Stolen by the Rebel King
Chapter 180: Trouble in Paradise I

Chapter 180: Trouble in Paradise I

There was an all-too-gleeful smile that hung off Jonah’s face, one that Atticus did not like.

He had his quill in hand, scribbling along the documents that required his attention. However, Atticus hadn’t failed to notice his best friend leaning against the doorframe of his office, watching him like a gossipy housewife watching their neighbors air out their dirty laundry. Jonah was gloating about something and that was enough to cause some unrest in Atticus’s mind.

"You are creeping me out," said Atticus. He sneered, only sparing Jonah a brief glance before returning his gaze to the documents. "Cut that out. Don’t you have things to do?"

"I am quite the busy man," Jonah said. "Although, not as the head of the royal knights, but rather, a relationship therapist for the king and queen of Vramid. You know, Atticus, I truly deserve a raise for all the extra work I do."

Atticus’s quill stopped in the middle of a sentence, a spot of ink dripping down to create a blotch on the parchment. Damn it, now he had to redo the entire order slip. He had just finished up with the last few items needed for the ceremony too.

Sighing, he looked up, now actually confused.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Atticus asked, scowling. Things were going perfectly fine between him and Daphne. He had just returned not too long ago from visiting her at her parlor where she was in the midst of a discussion with the rest of the noblewomen regarding the Spring Parade.

Daphne had even given him the sweetest smile before he left! How could there already be trouble in paradise?

"Word on the street is that you messed up again, Your Majesty," Jonah said, his tone sing-song.

"And why are you so happy about that?" Atticus questioned. He chucked the quill back into the pot of ink as he leaned back in his seat, folding his arms across his chest in annoyance. "Weren’t you just complaining about overtime work just a few seconds ago?"

"I have been thoroughly converted, thanks to our darling queen and Sirona’s efforts," Jonah said dramatically.

He practically skipped across the room before jumping onto the armchair, kicking both legs over the armrest in a rare moment of slack behavior. In front of most, Jonah would always remain prim and proper, the perfect soldier in service to the king. Yet, only few knew what this man was like behind closed doors― practically a child that never grew up.

"Quit running around in circles and spit it out," Atticus all but growled. He was in the middle of planning a perfect little surprise for his wife. This distraction wasn’t appreciated.

Jonah cleared his throat, sitting up properly after hearing Atticus’s tone. "The Spring Parade," he said. "Word on the street is that Queen Daphne wanted to host a beauty contest as the main event?"

"Yes, and I’ve already passed it. What’s the matter?" Atticus frowned. "Did she change her mind?"

Jonah shrugged. "You... could say that." He exhaled loudly. "Marchioness Seibert’s suggestion as the grand prize of the contest isn’t something Daphne is exactly keen on sharing. I can’t say I blame her too."

"Oh," Atticus said, things finally clicking into place. "The date."

"You are royalty indeed," Jonah said with a cold huff. "A royal idiot."

Like clockwork, Jonah easily twisted his body out of the way. Just a fraction of a second later, a paperweight came hurtling towards him, barely missing his face by a hair’s breadth. It crashed into the wall behind him, the sound loud enough to let Jonah know for sure that it had left a dent and he would have to call in the maintenance team to have a look at the damage.

"How is that a bad idea?!" Atticus asked. "It’s basically a free date with my wife!"

"That is if Her Highness even wins," Jonah pointed out.

He sighed, dodging as another random object came flying towards him yet again. This time, it was a wax seal stamp. Hopefully, it hadn’t broken into two when it landed on the floor. The carpets would’ve hopefully blunted the impact.

"There is no doubt in it. Daphne will win," Atticus said through gritted teeth, aghast at the fact that Jonah even dared to think otherwise. "There is no one fairer than my beloved wife. Unless you would like to argue otherwise?"

"I feel like I would get hit no matter what answer I give, so I refuse to answer that question," Jonah stated. When Atticus raised the next nearest object — a small potted plant — Jonah merely gave Atticus a pointed stare.

"How would anyone else stand a chance to win when I am the one judging?" Atticus said with a scoff. "Do you really think I would choose someone else to have a date with me?"

"I think you misunderstood something, Your Majesty," Jonah said, making sure to stress Atticus’s title. "My King, you have no say in who wins or loses. The judging panel is none other than the public."

Atticus’s arm, which had already been raised with his new ammo in hand, paused mid-air at Jonah’s words. His mind blanked for a second, taking a much longer time than usual to properly register the new piece of information Jonah had just shared.

"Wait..." Atticus hesitated. "The public... is doing the judging for the beauty contest?"

"It was always part of the plan," Jonah said. "Or at least, that was what Sirona saw in the list of rules that had been put up on the notice boards across town."

Gravity did all the crashing needed this time. Atticus’s grip loosened on the potted plant as shock encased his features. Just one second’s worth of hesitation was enough to send the pot falling to the ground. It bounced off the edge of the table, landing on the floor with a crash. Even the carpets and rugs hadn’t managed to salvage the fragile porcelain.

Jonah grimaced at the mess, eyeing the dirt-stained carpet. That was another item on his list of chores.

"Marchioness Seibert has a lot of influence around the capital of Vramid," Jonah reminded. He stood to his feet, his back releasing a couple of popping sounds as he did so. With a stretch and a sigh, he walked to the door, placing a hand on the doorknob. "There is a good chance you won’t be having a nice date with your wife after all."

"She isn’t the queen," Atticus glowered.

"She might not have the crown but she was the people’s choice, remember?" Jonah reminded. "Also, you might want to start thinking about your apology to Her Highness. Sirona heard Daphne muttering to Maisie about moving your pillows over to the couch starting from tonight onwards."

With that said, Jonah twisted the doorknob and stepped out.

"Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get the maids over to handle some housekeeping. Please try not to shatter any other vases during the time I’m gone," Jonah said.

The door shut gently behind him and Atticus was left in his office alone, engulfed in the deafening silence.

Shit.

He had truly done it this time. Daphne was going to kill him.

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