His smouldering gaze was intense. But it did not outdo the pained expression on his face. If only I could iron it out and remove his distress.
While I was busy worried about him, Wystan was already standing in front of me in a heartbeat. My hands automatically reached for his face, hoping my fingertips would smoothen the creases. Never once did he break away his stares from me. It was as though he wanted to remember my face.
"What's wrong, my King?"
A sigh escaped him and his parted lips uttered no sound. What was it that made you have difficulty in expressing them with words? What causes you to be in this state? Instead of an answer, he looked at Papa.
I don't like it! Not one bit. I'm here! Talk to me! Not Papa!!
At least, that was what I pleaded in my head. I could not understand why it seemed easy for him to ask Papa for help when he could say it to my face.
