He is?

Pitch's shakes my arm and my eyes open.

"What is it?" I snap. Why did he have to interrupt my conversation with Sandy?

"I think it is time that we leave."

He is right, but I must speak with the King of Nightmares. You must go on. It will be better this way.

The words press against me, through me. I know that Sandy would not ask Pitch to stay a moment longer in his home if it was not of the utmost importance.

Before I can say anything, Pitch sighs. "I know, I know. The great Guardian of Dreams spoke to me as well." Pitch rolls his eyes. "I will send you into Frost's dreams. I will meet up with you soon." Pitch lets out another long sigh. "The old Sandman probably just wants to complain about all his pretty little dreams that I have turned into nightmares. Now close your eyes, just like you did last time. Close your eyes and trust me. When you open them, you will see your precious Frost-boy."

I am not sure how this magic works. How can it be possible for me to enter someone else's dream while I am still trapped in my own?

But the Guardian of Dreams has spoken to me without a voice. And the King of Night tells me to trust him.

I would say that all of this is impossible, but I know that nothing is.

**

When I open my eyes, I do not see darkness nor gold. For some reason I expected to see blue.

Instead sunshine warms my face before I even open my eyes.

I stare up at the endless blue sky. White clouds swirl and streak across it, clinging to the blue fabric of the sky.

Somehow this sky looks familiar, as if I have been here before. I look around the meadow.

Could this be the same place that Jack took me weeks ago? I remember how I knocked him off of my staircase and how he pushed me into his pile of snowballs.

We had fun.

I always had fun when I was with him. Even though I never admitted it, I enjoyed being around him.

But why am I here? Did Pitch mess up? Or maybe Jack is dreaming about this place. If so, where is he? I don't see anyone at all.

The wind brushes past me, carrying with it the sound of laughter. Where laughter is, you can be sure that Jack Frost is nearby.

My nightgown swirls around me, tugged this way and that by the overly friendly wind.

I blush. I wish he didn't have to see me like this.

But he's already seen me at my worst and I doubt that a frilly nightgown will scare him off.

I climb over the dandelion covered hill. My bare feet slip into the thick, lush grass. Mother would be horrified if she saw me now, half dressed and barefoot.

At least this is only a dream.

I cross over the hill. In the distance, beautiful and dark against the horizon, is a castle.

My castle.

And below it is Arendelle in all of its splendor.

How strange!

I don't recall ever visiting this meadow. Perhaps this meadow doesn't even exist. It may only be a figment of Jack's imagination.

Speaking of Jack, where is that troublesome boy?! I can still hear the faintest traces of laughter, but I don't see him anywhere.

Why would he dream of Arendelle?

I stumble down the hill. I walk through Arendelle's cobblestone streets. Not many people are out, which is good. Even in a dream, it wouldn't do for a queen to wander about in her nightdress.

How am I supposed to find Jack?

The question has barely crossed my mind when I hear Jack's voice-loud and clear-coming from a small house beside me.

I run up to the window and press my face against the smudged glass.

Jack bows in the middle of a sparsely decorated room. His staff leans forgotten against the far wall. His clothes are brown and faded.

He straightens up from his flamboyant bow and holds out his hand.

From the corner of the room, a girl walks into my line of vision.

Her long, blonde hair flows soft down her back. Her clear, blue eyes wrinkle as she smiles. She falls into a deep curtsey. Her dress is light blue, but faded and worn.

I can see the tip of a scuffed worker's boot beneath her uneven hem. She lifts her head and slips her hand into his.

With no music, no crowd, no ballroom-Jack and the peasant girl dance.

I swallow hard, confusion tearing inside me. Even with her hair loose and with her drab dress, I can tell that the peasant girl is...me.