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right now, or you’ll be the one somebody calls ‘Princess’!”
    “Enough of this nonsense.” Victor’s voice turned sharp.
    Nonsense? You got that right, buddy. She wondered at what point she’d fallen head-first into the Twilight Zone. “Who are you anyway?”
    “Don’t play the fool. You know exactly who I am.”
    “Well, I’m afraid my memory’s a little fuzzy on that.” She scratched her temple. “I think I hit my head and blacked out.” It wasn’t a lie, and she wondered for a minute if she was dreaming up the whole thing. She could think of nothing better than waking up in her bed to the aroma of a piping hot cup of coffee—or those bacon and eggs Frank had promised before he took off to God-knew-where.
    “Perhaps that explains all the strange babbling,” Victor said, pulling on the reins. “But no matter. We shall take you to the healer for a look. Now, tell me, is ‘911’ some secret code, a way to beckon your armies against us?”
    “Something like that,” she said, sighing again. “Anyway, please refresh my memory. Who are you?”
    Victor straightened in his saddle and raised his chin a notch, the slightest glint of a smile playing in his blue eyes. “I’m King Victor Fesque II. Your father, King William Jarod, is currently my chief adversary. And now, thanks to you, I have all the leverage I need.”
    Sarah was sure no one was going to believe any of it. She already got enough guff for chasing eight-foot humanoids around the woods. There was no way anyone was going to find out about this little fairytale, or she’d be labeled a crackpot for life. “Please, I’m begging you to trust me. If you let me go now, I won’t say a word to anyone—not even a peep. My reputation is at stake, and that means a lot to me as a scientist.”
    “Scientist?”
    “Listen, uh, Your Highness, you’re making a huge mistake. You have absolutely no leverage with me, because I’m not this person you think I am! My name’s Sarah Larker. This King Gerald or whoever you’re talking about won’t even know me.”
    “In spite of your lies and your demands, Highness, it is a pleasure to finally meet you in person, Princess Gloria Jarod.”
     
     
     
     
     

Chapter 3
    Sarah jumped when something resembling a cockroach—only much bigger and grosser—scurried over her foot. Water dripped onto the dirt floor from the craggy ceiling in an annoying and never-ending rhythm. Dark, rusty, ominous chains hung from the wall; she was glad the knights had spared her from being bound by them. A pile of bloodied, filthy rags were clumped together in the corner. She cringed, wondering if they used to be someone’s clothes. A putrid stench hung thickly in the air, but even that paled in comparison to the layers of muck covering the walls. In the opposite corner, were piles of excrement. She had to get out of this place, preferably before her next trip to the bathroom.
    A breeze whipped around her shoulders. As she shivered, her skin rippled into another fit of goose-bumps. Sarah would have killed for her leather coat, but it was locked in the trunk of her Jeep, along with all the other stuff that would have been useful, like her Swiss army knife and jack. She sighed and rubbed her arms with her palms, hoping the friction would infuse some warmth into her flesh. In the dim light, a giant cobweb dangled in one corner. Haven’t these people ever heard of dusting, deodorizer, or bug spray? Who in the world uses a dungeon anymore? She’d never even had a traffic ticket before, but now she was thrown into some ancient hell hole. She leaned against the stone wall and jumped when the cool, wet slime soaked through her shirt. An escape wouldn’t be happening anytime soon. Wherever she was, she doubted even Google Maps could find her. She wiped her hands across her pants and shouted, “Listen, you medieval nutcases, you’re all going to fry in the electric chair. I’ll personally invent the thing myself. The least you