Chapter Twelve
VIOLET
A hand on my knee shakes me awake, though I don’t remember falling asleep. I open my eyes in time to see Iseul shove Mingi to the side, sending him sprawling onto his side.
“What do you think you are doing?” she hisses at him as she takes his place, crouching before me.
“Demon shit, Iseul—” Mingi starts.
“I will bring her. Now, get out before anyone finds you in here.”
“Make it quick.” It’s a command rather than a retort.
She turns her attention back to me. “Are you all right, My Lady? What are you doing on the floor?”
It's still night. The only light in the room comes from a lantern set down in the middle of the floor.
“I… the dragon… it looked at me.” Saying it out loud like that makes me feel like a child again. “I’ve never seen it so close before.”
Iseul pats my knee. “That would frighten anyone, My Lady.”
“Violet,” I say. “Call me Violet.”
“Violet, then.” She smiles and helps me stand, making sure I’m steady before letting my arm go to grab a long robe and wrap it around my shoulders. “Prince Joon has summoned you, but there’s no time to dress.”
I nod and let her lead me through the halls, wondering what possible reason he could have for summoning me in the middle of the night, especially after he made it clear that he wouldn’t force himself on me.
Mingi waits outside Prince Joon’s door for us. He holds up a hand, blocking Iseul.
“Just her.” He gestures at me with his chin.
She scowls. “I am her handmaid, and I’m not letting her out of my sight.”
She looks ready to tackle him to the ground.
“Prince’s orders,” Mingi says flatly.
Iseul purses her lips, then turns to me with large doe eyes. “I’m sorry, I can’t go against him.”
Her protectiveness surprises me. I’m touched. I take her hand and squeeze, wanting to reassure her as she did for me. “It will be all right.”
Mingi slides the door open just enough for me to pass, then snaps it shut, barely missing the hem of my robe.
The room is dim, with only a single candle on the table. I move further inside and peer into the open doorway to the bedroom.
A bare-chested Joon sits on the edge of his bed with his elbows braced on his knees and cradling his head in his hands. His crown rests on the bedside table. Even without it, his very essence makes it impossible to see him as less than extraordinary.
I walk over and stop in front of him.
Out of the corner of my eye, something white catches my attention. I turn to see a dragon, identical to the one from the storm, pass through the wall. Even though it’s much smaller now, it must be the same.
Before I can scream, Joon is on his feet, pinning my back to his chest and covering my mouth with his palm. “My head is already splitting, so I would appreciate it if you refrained from making my ears bleed.”
I jut an accusing finger at the tiny dragon, who winds their body in a tight spiral in mid-air and snarls at me in response.
“This is Imugi. They may look like the Winter Dragon, but I assure you, this is as big as they get.”
I stiffen. A demon? Then I remember the flash I thought I saw in the prince’s eyes, but dismissed at the time.
So, he is demon bonded, after all.
The prince sighs. “They will not harm you.”
Imugi flicks their tail at me before landing on the bed. The demon releases several puffs of frost from their nostrils.
The prince releases me, and I shuffle to the side, wanting distance from the demon.
I’ve heard stories of some bonding successfully with higher demons, who take the shape of an animal familiar.
Their physical size decreases, but they gain power through the bond and become greater demons.
I never realized all those stories could be true.
“I couldn’t contain it… I used too much power.” Joon turns to me. His face is too pale, and he looks like he will fall over at any moment. “I thought I had more time, but it seems you must fulfill your duty earlier than anticipated.”
Even in a weakened state, he’s still graceful and just as painfully beautiful to look at. It’s almost impossible to look away. In a single step, he devours the space, only leaving a hand’s breadth between us.
My mind empties of all thoughts with his proximity. He wears nothing to dull the warmth coming from the bare skin of his broad chest. The front of my robe falls open, leaving the thin layer of my nightclothes as the only thing separating us.
He lowers his head until his mouth hovers over mine, but he doesn’t close the distance.
This is dangerous. He is dangerous. I lose my head when he is close enough to touch. It makes me want things I shouldn’t.
“Violet.” My name on his tongue is like melted sugar.
“Yes?”
“Have you already forgotten?”
Though the question is barely more than a sigh, it’s enough to get my mind working again. I must initiate the kiss. The thought of acting so boldly sends heat rising up my neck.
The prince releases a slow breath and straightens. “It is all right if you are not yet ready.” He lowers back down on the edge of his mattress.
The dim light casts shadows over his features, making him appear gaunt—something in my chest twists. I had thought he looked weakened, but I was wrong—this is so much more than that, and he hid most of it from me.
“I’m sorry,” I say. Because I am. The prince told me he needed that power—power that I stole. I haven’t considered what he must be going through. I thought only of myself and how I felt.
“I said it is all—”
I lean forward and press my lips to his.
The prince’s body goes rigid with tension for several seconds before he relaxes. Joon’s hands find their way to my hips as he lifts his chin and presses into the kiss, but doesn’t deepen it, letting me keep complete control.
A hum of energy rises slowly from the bottom of my feet, up my legs, my middle, to the tips of my fingers and the top of my head. The intensity increases until every inch of my body tingles with it.
A slight tug from within is the only warning I receive before it begins.
The flow of energy—of magic—races forward. It takes me by surprise. My lips part with a gasp, causing his to do the same. Our mouths move against each other’s, fueled by the heady sensation. It’s addicting. Intoxicating.
As the world shifts beneath me, I brace my hands on his shoulders. Joon cups my jaw with both of his, holding me in place as he stands, bringing the length of our bodies flush together.
My pulse quickens. Each beat of my heart comes with a sharp pain. I tighten my grip on him, fingertips digging into the muscles of his shoulders. The magic continues to surge until a whimper escapes against my will.
The prince immediately pulls away, breaking the connection. A shimmer passes over the side of his face. Soft and iridescent, like frost made of moonlight. It’s gone before I can be sure of what I see.
Without the flow of power, I stumble back, clawing at my chest.
I can’t breathe.
Fear and panic overwhelm me. Shadows encroach along the edge of my vision, swallowing up the dim light.
How can I do this? I will die if I let him siphon—but I will also die if I don’t.
He’s speaking, but I don’t understand what he’s saying over the roar of blood in my ears. Joon takes a step closer.
I hold out a hand to keep him at bay.
What have I done? What did I let him do?
Because I was desperate, because I was not satisfied with the time I had, I welcomed death with open arms.
Prince Joon’s words back in the carriage return to me with striking clarity.
Perhaps I stole their lives with my cursed kiss.
I thought he was teasing, trying to intimidate me. He made it sound as such. It hadn’t occurred to me that he could have been serious.
My legs give out. Two strong arms envelop me before I crash to the floor. The prince cradles me against his chest and forces me to meet his gaze.
“Breathe, Violet.” He scowls down at me and forcefully moves my hand out of the way, replacing it with the press of his palm against my chest.
The cold caress of his magic is a balm on the burning agony of my episode, quelling it within seconds. The pain fades. My pulse returns to normal. I can breathe as if nothing even happened.
“Why is it that you are incapable of remembering anything I tell you?” he chides gently, almost affectionately.
He helps me sit up. I rub my chest, in awe that the ache I’m used to for hours after an episode is not there.
“Would you rather die than—” The rest of his words catch in his throat when I grip his wrist.
“Thank you,” I say.
He blinks, clearly not expecting gratitude.
I rush on before he can speak, “To be honest, I’ve never had an episode that bad before. It frightened me. I thought the worst, and that wasn’t fair to you when you haven’t given me reason to doubt your word. I’m sorry.”
Joon clears his throat. “It is late. You need your rest. Mingi and Iseul will escort you back to your apartments.”