Stolen by the Rebel King
Chapter 316: Strange Wife I

Chapter 316: Strange Wife I

Atticus hated Reaweth.

Not to be mistaken, the kingdom itself was a beautiful place. Lush greenery, wonderful weather, and even the people that were born here looked ridiculously beautiful― for example, his wife. It was also a land of rich history, the place where magic was born.

To Atticus, Reaweth was a home that could’ve been his. Yet, he was never fortunate enough to have been born here. Perhaps, in an alternate timeline, in an alternate universe, he would be the king of Reaweth instead of building Vramid up from the ground. Nonetheless, after the years spent in the icy mountains, he knew that Vramid was his true home.

As much as Atticus enjoyed the actual land, he did not quite like the people of Reaweth, the heart and soul that made up the kingdom. Reaweth had been sullied by the current Molinero royal family, in his opinion.

King Cyrus was an irresponsible father and a cowardly king. In his youth, he enjoyed playing around and had too much pride despite the obvious lack of responsibility. His eldest son was the perfect replica of him― Alistair had retained every negative personality his father ever had.

The same could also be said about Queen Anette. Daphne had explained everything to Atticus, starting from the origin of her hydromancy during her childhood and how her mother had suppressed her powers in fear of what would happen to them should the king find out.

After she had finished her story, Atticus had only one thing on his mind.

Ridiculous.

It was an absolutely preposterous excuse to use. Queen Anette could’ve very well done all those things and still played the part of a loving mother― as she should. Yet, she gave birth to four other children after Daphne and gave them all of her love. The only child that deserved extra attention and compensation was instead neglected.

What a disgusting excuse of a mother. Only Daphne — bless her naively kind heart — would forgive someone like her.

Daphne’s brothers and sisters were all horrid in their own ways. Only that youngest sister of hers — Blanche — seemed like a salvageable human being. The others would definitely find their way to hell after death, one way or another.

It wasn’t just the royal family that irked Atticus.

He was now stuck in a crowd of nobility, having nodded and smiled way too often than he should’ve. Atticus just knew that after tonight, his previous reputation as a fearsome tyrant would soon disintegrate into dust. He had been nothing more than a kindly house husband ever since he had left Vramid to visit Reaweth with Daphne.

Frankly, he wouldn’t have come too if it weren’t for Jean Nott. That, and Atticus had his own personal project that had come to a halt recently. Perhaps Prince Nathaniel would be able to help him find a breakthrough.

Atticus made a mental note to look for that annoying prince after the coronation.

"Please excuse me," Atticus said, finally unable to maintain his fake smile any longer. "I must look for my wife now."

"Oh, isn’t Princess Daphne a lucky woman?" a middle-aged lady gushed. She was a countess, if Atticus remembered correctly. Though to be honest, he couldn’t give a damn.

"She may be the princess in Reaweth but she is already the queen of Vramid!" another reminded, holding her reddened cheek due to the wine. "Ah, speak of the devil. There she is!"

The woman gestured to someone behind Atticus, prompting him to turn around. Once he did, his gaze landed on Daphne, whose eyes were scanning through the crowd in search of someone. She looked rather anxious, her head turning back and forth until her sight finally landed on Atticus. The moment their gazes clashed, her shoulders relaxed as though immensely relieved.

"Isn’t she a vision?" the second woman said.

She was.

Daphne had changed into a different gown from when Atticus had last seen her. This time, she was dressed in a sleek pink dress with delicate layers of satin and organza. The bodice is fitted and adorned with intricate floral embroidery in various shades of pink and silver, topped with a sweetheart neckline and off-the-shoulder sleeves.

A smile brightened her face as she began to make her way towards Atticus. When she moved, the translucent pink organza that cascaded from the waist flowed behind her like a body of water. With her pale hair in elegant waves, she looked like a fairy.

"We shan’t keep you two lovebirds apart for much longer, in that case," said the Countess. "Have a good evening, Your Majesty."

With graceful curtsies, the women scampered away, giggling and muttering between themselves like a bunch of schoolchildren.

"You’re back early," Atticus commented, smiling a little more genuinely when Daphne got close. "Did you manage to find him?"

He reached his hand out, his palm facing up, waiting for Daphne to rest her hand in his. However, when she got close, she simply smiled at him. Daphne looked down at Atticus’s open palm for a second, her own hand raised but with no intention of touching him.

"Daphne?" Atticus called out. An unsettling feeling brewed within his chest. "Is there something wrong?"

"Atticus..." she softly said, her voice trailing off. Gently, Daphne placed her hand in Atticus’s.

Her touch was gentle, touching Atticus’s hand as though if she was too rough, he would disappear into foam right in front of her eyes. They were a lot warmer than usual, causing Atticus to frown.

He pulled her close, placing a hand against her forehead. She jumped a little in surprise but otherwise didn’t dodge away from his touch.

"Did something happen while you were at the lake just now?" he asked. His gaze narrowed when he noticed Daphne stiffening at his words. He slowly said, "You seem a little warm. A fever?"

"It’s been a busy few days," she replied. After a fraction of a second’s worth of hesitance, Daphne leaned into his touch. She smiled, shaking her head. "I found him," she said. "He’s a little tired, so I decided to head back to the coronation first. I’ll visit again later."

"I see," Atticus muttered. "You have been busy recently. Be careful not to fall sick."

"Of course." Daphne beamed. Her smile brightened, a little more confident than before. "I―"

"I’ll get you some water," Atticus said. He gently let go of Daphne’s hands, taking a step back and gesturing to the refreshments table just a short distance away. "Wait for me. I’ll be right back."

Daphne nodded and stood patiently as Atticus walked off. He crossed the sea of people, quickly making his way over to where the drinks were.

Conveniently, it was also where Jonah was waiting.

He had a champagne in hand, idly sipping as his eyes lazily scanned the crowd. When Jonah spotted Atticus making his way over, he downed the flute of champagne and closed the gap between them.

"Is Daphne back?" he asked.

"No."

"No?" Jonah furrowed his eyebrows, looking over Atticus’s shoulder at Daphne, who still stood where Atticus had left her. A small crowd had gathered around her now, all no doubt congratulating her on her coronation. "Isn’t she right there?"

Atticus didn’t turn around to look twice.

"That’s not Daphne."