Chapter 4 #3
I half-expected to fight him on it, but he paused his stare on my towel-dried hair next. I’d run a brush over it, smoothing it down the best I could, but without a hairdryer or any styling products, I couldn’t straighten it into the sleek bob I usually wore it in.
“Dry her hair,” the king ordered one of the servants, a woman with pale skin and turquoise hair arranged into a cascade of braids over her shoulders.
Instead of running for the towel, she came up to me barehanded. Placing her palms on each side of my head, she ran her fingers through my damp strands. When she stepped away, a small, glistening ball of water trembled between her open palms.
“Is that... is that the water from my hair you’re holding?” I jerkily brought my hands up to my head.
Dried without a brush, my hair sprang up in disorganized waves, but it was absolutely, undeniably dry.
“Yes, my lady,” the woman replied in a melodious voice.
She glanced at the king, who nodded slightly. She then ran out of the room, taking the water with her. I saw her through the glass wall as she dumped the water ball into one of the pools in the great hall on her way out of the palace.
I longed for a proper, logical explanation of what was happening around me, but reality defied any logic in this place.
It clashed with everything I knew about the world, leaving me feeling confused and disoriented.
It was an unusual feeling for me. Unsettling and disturbing.
I preferred to stand with both feet on solid ground, and now the ground was lurching from under me.
“Please, take a seat,” the king invited, gesturing at the upholstered chair with a high back.
I didn’t wait for another invitation. My legs already seemed too weak to hold me, and I plopped onto the chair’s cushioned seat with relief.
“The water from my hair? How did she do it?” I muttered.
The king sat on the spacious glass chair at the opposite end of the table that was too long for us to touch even if we both reached for each other across it, which of course I had no desire of doing.
“It’s siren magic,” the king said, as if that explained anything.
“Every siren can command water from birth. Well...most of us can.” His gaze shifted to the food on the table, and he lifted a glass fork from his plate.
“Eat. You must be hungry. The journey across the River of Mists can be perilous and taxing.”
I was hungry. Starving, actually. But he seemed to know all about my “journey,” when I still had no idea how I ended up in this place, and more importantly, how I could get out of here.
Grabbing a fork, I speared through what looked like a small pile of seaweed salad on my plate.
“What is the River of Mists?” I asked.
“Well...” He rested his hand on the table.
A thin line of shimmer quickly spread from under his hand, and the color of the table changed from dark-brown to clear.
Glass! The table turned to glass at the touch of his hand.
The spoonful of salad stuck in my throat. I jumped from my chair, shoving it back. It tipped over and crashed to the floor.
I gripped my throat, staring at the table in shock.
It retained its shape in every detail, even the lines of the joints and the carvings along the tabletop’s edge remained the same.
Only it looked like it’d been poured out of glass now instead of carved from wood.
The table’s thick, solid legs held its weight and the weight of the dishes on it, but I couldn’t bring myself to come near it again.
The servants rushed in from the bedroom where they had been tidying up after my bath. A man lifted my chair from the floor, then joined the others who cautiously stood by the far wall away from their king.
“Leave,” he exhaled, and the servants scurried away like dry leaves blown out of the room by his breath.
I didn’t know why I didn’t run out of this fucking palace with them, probably out of sheer stubbornness and the fact that my legs shook so much, I’d probably trip and fall if I tried to take a step.
“W-why did you do that?” I hated how my voice trembled.
The last time the king used this bizarre and frightening power was when Leslo attacked him. The king had been understandably angry then. His turning Leslo’s knife sheath to glass seemed like a well-deserved punishment as well as self-defense.
Was he punishing me now? But what for? And hadn’t he just promised to keep me safe barely minutes ago?
I hated to feel scared and helpless in a world that made so little sense to me. And most of all, I hated how obvious my insecurity must be to this man right now.
Instead of his usual amusement, however, he gazed at me with a somber expression. His broad chest rose with a long breath, but he didn’t rush to reassure me about my safety this time.
