For the last forty-eight hours, Primrose had become the most persistent shadow in the Sunless City.
Wherever King Caspian went, she was there.
He went to inspect the coral fortifications? She was floating behind him, asking about history.
He went to the training grounds to correct a guard's posture? She was there, holding a towel and a question.
He tried to hide in his study to draft blueprints for a new aqueduct? She slid a plate of cookies under the door, followed by a note that simply read: PLEASE.
Finally, the King of the Deep cracked.
He was hovering over a drafting table made of polished obsidian, rubbing his temples. He turned around to find Primrose floating upside down near the ceiling, her hair drifting like a halo, staring at him with wide, pleading amber eyes.
