Princess of Frost - Mila Young Page 0,12

for me, demanded my attention, and asked how many treasures I would shower on them. I wasn’t interested in a single one.

"This is the perfect damn time, Eryk. Hell, you're as stubborn as your mother. Your bride will give you more motivation, give you something to fight for."

My shoulders stiffen. "I have our kingdom, our lives."

He snorts and waves me away as if those things mean so little. He must be delusional to think this way.

"I'm talking about something personal, where you would die for another without a thought."

"I would fall on the sword for you, Father," I pledge.

"Boy, I'm already on death's door, and you need someone who will be your backbone when I am gone."

"You sound soft in your old age," I murmur, having noticed that since falling sick, the hardness around his edges has softened, like he can feel things the rest of us can’t.

His gaze lowers to my neck, and instinctively I reach up to run my fingers over the scar. A reminder of the hobgoblins who attacked my mother. The skin still feels rough under my touch, and my throat clenches as I swallow. My assault wasn’t enough to stop them from taking her life. I wasn't enough, and the wound refuses to heal completely, reminding me of my failure.

My gut aches with the memories flooding me, and I hate the darkness that emerges soon after, swallowing me.

"The scar doesn't define you," Father says, except he's wrong.

It reminds me of who I am... and this is why my focus is saving the Midnight Court, not chasing a princess.

I get to my feet and ignore his words, refusing to argue a sour point that I will never bend on. "We may have found another cursed." I lift my eyes to him as he slides back under the blankets, the earlier fire in his gaze dissolving. I hate seeing him this weak, and instead want him by my side as we navigate the hobgoblins coming our way.

"Fantastic," he mutters. "You know what you must do."

"Of course. Anything it takes to control the power to our advantage."

He nods as his eyes close, and his breathing deepens. It's all his body can take. One small outburst of discussion, then the illness drags him back under. I watch him for a moment longer until he falls asleep, then I cross the room and shut the door behind me.

Now, I pray to the universe that Kade is right about this maid's powers.

Licia

I ran to work this morning, terrified of being ambushed by hobgoblins again. But when I didn’t find their bodies near the trees or anyone else at the castle talking about hobgoblins found in the nearby woods, I have to believe they escaped. That part scares me even more, because it means they are still out there. The thought brings a shiver racing down my spine. I kept dreaming last night of shadows chasing me and woke up covered in perspiration. I hate those dreams.

Now around me, maids are rushing about in the hallways with food, drinks, and laundry. Most are finishing the night shift, and the exhaustion on their faces is clear.

In the kitchen, cooks are plating food, the maids are wheeling trolleys, and Warrick is barking orders at everyone. I make my way to the back of the room to hang my coat and tuck away my now-sewn bag. I keep glancing over to Warrick, expecting him to look at me with judgment about the missing loaf, but he's too busy barking orders to the other cooks about preparing the morning feast for the prince.

Before I get started, I walk quickly across the room, intending to return to the stables and collect the trolley and plates before anyone notices them missing.

Outside the kitchen, I rush down the bright corridor lit from the overhead windows, my boots thumping the marble floor. I veer left and sprint toward the exit.

"Licia," Veren hisses from behind me.

My stomach drops at the way she calls me... though in truth, she says it that way all the time. Yet I still jump.

Looking back, I flash her an innocent expression.

"What did you do?" she growls under her breath, keeping her voice low.

I rock on my heels at her accusation, unsure which part she's referring to. The guards or the stolen bread… or even something else, because it wouldn't be the first time someone blamed me for something they’d done.

She glares at me as she storms over, then glances around as if making sure no one