Without further warning, Atticus pulled the wedged glass out of Daphne's foot.
A scream tore through her throat. The pain of it was just as bad as when it had cut into her flesh. Now that it was so abruptly pulled out, the wound scorched.
But, surprisingly, as quickly as the pain came, it was gone. What was once painful was soon replaced by a cooling sensation. Daphne heaved, her chest rising and dropping rapidly as she looked down at Atticus, who was squatting just beneath her.
A king like himself, someone high and mighty, was bent over at her feet. He gently held her with one hand while the other hovered over her skin. She could feel a slight tingle where her wound was. It felt like frost was kissing her skin when his hand moved over.
