Stolen by the Rebel King
Chapter 263: Handicapped II

Chapter 263: Handicapped II

Atticus let out a bark of laughter. "Excellent suggestion, wife. Is your brother left-handed or right-handed?"

"I’m not sure," Daphne pursed her lips.

"Alright then. Sirona, which hand did he lay on you?" Atticus asked, loving the way Alistair’s pupils darted around in fear.

"The right one," Sirona replied. "But I’m not picky."

"One right hand, coming right up," Atticus said cavalierly, rolling up his sleeves.

"No! Please! You can’t!" Drusilla cried out.

"...I can’t?" Atticus repeated, with a raised eyebrow at her audacity to order him around. "Mull over your words carefully. Would you like to face punishment in his place?"

Drusilla finally remained silent. She pursed her lips and recoiled back, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

"No... no..." Alistair finally gasped out in fear, trying to twist his way out of the magical hold. But it was as futile as a worm trying to escape a fisherman’s hook.

Daphne would have felt more pity for him if he had treated her better.

With a vicious twist of his lips, Atticus summoned one of the fallen swords and sliced through Alistair’s right wrist.

Drusilla screamed, and the siblings recoiled as one in horror and disgust. Another spray of blood decorated Atticus’s face, a perfect complement to the feral glint in his eyes.

The streets fell silent, and Atticus all but flung Alistair at his siblings. He noted, with no small amusement, that none of them bothered to catch him, causing his body to fall to the floor in a crumpled heap.

"Brother!" Drusilla’s wail broke the silence, and she rushed to Alistair’s side, before flinching at the sight of his bloody stump. "Oh, my poor older brother!"

"Shall we go back to the palace now?" Atticus asked, holding a hand out for Daphne to hold. "I’m feeling a bit peckish since I used up so much energy to slay the dragon."

Daphne sighed. Atticus better eat as much as he could now before her father decided to poison his food for their next meal. If they were to leave Reaweth, it should not be on an empty stomach.

"Fair enough," she said with a grimace. "I’m sure I could make something for you."

"Food!" Zephyr cheered excitedly, immune to the grim atmosphere. "Let’s go!"

And they left without a second glance. Meanwhile, the siblings were crowded around Alistair’s fallen body, still reeling with shock at the sequence of events. Never had they expected King Atticus to do something so cruel.

"I can’t believe it! King Atticus actually chopped off Brother Alistair’s hand!" Drusilla sobbed hysterically into her hands. "Brother, what are you going to do in the future? How will you write? How will you hold a sword?"

"If we don’t stop the bleeding, he will have no future," Leonora said firmly, creating a tourniquet for his stump to ensure that Alistair didn’t bleed out. "If anything, this is a lesson to all of us. We cannot offend King Atticus, and Daphne will not speak up for us."

"Sister Daphne has forsaken us! She wants us dead!" Drusilla declared, tears rolling down her face.

"Why wouldn’t she? We have treated her deplorably all these years," Luis pointed out grimly.

"Don’t talk like you weren’t a part of it," Leonora said coldly.

Luis bit the inside of his cheek; didn’t Leonora hear him use the word ’we’?

From his spot on the ground, Alistair let out a moan of pain.

"Brother Alistair, can you hear me? Are you alright?" Drusilla called out frantically. "We’ll bring you to the palace now!"

"Dead..."

"Brother Alistair?"

"Atticus... Daphne... those bastards... they will pay!" Alistair croaked out, his eyes wide with hatred. "I want them dead!"

***

"You have disappointed me greatly," King Cyrus said as he looked down at his oldest son.

Alistair looked up at his father, his face haggard and worn. He seemed to have aged a decade in the span of a few hours. His once handsome eyes were now bloodshot, and his pupils darted frantically around the room, as though afraid of a sneak attack.

Alistair was now a shallow husk of a man, and King Cyrus watched in disappointment as his son cradled his wrapped stump.

He had been nearly hysterical when transported back to the palace, his fire powers going out of control as he screamed about his missing hand. If not for Luis and Silas blocking the worst of the damage, Alistair might have razed the castle to the ground.

It took an entire team of healers to subdue him long enough to even sedate him so that they could actually treat his wounds without being set on fire. Now, Alistair had been given a very high dose of painkillers to help him cope with the physical pain of losing his hand.

But there was nothing the healers could do for the emotional harm sustained by their Crown Prince. They could only hope that he would overcome this trauma with time.

King Cyrus had no such hopes. If his son couldn’t regrow his hand, he was worthless. He would never hand the throne over to someone who couldn’t even cut his own steak. Imagine the laughing stock Reaweth would become!

"Father..." Alistair choked out, "I... don’t understand."

"Not only did you fail to kill the dragon, you have lost the glory to King Atticus, shaming the reputation of Reaweth’s royal family. Leonora and Drusilla have told me what happened. You tried to attack King Atticus, only to be so blatantly outclassed. News of your failure has already spread across Reaweth. How will you make up for this mistake?"

"I... But Father, what about my hand?" Alistair held up his stump disbelievingly. "Father, I have no hand because of King Atticus! It’s not my fault! Why must I fix this? I can’t fix this!"

King Cyrus backhanded his son’s cheek, causing him to fall back down on the bed with a pained wheeze. "Foolish! To think I placed my hopes on you as my successor!"

"Father..." Alistair moaned weakly. "Please help me... I want..."

King Cyrus glared down at his sniveling wreck of a son, not a single hint of sympathy found in his eyes. "Fix your problems by yourself. In the meantime, I’m stripping you of your title. You have many siblings― at this rate, even Daphne would make a better ruler than you!"

With that final statement, King Cyrus left the room.

Alistair froze. His father... was disinheriting him? He clenched his fingers in his blankets, his body shaking with indignation. After all those years of hard work... everything went down the drain because of King Atticus and his stupid sister!

He would never let them off for this. Never. Never. Never!

The healers who were watching over their prince slowly inched away, not liking the manic look in his eyes as he cackled hysterically into his hand.

’Just you wait... I’ll get you all for this!’