Stolen by the Rebel King
Chapter 261: Pathetic Pyrotechnics

Chapter 261: Pathetic Pyrotechnics

Daphne’s siblings had all gathered to the front of the crowd, their eyes wide with horror and jaws gaped in shock. Drusilla was at the foremost, her hands hovering around her lips as she stared at Daphne, embraced in the arms of another man while her husband stood to one side, watching it all unfold.

"Open your eyes, Drusilla," Alistair said with a scoff, "she is obviously giving King Atticus the green hat!" A nasty smirk curved his lips as he folded his arms across his chest, victorious. He then addressed his brother-in-law directly. "What did I tell you, King Atticus? I had warned you that it is only a matter of time before you would―"

Alistair didn’t have the chance to finish his sentence. He was abruptly cut short when a whole tree came flying towards him, forcing him to duck out of the way. The tree landed a long distance away, skidding across the ground before it slammed into another, splitting the trunk right into two.

If Alistair hadn’t dodged in time, he would’ve no doubt been crushed dead.

"Watch out for your head, Prince Alistair," Atticus casually commented. However, the way a storm had gathered behind his irises was more than enough proof that he was feeling anything but calm. "Wouldn’t want to accidentally decapitate yourself."

"Bastard!" Alistair growled. Both of his fists heated up, and in a flash, they had erupted into flames. The bandages that had kept his arm strapped on were torched away.

"Oh," Atticus mused. "I thought you had injured your hand and was thus unable to help. You seem pretty alright to me. Sirona," Atticus turned to face his healer, "you did a surprisingly great job on him."

"He wasn’t even that badly injured," Sirona deadpanned, "There’s nothing wrong with his hands - he was still ready to grope any woman that pays him the slightest bit of attention."

"He tried to grope you?" Atticus’s face darkened.

Alistair scoffed. "It’s an honor for a lowly healer like her to have my attention."

Meanwhile, the townspeople were less than pleased.

"He faked his injury?" someone in the crowd asked, whispering.

"Probably just like how his wife must be faking it in bed," another replied.

"He’s wasting his time flirting with women while we’re suffering!" a third person growled out angrily.

Their hushed conversations — along with the murmurs of many others that spoke about similar topics — hadn’t gone unheard by Alistair. The color of his face quickly matched that of the fire of his fists, glowing brighter and redder until eventually, he could no longer hold it in.

"Silence!" he roared, swiping his hand forward.

A tall wall of fire scorched the grass, causing the townsfolk to scream as they backed away. The royal family and the peasants were now separated by a wall of fire, hiding them away from plain sight. The whispers and murmurs eventually stopped, but there was no putting a stop to the gossips that would no doubt bud from this.

"You tried to kill me!" Alistair pointed an accusatory finger at Atticus, his hands still blazing with heat.

"Brother Alistair―" Drusilla tried to say but she was quickly cut off by a stern glare from Alistair. She reluctantly zipped her lips shut, stepping back.

"That’s a very serious accusation to make, Alistair," Atticus said, not even bothering to tack ’prince’ in front of Alistair’s name as a form of respect. "You’re implying that I’m so incompetent that I failed to kill you. That’s the gravest insult you have given me."

A low growl ripped from Alistair’s throat. Without warning, he charged forward, using the power of his flames to propel him forward in flight. He charged straight for Atticus, who didn’t even bat an eyelid.

"Really?" Atticus asked, almost amused.

It was quite fun to watch Prince Alistair flare up like an enraged overgrown child at the smallest of things. Clear as ever, everyone could see that his anger was merely masking truths that he refused to face.

The crown prince of Reaweth threw out fireballs in quick succession, all of which were easily evaded by Atticus without even sparing more than a glance. He merely stepped out of the way as though he was dodging a crowd of people in a busy street, and not a ball of fire that could melt flesh and bone upon contact.

"Alistair, calm yourself down!" Leonora yelled from behind, but fury had long blinded her brother.

There were a few stray fireballs that curved towards Daphne instead― she merely swatted them away with a bat of her hand, sending it flying into the already-burnt town. Better the ash-filled streets than the forests that were thriving with life.

Even through the flickering flames, the peasants behind could still see the battle ensue. They caught a glimpse of their prince charging at the foreign king before a sudden flash of blinding white — followed by a shockwave — sent them on their knees in fear.

When they had opened their eyes again, the wall of fire had been blown and extinguished. All that was left was Prince Alistair hovering in the air, clawing at his neck as his red face slowly started to turn purple.

That wasn’t the only thing that was purple.

The mysterious, foreign king also had a ring that glowed the same ominous color. His expression was a stark contrast to the pale expressions that hung on the Reawethen royalty’s faces― he looked almost bored.

When the sunlight shone on the outstretched hand of his, causing the ring on his finger to catch its golden light, the townsfolk collectively gasped in horror. In the mayhem caused by the dragon’s rampage, they hadn’t even properly realized who it was that had come to their rescue.

Not until now.

"That’s King Atticus..." someone said.

"Oh god... King Atticus from Vramid..." muttered another. "Why didn’t I realize it before?"

"He... saved us?" some asked.

"He’s going to kill the prince!"

Atticus paid no mind to the murmurs and muttering that the crowd had kickstarted. He already had a bad name outside of his kingdom and he wasn’t afraid to enforce it. After all, it seemed like some people had already forgotten about what he could do and would do whenever he was met with obstacles.

Especially this useless crown prince. He had been a thorn in his side for a really, really long time now.

"Just because I have turned a little nicer these days ever since I got married doesn’t mean that I have lost my abilities, Prince Alistair," Atticus said.

He tightened his fingers together, and simultaneously, his magic constricted around Prince Alistair’s neck, causing the latter to choke out a wheeze.

"I have just killed a fire-breathing dragon." With the backlight of the sun shining behind him, the golden glow of Atticus’s eyes looked even more haunting. He seemed like a demon that had risen straight from hell. "What gave you the delusion that your pathetic pyrotechnics could faze me?"

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