A Queen This Fierce and Deadly

I vow to be the roots that ground you, the branches that help you reach for your dreams, and the shelter that forever keeps you safe. I will love you in every life.

Bravery is a choice. However, you can’t wait until the moment you need to be brave to reach for that bravery. Because if you haven’t been purposefully tending to it, building it up, you may find that it is not there when you need it. You must stoke the fires of courage little by little, day by day, so they are burning bright long before you ever need them. And you fuel or douse those fires—fanning the flames or snuffing them out—with the words you say to yourself. And with the words you allow others to say about you in your presence.

Our story doesn’t end when this life does. You’ll be mine in the next life––and the life after that.

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.

I gave her my most charming smile. “I missed you.” “I was sitting right next to you.” “You were looking at other people.

Denial might seem the easier path, brushing aside these truths as mere fabrication. Yet, a moment of reckoning is upon each of us.

Like the ancient trees surrounding us, your love will endure times of storm and serenity, weathering the fiercest winds of adversity, and enjoying the gentle breezes of peace. Your love will prevail through times of sun and frost, basking in our warmest, brightest days, and enduring the icy touches of our hardest nights. And your love will stand strong through drought and abundance, through parched summers and bountiful springs, growing deeper with each passing year.

In every life, wildcat. No matter what happens, you hold on to that. It’s you and me in every life.

Bravery is a choice. However

He’d promised. “I want you to feel how much I love you. I’ll always be with you

I’d once thought the worst feeling was terror. I was wrong. The worst feeling was helplessness. Nothing could be worse than wanting to help someone—to save a life—while knowing it was entirely out of your control.

Words failed to capture the essence of that look. My heart seemed too small to contain the joy that surged through me at the sight. It was a look of bewildered adoration and tenderness, as if Lorian couldn’t quite believe Prisca was his. The love was tempered with a healthy dose of possessive lust that made it clear he would do whatever it took to keep her. Prisca beamed back at him. And in that moment, I could briefly forget about death and war.

And if my eyes burned like they were on fire, that was no one’s business but my own.

You make me insane.” “I love you too.

The Drakoryx came and went as he pleased. His favorite game was to frighten any sentries who seemed close to falling asleep on their shift.

I was a fae prince, and now I’m Prisca’s mate and husband. I know which titles mean more to me. Which titles I wear with pride and will until the day I die. Besides, she has a title of her own.” “Her title as the hybrid heir?” “No.” I bared my teeth. “Mine.

She bowed her head. “Look after our people, Your Majesty.” My throat tightened. The title was more than an acknowledgment. From her, it was a priceless gift.

I tensed, my eyes meeting Telean’s. She smiled at me. It was the same smile she always wore around me. Slightly perturbed, as if she still couldn’t quite understand exactly how her niece had ended up with the Bloodthirsty Prince. But I knew no one else could see her. Sorrow struck, thick and deep.

One by one, the Drakoryx fell, until there were just seven left.

Regner’s ships began to burst into flames. Except they weren’t just burning. No, they were turning to ash. Madinia was here. And she was furious.

I swallowed a sob. My friend hadn’t abandoned us. No, he’d gone to gather the remainder of his kind. And by fighting with us here today, they were risking their extinction.

I couldn’t hide the tears rolling down my cheeks in twin rivers. In the distance, behind the terrovians, Prisca and Lorian rode toward us on horseback, Galon and Marth by their sides. Rekja rode near Prisca and Lorian, Thora on one side, Tor on the other. And behind them was an army. The army that had somehow made it across the pass before Regner’s foot soldiers. Fae, humans, and hybrids marching together for a better life. And in the Sleeping Sea…Daharak Rostamir’s fleet slammed into Regner’s ships.

Fae, humans, and hybrids marching together for a better life.

Vynthar sprinted toward us. And at least fifteen other Drakoryx loped out with him. My heart tripped. I remembered Telean telling me there were so few Drakoryx left, to see even one was considered a special event.

Our people died courageously. With weapons in their hands and fury in their eyes. With bared teeth and shields held high as they protected our most vulnerable. But still, they died. And died. And died.

I couldn’t hear what she said to him as the blood poured from her mouth. But I read his lips as he took her hand. “I forgive you.

Zathrian would have nulled it anyway. And this? This was

I think I’m seeing the dead.

His eyes were dark with concern. Concern and fear.

them. I could practically feel her fury dripping