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 longbreath, 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 alsostrongly 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.
