Page 76 of Wicked Prince of Frost

A moment later, the shape reappears. Again, tapping. The figure presses closer to the frost-coated edge of the glass. Red eyes peer in, large and blinking.

Demon.

How? There are wards all around the palace, as well as over each court.

I run to the window, intending to get a better look to be absolutely sure before alerting anyone.

The demon makes a yelp of surprise and… falls backward in a strangely familiar way.

Pressing my face to the icy pane, I peer down and confirm I wasn’t imagining a demon. They are sprawled on their back. Their dark body is a stark contrast against the snow-powdered ground.

Could this be the demon presence the prince warned me about?

Hesitantly, I slide the window open. The demon scrambles to their feet, whimpering like an injured animal.

Are all small demons so uncoordinated?

If this is the presence Joon mentioned, then they most likely got past the wards by hitching a ride on a carriage.

It’s not worth making a fuss over one demon who can barely get around without hurting themselves to the guards. They appear harmless enough, but I’m not in the habit oftaking unnecessary chances, so I will mention it to Joon when I see him.

“Go away,” I hiss, waving a hand in a shooing motion, then snap the window shut and lock it.

Not wanting to make the prince wait longer, I hurry out into the hall and make my way through the enclosed areas toward the Central Court.

In addition to the guards stationed strategically that I pass along the way, there are a handful of servants who still move about during the late hours. They all either ignore me entirely or bow in greeting.

Three female servants whisper as I pass, loud enough for me to overhear. I recognize one as being part of the group sent to ready me for the bonding ceremony.

“Yes, but the storms have been less frequent,” one says.

“I knew the seventh was lucky!” the other replies with a high-pitched lilt.

Even if I couldn’t hear, the way their eyes locked on me makes it obvious that I’m the subject of their conversation.

Rounding another corner, I come to the Garden of Stars. Two guards stationed at the entrance bow their heads as they let me through.

The door slides shut behind me, and I feel as if I’ve been transported to a different world.

The warm, humid air leaves a film of foggy condensation on the dome’s glass squares. There is a break in the clouds overhead, and the blurry stars look like thousands of fireflies.

Hundreds of crystal lanterns hang on strings in zig-zagging patterns all along the main path, lit for my arrival.

I open my mouth to call out, nearly using Joon’s name without his title, before I stop myself. I can’t be sure we are alone.

“Your Highness?” The title feels clunky on my tongue. My voice is hampered by the labyrinth of plants.

When there’s no reply, I meander further in, peering into the various alcoves until I get to the bridge that curves over the narrow stream.

I suppose it is possible I got here before him.

A whirl of cold air slips over me in a stark contrast to the warmth I’ve grown used to.

“My Prince?” I call out.

A man’s voice, muffled by the thick vegetation, comes from near the outer edge of the garden. There’s a haunting quality to it that makes me think Joon is in a worse state than I thought.

This better not be some misguided attempt to downplay the severity of it by distracting me with a nighttime stroll through the garden.