The Shark-kin guards hauled Primrose through the arched doorway of the Royal Chamber, their grip bruising her arms.
Primrose gasped—a reflex she couldn't stop, even though she wasn't drowning. Before dragging her from the cell, the guards had forced her to swallow a Gilly-Weed Pearl, a bitter, slimy little orb that coated her throat and lungs with magic. It allowed her to pull oxygen from the water, though the sensation was strange—cold, thick, and heavy in her chest.
She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the bioluminescent glow of the room. And then, she froze.
In the center of the chamber, floating lazily above a bed of white sand and giant clamshells, was King Caspian de Maris.
Primrose had seen high-resolution cutscenes. She had seen fan-art of fantasy gods. She had looked at Rurik, Rajah, Cassian, and Lucien—men who were objectively stunning.
But Caspian was... other-worldly.
