His eyes flutter open, and I swallow hard. I’ve never seen such a color on a person before—they’re lavender. It’s gotta be contacts.

I think of my own appearance, and self-consciousness makes me want to run away.

But I can’t.

I can’t allow this guy to get hypothermia.

“Take off your shirt,” I blurt out, and heat bursts over my cheeks as I shake my pink jacket and hat in his direction. “I mean, I won’t look or anything. You need to get into something dry.”

“Thank you, peasant.” He sits up. “But that’s not necessary.”

Did he just call me a … peasant? No. That couldn’t have been right.

“This water is—” Leaning his head to the side, he closes his eyes before opening them again. “About ten meters wide, yes?”

“About.” I nod. “Why?”

“The portal needs to be twenty feet to the east,” he mutters to himself. “Strike it all.”

“Huh? Strike… what?” Is he speaking the same language as me? His voice has a bit of an accent, but I can’t place it. It’s not quite British. He just hits his T’s a little hard and some of his vowels sound off.

Suddenly, I get a prickly sensation on my arm, then I feel a static shock on my wrist.

“Ow.” I rub the tingling spot.

“My apologies. I shouldn’t use such foul language in front of a lady. I didn’t think it would affect you here.”

“Affect me?” What the heck is he talking about?

“Yes. I shocked you.” It’s the first thing he’s said that makes sense.

“I’ll say. Finding you in my creek is the surprise of my life.”

“Well, I’m sorry for the inconveniences I’ve caused you.” Standing, he shakes his hair, spraying droplets all around him like a dog after a bath.

Confused, I dry my face with the sleeve of my sweatshirt. “It’s no problem.”

Wringing out his shirt, he faces me. “You saved me, peasant. I owe you a boon.”

My jaw pops open. He seriously did call me a peasant. Rude. The pretty melodic lilt of his voice isn’t so cute when he’s calling me names. “Stop saying that.”

“What?” He seems clueless.

“Peasant.”

“Why? Are you royalty? Nobility?”

“No.”

“Then you’re a peasant.”

I’ve been called worse. Much worse.

But being bullied by kids at school isn’t the same as being insulted by the most perfect person I’ve ever seen.

“Stop.” I stomp my foot.

He sniffs. “I won’t take orders from a child.”