Page 101 of A Queen This Fierce and Deadly

He met my eyes once more. “I don’t think it’s the memories of your life that you see when you die. I think it’s the people you’ll miss the most. The people who made your life worth living. And sometimes, if you’re lucky, you see the one person you would defy the fates and stay for—if you could.” He gave another languid shrug, but his eyes turned intent, the light dancing across high cheekbones and pointed ears. “Thankfully, you don’t need to preoccupy yourself with such thoughts of death. You won’t experience it for a very, very long time.”

That seemed unlikely, given the current state of this continent. I raised one eyebrow. “And why is that?”

“Prisca needs you.” He gave me a teasing grin, and I marveled at the sight of it. Just months ago, I would have laughed at the idea of seeing such a happy, relaxed expression on his face. “Besides, I quite like the thought of having a sister,” he mused. “That means you will live a long, happy life.”

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t help but grin back at him.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go reclaim my wife.”

I smiled. “If I were you, I’d sneak her out of here.”

“Planning to.” He stalked away.

Since Demos obviously wasn’t going to ask me to dance—and I ignored the pang of hurt that thought caused—I held my head high, walking toward the edge of the tent—and the forest beyond it.

“Where are you going?” Tibris stepped in front of me.

“I want some air.”

“Dance with me first.”

I heaved a sigh. “Is this a pity dance?”

“Yes. Herne isn’t here. Take pity on me.”

I grinned at Tibris. He knew what I’d meant. But I took his hand anyway, allowing him to lead me back toward the music.

“I…questioned this, when Lorian announced it,” he said. “It seemed almost ludicrous to celebrate anything when we’re about to go to war. But as usual, he was right.” Tibris rolled his eyes.

I laughed. “It helps that I’ve never seen Prisca so happy.”

Tibris shifted us so we could both watch Prisca laughing up at Lorian as he snatched her hand. “Gods, I hope they get a future,” he said. “I hope we all do.”

“We will. We have to believe that, Tibris.”

Nearby, Rekja spun Thora, and she nimbly ducked beneath his arm, swaying her hips as she caught the beat of the music.

“You think he’ll marry her?” Tibris asked, following my gaze.

“I think if he doesn’t, he’s an idiot.”

Tibris tensed. I hadn’t realized he was that close to Rekja. But my eyes followed his gaze and locked on the man stumbling in through the open doors, two Gromalian guards close by.

My heart thundered in my chest, and my cheeks suddenly ached from my grin. Immediately, Tibris and I were walking toward the group.

Vicer was bruised, thin, and covered in dirt and oldblood. A woman followed him into the ballroom, hair tangled, clothes in the same condition. She looked so uncomfortable, so entirely miserable, that I was relatively sure I knew who she was.

Vicer looked around the ballroom as if he was struggling to understand. Heads were turning, and Demos appeared next to him, slapping him on the back as he murmured something I couldn’t hear.

Vicer seemed like he hadn’t heard him. He still looked stunned.

The musicians clearly sensed something was wrong, because they stopped playing. And Vicer’s words carried over the crowd.

“You’re…celebrating?”

Prisca whirled. Her eyes widened and flooded instantly as she hurried toward him. “Vicer. You’re alive.”

He waved his hand at the celebration. “What is this?”

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