“Yes,” Jasper mutters, snapping his fingers vigorously. “Yes! With siren music in the background. The mist settles on the water like a thin, translucent blanket. Droplets of water trickle down your skin. The prince is enchanted by the artistry.” “In the winter, though?” Aisling blurts. Jasper blinks at her. “I’m sorry, who are you?” “It’s Aisling.” He nods. “Right. Shut the fuck up, Aisling.”
