Now, a few hours later, we were in the massive dining hall.
We sat there, newly unfrozen, newly not dead, sitting in a row like honored guests while everyone else clutched tissues made of ice-wool and sobbed into their drinks.
A long, carved table of ancient frostwood separated us from a crowd of Ice People whose eyes sparkled like galaxies every time my lady opened her mouth.
And gods, she delivered. She went from Cast Away to Titanic to Beauty and the Beast like she was launching a multi-act theatrical saga JUST to emotionally demolish an entire species.
Raya was crying.
Coffi was crying.
Latte was crying and also drooling because the Viking Ice Leader kept flexing by accident.
Sir Alex and Sir Jin just sat there, stunned, sipping blood-wine very, very slowly.
And Viking—this massive, half-dressed, carved-by-the-gods ice warrior—looked at Lady Seraphine like she wasn't a wandering merchant lord from the western territories.
