Page 81 of Wicked Prince of Frost

I realize my error the moment he speaks. Whenever he sought me out in the past, he either sent Mingi or came himself. I’d just assumed he was responsible for the note.

“Then…” I trail off.

Joon doesn’t answer for a long time. A muscle in his jaw ticks as he considers. “Show me.”

It takes far more effort to rise than it should. Imugi joins us as we cross to the stand beside the door. The smooth wood surface where I left the note is now bare.

“It’s gone,” I say, backing up to see if it fell on the floor, even knowing it won’t be there. “I don’t understand.”

Imugi blows out two frosty puffs from their nostrils. “There is no trace of anything unusual.” Then muttering, they add, “That wildthingis muddying everything up with their smell.”

A small decorative pillow flies from the other room toward Imugi, who barely dodges it in time.

Joon releases a long sigh through his nose. My gaze snaps to him. There’s no judgment or disbelief in his expression, yet I feel defensive.

“I’m not making this up—therewasa note,” I insist.

Joon’s sharp eyes scan the room before returning to me. “I believe you.”

There seems to be more that he wants to say. I wonder if he knows who left the note and why.

“From now on, either Mingi, Iseul, Imugi, or I will personally come for you. Trust no one else. First thing in the morning, you will move to the Western Court so you are closer to me.” He moves toward the door. “We will search again soon… but for now, get some rest.”

Something in his voice sounds as if he is talking about more than finding the final shard and breaking the curse. More than that, I can see the hope he is trying desperately to hide. The kind of hope that is terrifying if you are not careful—a feeling I am more than familiar with.

Without thinking, I grab his sleeve. At the light tug, he stops and turns back to me.

“Will you stay with me?” I ask. Then, realizing how that could be taken the wrong way, I add, “Just until I fall asleep. You don’t have to stay all night. I… don’t want to be alone.”

Joon reaches up and strokes the side of my head. His full lips curl gently at the corners. “Yes, I will stay with you.”

“Violet.” Firm hands grip my shoulder, shaking lightly. “Wake up, Violet.”

I struggle to peel open my lids. Joon’s face hovers over me, going in and out of focus. The world tilts uncomfortably when I shift.

“You have a fever.”

The icy touch of his hand on my forehead sends a violent shiver through my body, instantly chasing away the last vestiges of sleep. I struggle to sit up, but he’s there, helping me, doing most of the work.

Wind howls outside, pelting the windows with frozen rain.

A strange bone-deep ache has woven itself through every inch of my body. Everything is so cold despite the beads of sweat that dampen my brow. It’s accompanied by an uncomfortable fullness inside as if my body no longer fits me.

“Let me see,” Joon says. He takes my face in both hands,not waiting for my answer, and searches my face. His expression crumples. “It’s my fault—I should have been better about monitoring you. I allowed too much of the frost bloom’s power to build up.”

I blink slowly. “Am I dying?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “It is not nearly that severe. I should have siphoned sooner, but I didn’t want to be the cause of a third episode so soon after the others.”

I reach for his hand. The thin layer of frost coating his skin melts at my touch. “It’s all right, you did what you thought best. There’s not always an easy answer to everything.”

He swallows thickly as if he doesn’t want to be absolved of the blame he placed on himself.

I tuck my legs and lean toward him, holding on to his shoulders for balance. He cups the side of my jaw, fingers curling around the nape of my neck as he shifts to meet me.

Our lips touch. Joon’s mouth moves against mine for a moment before I feel the caress of his power opening a channel inside me. Magic flows toward him, slowly at first.

The slight release is a relief that leaves me wanting to rid myself of more. I lean into him, but he continues to siphon at a leisurely pace. He takes his time, consuming the power, as if savoring the taste and feel of our languid kiss.