Chapter Thirty-One
JOON
I watch Violet’s lesson from a distance. Half the time she was given has already passed. The entire thing is a pointless charade, yet she puts her entire heart and mind into it.
She is already sufficiently adept in poise and speech to get by in any situation that may arise. She will not need to know calligraphy, how to speak the old language, or the complicated dance of when to eat or drink at a table full of nobles of varying ranks.
I can easily think of far better ways for her to use this time. Ways that involve her hands, mouth, and body.
Iseul corrects Violet’s pronunciation, then demonstrates how to do it properly, explaining the error in great detail, as she does.
Violet reaches down to pat the demon at her side. Iseul’s sharp eye catches the movement and lectures her on the importance of focusing.
“These lessons are more painful to watch than when you suffered this torture,” Imugi grumbles.
“That, I can agree on.”
Iseul is enjoying her role. Perhaps a little too much. I am glad she was never in charge of my lessons. Only she would have been brave enough to be so unapologetically strict with me in a way no one else in all of Arum would dare.
As soon as Iseul’s back is to her, Violet flicks a glance my way and gives the demon another pat on the head. She snaps back to attention, feigning innocence just before Iseul turns back around.
This time, Violet’s movements are flawless in timing and execution. A small trill of pride fills me.
“If you continue to smile like that, I will have no choice but to have you checked for a head injury,” Imugi mutters. “It’s unsettling.”
Iseul claps once and says something I cannot quite hear. Whatever it is makes Violet’s face light up, only to fall in disappointment. They move to the far end and sit at a low-legged table, almost out of sight.
It is just as well. It is nearly time to meet with the council.
I step, nearly stumbling when the world tilts for half a heartbeat before righting itself again.
“What is it?” Imugi demands. They rise off my shoulder and hover before me. The demon’s eyes glow with a flash of power, scanning me.
“It was nothing more than a slight misstep,” I wave off their concern.
They grumble. “Perhaps you ought to siphon before the meeting.”
I shake my head. “There is no need. I have more than enough power for a while yet.”
Imugi remains where they are as I walk, only to be stopped when they say, “It’s been weeks since you last sensed it—perhaps you need more than before to sense the true location for this final piece?
It has been missing longer than the others.
It will only continue to weaken the longer it remains separated. ”
My shoulders stiffen.
Violet is worn from the little amount of travel we’ve done searching for the final shard after the trial—both as an excuse to give her a respite from the near-daily tedium of lessons and a vain hope that it will call to me.
She pretends that all is well, trying to distract me with her flirtations, but she cannot hide the way her face is becoming gaunt or how the dark circles under her eyes have only deepened.
Even alternating between suppressing her episodes and my ceaseless need to draw on the dwindling power of the frost bloom has done nothing to reduce the toll it takes on her.
When I last siphoned four days ago, I felt the way her heart stuttered. The weakening beat…. I was never saving her, only slowing the inevitable. At most, I helped her retain control over her emotions by keeping her from feeling the effects until the episode subsided.
I am her curse, stealing the last of her life force, little by little, with every deadly kiss—every bit the monster they say I am.
Worse, because I whisper in her ear that I love her and that I am hers and hers alone, all the while dragging her closer into the cold, lifeless arms of the Otherworld.
I continue walking.
Any chance there is of saving her lies with breaking this demon damned curse.
Imugi catches up, gliding through the air beside me.
“Each shard has been weaker and their calls shorter than the last—we knew these final ones would be the most difficult. It is thanks to Violet that you found the last two in a shorter span of time than with any of your other wives.” They pause before grudgingly adding, “I suppose she deserves a little credit.”
I peer at them from the corner of my eye. “If I didn’t know better, I would think you almost approve of her.”
They snort two white plumes of smoke from their nostrils. “I most certainly do not—she smiles too much. No one that unfortunate should be so disgustingly cheerful all the time.” They clear their throat. “But I will admit that she is useful.”