“My apologies,” he said in a quiet voice. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“Then don’t do it again.”
His brows twitched up in surprise, then his features relaxed with understanding.
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” he said. “But of course no one has explained that to you either.”
No. No one had explained anything. I was just thrust into this world, and my head was spinning from trying to catch up.
“Do you mean you have no control over it?” I asked.
“Exactly. Everything I touch turns to glass, regardless whether I want it or not. It’s important for you to remember that and keep your distance. I will never touch you intentionally, but accidents happen as you can see.” He pointed his fork at the table as evidence.
I stared at the glass tabletop that had been made of solid, dark-brown wood mere moments ago.
“Can you turn living beings into glass too?” I asked, dreading to hear the answer.
“Yes,” he said, watching me take another step away from him and the table. “But only through direct contact. With the table between us, you’re safe.”
“Ha, safe!” I exhaled a shaky breath, clasping my hands so hard, my fingers ached.
“You’re scared,” he stated.
I jerked my head in protest, but he raised a hand, stopping me from lying.
“It’s normal to be afraid,” he said. “In fact, it’d be stupid of you to act carefree when faced with a power that can kill you. I assure you I have no intention of harming you, but I would also strongly advise you to keep a safe distance from me. Do not come closer than an arm’s reach.”
“Oh, I’ll stay much further away than that, trust me,” I assured him.
He nodded in approval, releasing me from the snare of his stare.
His glass fork was different from the metal one that I’d dropped next to my plate in my flight from the table.
My fork had four slim prongs and an ornate filigree handle.
His had only two thick prongs and a solid handle less likely to break since it was glass.
I wondered if they actually poured the utensil out of glass for him or if the fork was first made either from wood or metal and he then turned it to glass by touching it.
“Is it just the touch of your hand that does it?” I clarified.
“No. Any contact with my skin, only with my skin. However, I still advise you against pulling on my hair again,” he added, a spark of amusement returning to his eyes.
“If you’re close enough to touch any part of me, you’re too close for your safety.
Like I said, I mean no harm to you. I don’t want to kill you.
I far prefer you alive, for many reasons.
But I cannot guarantee your survival if you’re careless around me. ”
Oh, I very much intended to be careful. I’d stay as far away from him as he would let me. Then I would move a world away at the first opportunity. Grabbing my glass of wine from the table, I took a fortifying drink in hopes of calming my fraying nerves.
“One thing you absolutely don’t need to worry about,” I said, gingerly lowering my ass onto the upholstered seat of the chair again. “I’ll never willingly touch you for as long as I live.”
I set my glass down firmly and lifted my fork again. He watched me in silence as I finished my salad. One of his eyebrows was arched and raised slightly, the corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smile, but I didn’t know him well enough to guess what he was thinking or feeling at that moment.
“Very well,” he finally said before lifting a glass of wine to his lips too.
I paused, with my fork in the air, wondering how eating or drinking worked for him in his condition. Then I noticed a glass straw in his wine glass. He wrapped his lips around it, taking a drink through the straw.
“Does the wine stay wine inside you?” I blurted out the question before I could think better of it.
He chuckled, setting his glass down.
“I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer that,” I apologized quickly, determined to stay in his good graces until he’d answered all my questions. “It’s just... It's very unusual for me to see someone like you. But I promise not to stare as much, going forward.”
He leaned back in his chair. “Stare all you want. Most avoid looking at me. No one dares to ask questions either. Yet I know they’ve been talking behind my back for years, often making up lies to justify their fears.”
Bitterness slipped into his words. How lonely his life must be, I realized with a tug of compassion that I didn’t want to feel toward the man who was basically my jailer.
He lifted his two-pronged fork and speared a piece of crab meat from his plate.
I had a couple of crab legs on mine, with their shells scored for easier cracking.
The crab meat on his plate, however, had already been pulled out of its shell and cut into bite-size pieces by the cook or a servant.
His people knew their king wouldn’t be able to use his hands without turning the food into a pile of useless glass shards.