The king paced the room along the wall, looking bored. Catching the sight of me, he stopped behind the solid glass chair at the end of the table farthest from me.
“And there you are.” He tilted his head, sliding a glance down my body.
Normally, I wore pantsuits at work. But I also attended enough formal events to feel comfortable in dresses and evening gowns. The only difference right now was the lack of high heels. The sandals I was wearing had soft, flat soles, just like all the other footwear the servants had left for me.
Heels, the higher the better, always added me confidence. I loved the hard, snappy sound they made, announcing my arrival wherever I walked, be it in the courthouse hallways or the gala ballrooms.
Of course, my stilettos would probably damage the glass floors in the king’s palace. But I could use every drop of added confidence when faced with the king’s scrutinizing stare.
“Gray?” He curved his lips in clear distaste at my disobedience.
Refusing to shrink under his attention, I stood straighter and jerked my chin up. “I happen to like this color.”
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.
