Stolen by the Rebel King
Chapter 234: No Place Like Home II

Chapter 234: No Place Like Home II

"Excuse me? Who was the one who made such a decision?" Atticus demanded before Daphne could even reply. He couldn’t believe his ears.

This maid was just as insolent as the one they left running behind them. She made it sound like she was asking Daphne a question, but Atticus detected the hint of condescension in her words― this mere servant was implying that Daphne was so inept that she couldn’t even remember the way to her old room!

"The order came from Princess Drusilla, King Atticus," the maid replied evenly. "She knows her sister best, and she only has her comfort in mind."

Daphne couldn’t help the snort that escaped her lips. The maid glared at her, wordlessly cursing her with her eyes. How dare this useless princess mock Princess Drusilla’s kind efforts?

Before Atticus could rip out her eyeballs and throw them to the dogs and possibly commit a series of gruesome murders, Daphne tugged Atticus’s arm to calm him down.

This maid was infuriating, but this was nothing new. She had endured worse torments than an uppity maid speaking over her and Drusilla’s machinations. There were better ways to handle such an issue.

This wasn’t the right time. Daphne would rather expend her efforts on the root of this issue.

"It’s alright. Atticus, how about I show you to my room first? I think―" Daphne asked, with a knowing look in her eye.

"There’s no need for that!" The maid interrupted her, tilting her chin up arrogantly. "The King needs to rest for the banquet later. King Atticus, please enter your room."

"Who are you to speak for me?" Atticus growled out softly as he took a small step forward, venom in his voice, his ring glinting ominously in the light. "How dare you open your mouth before my wife has even finished speaking? Is this the level of courtesy Reaweth is known for?"

The maid paled, but to her credit, she didn’t back away.

Although, that could be due to Atticus using his powers to keep her mouth shut and her feet glued to the floor where she stood. She did, however, start to look a little blue from the lack of oxygen. A ring of purple had already made its way around her neck, squeezing tightly.

"Atticus," Daphne gently called, drawing his attention back to her.

"Sunshine, let’s go. I’m curious to see your old bedroom." Atticus turned to Daphne and beamed brightly, all earlier venom vanishing as though it was a mere figment of the imagination. He offered her his arm.

"Fair enough." Daphne linked her arm with his and led the way.

It was only after they had turned around did the maid finally breathe, her gasps and coughs echoing behind the couple. They didn’t bother turning back.

As they walked through the long narrow corridors and gradually exited the main wing, Atticus’s smile was replaced with an incredulous expression.

Was Daphne’s old quarters tucked away in an attic? This was preposterous, how could the second child of King Cyrus be placed so far away from the rest of the family? They even walked past the servant quarters, yet Daphne was still walking on.

"Sunshine, are we arriving soon?" Atticus jested, "I fear that my feet might ache before we arrive."

"It’s a little far," Daphne conceded with a tinge of embarrassment. Back then, she had relished the distance between her room and those of her siblings, along with the rest of the servants, because that meant that she would be left alone. No one — save for Drusilla back then — would bother to make the long trek to visit her.

That was one of the reasons why she thought Drusilla was the only one who cared about her. She had always visited her whenever Daphne got scolded by her parents or bullied by her other siblings. She knew better than anyone how... terrible Daphne’s room was, yet she still made the effort to visit, bringing toys she thought Daphne might like.

The very thought of Drusilla’s true nature made Daphne melancholy. Atticus sensed her mood was low and quickly added.

"Of course, this is no problem for a man as fit as your husband. You know better than anyone how I have no issues with my stamina." He flexed his arm to prove his point.

Daphne nearly tripped over her own feet at Atticus’s scandalous comment. "Oh, shush you. We’re in public! And we’re here."

"Really?" Atticus asked doubtfully, looking at the plain oaken door in front of him. Even the door to the servants’ quarters was more elaborate, with engravings on it. This door had scratch marks, as though someone had taken a dagger and hacked at it haphazardly.

Perhaps things would be better on the inside.

Daphne turned the doorknob, and it got stuck. She merely sighed and jostled harder, finally getting the door to open. Atticus’s frown grew more pronounced when the door swung open slowly, the hinges of the door causing an unholy squeak that was more suitable for a colony of mice.

The servants couldn’t even be bothered to oil the door hinges or replace the doorknob?

Then, Atticus stepped inside the room and found himself growing enraged. The room was practically a tiny cellar. He could cover the entire length of the room in three large strides. There was a tiny bed tucked away in the corner, the sheets smelling vaguely of mildew. Yellowing curtains hung sadly next to the window, as though they longed to fall to the floor and cease to be.

Next to them was an old peeling wardrobe, and what must be the world’s most pathetic vanity table. It looked like something meant for a young child, and not for a grown adult woman. To add insult to injury, the mirror was clouded with a faint crack at the top, and there was a faint layer of dust on it.

In fact, the entire room was covered in a faint layer of dust. The maid hadn’t been jesting when she said that the room had been left untouched since Daphne left.

If Atticus focused, he could see a spider merrily spinning its web on top of the wardrobe, as though forming a welcome banner. A cockroach scuttled by, surprised by the visitors. Atticus could imagine it running to alert the rest of its family, to prepare the fine china for greeting guests.

"Is this a joke?" Atticus demanded angrily. Even Vramid’s dungeons were better maintained than this shoddy excuse of a room!

Meanwhile, Daphne merely sighed. Somehow, the room was more terrible than she remembered! In the past, she would still bother to keep her own room clean and air it out, and she made it look a little more cozy by plucking flowers from the garden.

With her gone, no one had bothered to keep her room tidy. And why would they?

It was simply the room of a useless princess.

Atticus stormed inside and slapped her mattress, causing a cloud of dust to emerge. He coughed and waved his hand, even more enraged.

"Welcome to my room," Daphne said with a half-shrug, "I would offer you a seat, but I have no chairs."

"Sunshine, I’ve seen homier rooms in the slums," Atticus said, aghast at the poor conditions. "You’ll stay in this room over my dead body!"