The house looked like a cutout from an architecture magazine, looming proudly behind creaky iron gates and flanked by rows of skeletal trees swaying gently in the December wind. At its threshold stood a delicate marble fountain. On summer days the soft gurgling of the clear water resonated melodically in the surrounding silence, but now that it was winter the water had frozen, and all that could be heard were my footsteps crunching on the snow of the front walkway.

Cloaked in blankets of white snow and days of little sunshine, winter was a long season in Alaska. Although it only took fifteen minutes to get to the Ambrosias’, my feet were numb thanks to my stupid choice of footwear. I should have worn extra socks.

I was about to ring the bell at the grand entrance to the Ambrosia house when someone turned the lock. I hoped it was Leopold, the gardener’s handsome son, who might answer the door again. Last time I hadn’t been prepared and had parsley from my salad stuck between my teeth. Leopold had awkwardly pointed it out. Zeus, it was embarrassing. But I had learned my lesson and ran my tongue along the front of my teeth to make sure nothing was stuck in there. When the door swung open, I had my most dazzling smile on . . . only to have it dissolve immediately.

The gods loved to torture me—always throwing obstacles in my way. This time it was in the form of a six-foot-tall guy with tousled brown hair and mesmerizing green eyes who was looking down at me from his lofty height. Vladimir Ambrosia, Kris’s older brother. I tried to stand up a little taller, stretching my five-foot-two frame and refusing to show deference to a Pure Royal, despite having spent my whole life being trained to.

The last time we had been in the same place was two years ago during Hermaea—a festival with an athletic contest held in honor of Hermes. Vladimir had come to support Kris, who played tennis. I had been cheering on my best friend, minding my own business, and doing my best to ignore him. But before the match was over, we had managed to bicker. As usual, he had started it.

I still don’t understand why people who know nothing about tennis feel the need to shout out during the game as if they know what they are talking about. It just makes them look stupid.

Excuse me?! His passive-aggressive comment was directed at me. I’m only here to support my best friend, who also happens to be your sister. Got a problem with that?

Yes, if you’re going to shout “That’s cheating” like you did a minute ago when you know nothing about the rules.

My finger shot toward Kris’s opponent. But what she did was cheating!