Page 74 of Wicked Prince of Frost

I drop to my knees before Violet and drag her into my arms, pressing my palm against her chest. Tendrils of magic pour into her, weaving through her veins and wrapping around her heart.

She inhales deeply, then leans on me for support.

Scooping her up in my arms, I rise and carry her away.

“I think I can walk,” she says, weakly pushing against my shoulders.

She is not the slightest bit convincing, but I oblige her anyway. I set her on her feet at the edge of the alley, holding onto her until she’s steady.

Violet shifts to look back, but I stop her, cupping her cheek.

I tell myself that letting her see will not help the trauma of her ordeal, but I cannot deny that my true motivation is how much I loathe knowing she will know me for the monster I am if she sees the death I wrought.

I gather up the bag of books as she leans against the side of the building. There is no sign of the box of steamed cakes I discarded the moment I realized something was wrong.

Violet clings to my arm until she is forced to let go in order to get in the saddle.

Weak and exhausted, we ride together in silence.

One more shard.

One.

I will find it, or we will both die trying.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

VIOLET

After the tripinto the capital, the warmth of spring fades by the day, replaced by a chill and the scent of ice on the wind. Frost spreads, reaching its long fingers over the world beyond my window.

This morning, I woke for the first time since, to find that relentless exhaustion has finally released its relentless hold on me.

That day in the city sparked the worst episode yet. It worries me that they are escalating after years of consistency. I know I will not last much longer.

Everything that happened is nothing more than a collection of fractured words and sounds and images. I can still feel the numbing sensation of death clawing at my heart. My throat tightens at the memory.

The last clear thing I can recall before Joon healed me was a shock of pain striking the back of my head. It held the charge of lightning moments before a strike, seizing control of every muscle.

Dark figures… so many of them. Moving in and out of focus, dividing and multiplying. Voices speaking in harsh whispers. But one stood out, different from the rest—haughty, formal.

“Take care… not… second chance… rewarded.”

“You have… pleasure…”

Low laughter surrounds me from all directions.

Retreating footsteps pause. “Mess this… or you will… it.”

“…up!” A harsh shout.

Rough hands grab at my arms. A sharp sting across my face. Then prickling power sinks through my skin like a thousand hot needles—nothing like the feel of Joon’s magic.

It’s wrong—all of this is wrong.

My heart squeezes so hard it feels as though it will shatter.

I fall to my hands and knees and dry heave. My lungs struggle to work. Gasping. I claw uselessly at my chest with one hand.