t seem to hear.

The horse skids to a stop with a protesting whinny. The prince jumps down and races the rest of the way on foot. I scramble down from the saddle and run after him on legs stiff from the cold.

When I catch up, the prince has his hands pressed against the ice wall, speaking quietly in a language I don’t know.

I reach out, only to recoil and shield my eyes from a sudden burst of blinding light that sends an explosion of ice shards raining down around us.

Joon digs through the new hole in the ice like a man possessed. He pulls back, grasping something in his hand, and collapses to his knees. Desperation shadows his eyes as he stares at his clenched fist. His breaths come fast and shallow. Joon tightens his grip until his knuckles turn white. A thin line of red forms on the side of his hand and drips to the ground.

I tear off a strip of fabric along the hem of my skirt and kneel beside him.

A stray lock has fallen forward over his brow. Without thinking, I reach up and brush the strands away from his face. The prince blinks a few times before his gaze clears.

“Let me,” I say in a soothing voice, placing my hand over his.

“Do not bother. I will be healed in moments.”

Releasing a slow breath, I uncurl his fingers, glad when he doesn’t resist.

When he first realized I had used the frost bloom, he seemed so furious… Yet, seeing him like this now, I understand it was fear, not anger.

In his hand is a single shard of mirrored glass coated in his blood. Joon holds his breath, body tight with tension as he watches my every movement.

I take it from him, clean it off on my cloak, and carefully wrap it before placing it back in his open palm. Healed. Just as he said it would be.

“Thank you,” The reluctant words fall awkwardly from his tongue.