Our conversation drops as we pass through the gate to the Central Court. There is a bustle of activity as clusters of servants wait along the path between the Formal Hall and the Temple Tower.
I catch the hiss of whispers they fail to hide as they all part to let me pass.
“It’s him.”
“He’s too handsome to be as cruel as they say.”
“Did you see that scar?”
The incessant gossip is cut off when I enter the Temple Tower. I remain in the hall outside the doors of the main room, waiting for my opportunity.
“It is time to begin. If you would, please take your seats,” a woman’s voice I do not recognize calls out.
Two seconds go by.
Voices hurry to finish what they are saying.
Five seconds.
Conversations draw to a close.
Seven seconds.
The padding sounds of leather-soled shoes fade.
After ten seconds, I slide the door open and stroll in. Imugi remains behind, waiting in the hall.
My footsteps are soundless on the carpet that runs through the middle of the room to the single empty seat around the table.
The king sits silently at the far end, and on the long edges of the table, the officials are in the process of taking their seats, three to each side.
Everyone, including my uncle, wears the official garb of the heads of state.
The robes are made from a heavy material that has the appearance and shimmer of thick morning frost. It fits loosely, wrapping around the front of the chest, and is secured by a wide ribbon belt around the waist, knotted at the left hip, and bearing the symbol of their status and position on one of the dangling ends.
A sword crossed with an arrow for Kwan, the Minister of Hunts, and a balance scale for Ailan, the new Minister of Justice. Her face is unfamiliar to me, having only been recently selected as the replacement for Ilseong.
These two are positioned to the right and left of the interim king.
The next two are Molan, the Minister of Ceremony, and Jinshi, the Minister of History and Knowledge. The former, with the emblem of a dragon twisted in a sideways eight, eating its tail, and a quill resting over an open book, for the latter.
To the left of the empty seat is Seojun, Minister of Commonwealth, bearing the emblem of a skeleton key.
And to the right is Yeona, Minister of Shields, with the emblem of a shield.
She is slight and somewhat timid in her demeanor, but rather than physical strength, her position requires powerful magical ability to continually reinforce the shields throughout and around the palace.
She is a few years my junior, but that doesn’t keep her from taking her job seriously, perhaps more than anyone else on the council.
The seventh position is the head of them all, a role that can only be filled by the standing monarch, marked by the symbol of a crown.
My uncle watches me without drawing attention to my approach.
The six officials turn, noticing me as I approach the table. One by one, they drop into their chairs with matching expressions of shock plastered over their faces. Only the Minister of Ceremony remains standing. She holds herself tall, shoulders back, chin lifted in a haughty air.
“What is the meaning of this interruption?” Minister Molan demands. “This is highly irregular. You cannot barge in here without notice and disrupt official business.”
I pull my chair out, but instead of sitting, I lean forward on my fingertips and let my head list to one side. “Can’t I?”
She blinks as if she is only starting to realize who she is talking to.
“I am the Crown Prince, am I not?” I say to help her along.
“Y-yes, Your Highness.” She clutches her hands in front of her and bows at the waist.
“However, I did give notice… before the trial.”
“Ah, yes,” my uncle speaks up. “His Highness did inform me upon my request. It must have slipped my mind with everything that has happened in the weeks since.”
Molan’s lip quivers until she pinches her mouth into a tight line. She gives a sharp nod to the table as she finally sits. “Very well. As long as His Majesty is aware, then this meeting may now proceed.”
I straighten to my full height and keep my voice clear and even as I project, so no one can later claim that they did not hear or understand.
“I came here today to inform you of my intentions.” I pin each of them in place with my stare.
“My wife has nothing to hide, and I will not abide baseless rumors or actions against her. However, as a show of good faith, I will introduce her to the council and higher nobility in one month’s time—months earlier than is customary. ”
My uncle gives me a barely perceptible nod of approval from across the table. The council members turn toward each other, looking for guidance in each other, and finding little.
