Princess Vittoria Olympia of the Romana Family of Olympus
We did not make it back to the castle quickly.
The beach was even more beautiful up close than it had been from the cliff. A perfect, private crescent of pale, cold sand, hemmed in by black rocks on either side and the towering grey cliff behind us. The tide had dragged in tons of driftwood from the storm last night — huge, bleached white branches twisted like bones. The sea was that violent, freezing Atlantic blue, white foam everywhere, loud enough to swallow your thoughts.
It was summer in Asgard. Which apparently meant 16 degrees, a wind that could strip paint, and water so cold it could stop your heart.
"Absolutely not," I said immediately, pulling Campbell's — I mean, my — white knit sweater tighter around me as the wind hit us full blast down here. "I am not putting my feet in that. That is not sea, that's liquid ice. That's death."
