Stolen by the Rebel King
Chapter 217: Dirty Confessions V

Chapter 217: Dirty Confessions V

"My... love?" Francessa echoed. She looked back and forth between the unassuming, plain maid to King Atticus, trying to grab ahold of what was going on. Their banter was too intimate for an ordinary pair of master and servant. "Are you having an affair with the maid, King Atticus?"

She couldn’t help the smile that bloomed on her face at the very thought of the king cheating on his own wife with her maid. How scandalous! Even if she was brought low, Francessa would rejoice at the fact that Daphne Molinero was no better off.

Imagine losing her husband to her own maid!

Atticus scoffed and rolled his eyes. Francessa Seibert was certainly annoying― being so close-lipped about treasonous, kingdom-ruining details, yet running her mouth when it came to her wild conjectures.

"Is that the first thing your mind jumps to?" Atticus asked, "It makes me think you’re projecting."

"You didn’t answer my question," Francessa said victoriously, a wicked glint in her eyes. "So it’s true then―"

But she didn’t get to continue her words. The maid placed her hand right onto Francessa’s back, her fingernails digging into her skin even through her dress. Francessa hissed and struggled against it, trying to worm away, but King Atticus’s magic held her tightly in place.

"Get your grimy little hands off me, you adulterous vermin!" Francessa yelled. "How dare you? You are but a lowly servant. How dare you touch me with your bare hands?!"

"Actually," the maid said, "you should feel rather honored that I am willing to sully my hands to touch you."

Francessa snarled. "You dare to talk back to me? The absolute nerve! I’ll slap your mouth later!"

The maid only smiled cryptically, ignoring Francessa’s words. "Atticus, do you think it’s time?"

"Do whatever you like, sunshine."

Francessa stared at them both, even more confused by this exchange. She had the niggling feeling she had heard the nickname before, but when? The maid merely grinned. She reached up to the clip in her hair, removing it before placing it on the table.

Without the clip in her hair, the enchantment began to wane. The brown color of the maid’s hair turned lighter and brighter, eventually revealing its natural state― a platinum blonde. Blue irises replaced brown ones, and the maid’s facial features suddenly became more recognizable despite not much changing.

Francessa’s eyes widened with horror.

The maid was none other than Queen Daphne herself! She had been watching them the entire time. Veronica Yarrowood’s sorry state was a result of none other than the Queen.

"It’s you..." Francessa gaped in disbelief.

Then, her initial shock slowly melted away as she finally registered the situation. The cogs in her brain started to turn and slowly but surely, the look of incredulity became that of resentment. This woman must have bumped into Veronica on purpose to sneak beside her!

"It’s you! You wretched bitch!"

Daphne merely grinned brightly.

"It’s ’Your Highness’ to you, Marchioness Seibert," she greeted, emphasizing the difference in their statuses, "Now, answer the question. How much money did you steal from the commoners living under your wardship?"

Francessa Seibert growled menacingly, perfectly resembling a wild animal. She clenched her teeth tightly together, unwilling to let a single word slip past her lips.

Her stomach began to curdle with pain, her guts twisting together. It felt like there were a thousand needles jabbing at her insides, leaving invisible bruises and wounds. Yet, even with her face coated in a sticky sheen of sweat, Francessa Seibert refused to buckle.

"I truly admire your determination," Atticus said, applauding mockingly. "You’re definitely much more disciplined than your husband was. However, your attempts at withholding the truth are futile. Daphne, dearest?"

"Understood, my king," Daphne replied, her voice almost sing-song.

The garnet earrings, previously tucked away behind her hair, began to glow brighter and brighter. It took Francessa a second too long to fully register what was going to happen.

When she finally did, she could already feel the sudden surge of intense heat, akin to what she imagined getting shocked by lightning would feel like. The heat quickly radiated through the fabric of her clothes, turning it into an instrument of torment. What should’ve been a protective barrier between Daphne’s hand — now feeling as though she held the sun in her hands — and Francessa’s skin now felt like a conductor of agony.

Every nerve ending seemed to be ignited. Francessa Seibert wiggled and squirmed, screaming in pain as she tried to shrug Daphne’s hand off.

After what felt like eternity, Daphne finally peeled her hand off of Francessa’s back. There was now a handprint there, seared right through Francessa’s clothing and onto her skin. Looking at it, Daphne thought that she would feel some form of remorse, only, none came to her.

The sight of her handprint forever burned into Francessa’s back only gave her a great deal of satisfaction. Not because of what Francessa Seibert did to her personally — because that was horrible but not worthy of such a punishment — but because of what the Marchioness did to her people, the people that she was supposed to take care of.

Yet, Francessa Seibert only took advantage of every single person that was ever around her. Even her goons, Veronica Yarrowood and Penelope Huntington were mere pawns.

Marchioness Francessa Seibert had the nerve to think of herself as the queen.

"Are your lips loosened yet?" Atticus asked, grinning.

The smell of scorched flesh permeated through the air, quickly engulfing the entire restaurant in it. Some of the women held their handkerchiefs up to their noses while men hid behind the lapels of their suits, disgust and fear on their faces.

"You vile woman..." Francessa said, her voice low and breathless. Tears had started to pool in her eyes from the pain but she refused to let them fall. "You will pay for this, you scum! You and all of the others that dared do this to me. Who do you think you are?!"

"I am your queen, Francessa Seibert," Daphne said, bending down so that she could meet her gaze. The crazed Marchioness gritted her teeth, looking every bit like a mad dog that was only merely held back by her restraints― that being Atticus’s magic. "And don’t you forget it."