Not one heard the hollowness of my words. I doubt either of us will still be around to see it through. With any luck, we will have broken the curse. Otherwise, Violet will likely be too weak to get out of bed. If she is even still alive.
Without her, there is no hope of breaking the curse, and either it or the broken bargain will kill me.
Yeona surprises me by being the first to react. She stands, though it adds little to her height.
“We appreciate the burden she has accepted by sacrificing her time on our behalf. We thank you both for this gesture after the transgressions Lady Hawthorn has suffered.” She finishes with a deep bow at the waist.
The added barb at the end hits the intended mark. Molan’s mouth twists before she can correct it.
Yeona’s stature was a source of grief when she first took up her position after her father died nearly four years ago. She was one of the few who appeared distressed when the former Minister of Justice used Violet as his pawn.
The others stand, offering halfhearted murmurs of agreement and bows.
Outside, a powerful gust rattles against the windows as if objecting to the show made purely out of customary obligation.
I turn my back on them and grip the back of the chair until my knuckles turn white, as a force from deep within strains against my magic.
It only lasts a second. Then, without another word, I rise and take my leave.
This is far from over.
By the time I reach the hall, the wind outside has become a steady howl. Servants rush in from outside, seeking shelter from the sudden, brutal storm.
I shove my way through the clot of panicked bodies as the force within continues to push and strain against its bonds.
A patch of scales rolls over the back of my hand before disappearing. I burst through the doors and into the squall.
“Get Violet,” I say through clenched teeth. “Bring her to me, now.”
Imugi is off before I finish speaking.
There was always a warning in the pasty—always when my power got too low. It came on gradually. Days or weeks in advance. A little over a day at worst.
The dragon would stir, slowly stretching out as it awakened, gathering its strength once more.
This time, there was no sign of the impending uprising. I have an hour—two, if I am lucky—to quell this storm. There is no other choice. I must siphon before it is too late.
The whole of the Central Court is void of life. No one to question why I am out here or why I run as if a harmony of demons is on my tail.
Agony pierces my scarred eye. Sharp and hot, a needle heated to the point of glowing. Partially blinded by pain, I collide with the entrance to my apartments.,
“Get out!” I shout. “Now!”
They rush past me and into the storm, preferring to brave it over my wrath.
I stumble the rest of the way to my room, using the wall as a guide and support. The prickle of shimmering scales breaks out from my neck and up one side of my face before sinking below my skin.
Ringing fills my ears, muffling the sounds of the world around me until they are distant and undiscernible.
The dragon thrashes and fights to break free, stretching the limits of my power, fraying along the edges. It feels as though the dragon is dragging razor-sharp talons along my insides.
Staggering inside, I collapse onto my hands and knees. I barely feel the pain as my knees crack against the floor.
Sweat dampens my brow. I fumble for the smallest thread of magic to open the passage to the mirror that won’t aid the dragon’s escape and press my palm to the wooden slats.
With every shard found, the Winter Dragon has grown stronger.
Heavy footsteps rush to my side.
A man kneels, his hands tug on me, urging me to my feet.
Mingi.
He’s speaking, but I can’t focus on his words.
What is he saying?
The wild beast threatens to overpower me, perhaps for good.
Another voice—this one lighter, more soothing, calling my name.
My left arm seizes. Bones crack. Break. Lengthen then reform. I stare at where my hand used to be. In its place is a claw, covered in shimmering scales made of ice and frost, ending in long, deadly points.
I was wrong. It is already too late to stop this.
That gentle voice calls again.
Violet.
Hide—I must hide from her—Can’t let her see. I shove Mingi away and trudge down the first steps. “Stop her,” I rasp over my shoulder. Even my voice is no longer mine. “Do not let—”
But it’s too late.
Too late.
I am always too late.
Burning agony pierces my eye as the Winter Dragon peers out. It pins her in place.
I only have a heartbeat to see the fear and hurt on her face before I am consumed from the inside out. The deafening roar of the dragon fills my head as it rips free of my hold.
Everything goes black, and I fall.