Stolen by the Rebel King
Chapter 405: Conditions I

Chapter 405: Conditions I

"You’ve been extremely busy since we last met, haven’t you, King Atticus?" King Calarian asked knowingly, pouring himself a nice glass of whiskey. "I’ve been hearing all sorts of wild tales about your exploits."

That was a severe understatement. Atticus certainly felt as though he had been running through an endless list of tasks ever since he had last seen King Calarian in Raxuvia. No doubt tales of the ongoing world events had already spread, and with King Calarian’s efficient news network, Atticus wasn’t at the least bit surprised that the former would have heard of it all.

Of course, Atticus had also made sure that some of the stories King Calarian had heard were exaggerated― just a tad bit. He would need it to be if he was going to convince the older and wizened king of Xahan to lend him a helping hand.

Then again, how much help and what exactly King Calarian would be helping would be kept a secret until the end of it all. That was a small matter, of course. Atticus cared not whether Calarian was informed of his cause.

If anything, Atticus hoped that King Calarian wouldn’t catch wind of that until it was too late.

"I must thank you for those. They certainly stop my sons from misbehaving, with how indulgent those stories were," King Calarian continued, chuckling goodnaturedly as he gestured to the empty seats. "Please sit, and help yourself to a glass. Now that you are a guest in my home, feel free to sample some of the finest beverages I have in my collection. It has taken me years — even decades — to build this up."

Atticus responded with a wry smile and calmly took his seat as per Calarian’s gesture. "Is Queen Lavinia not joining us?" he asked.

"Lavinia and Cordelia will be dining with Queen Daphne, have no worry," Calarian said. "The spread on their table will be just as lavish, if not more. Your darling wife will not starve in my kingdom, rest assured. Now, whiskey?"

Atticus took an offered glass and took a careful sip. The sweetened whiskey and the smoky aftertaste were exquisite together, and he wanted nothing more than to pour the entire glass down his throat.

The temperatures in the deserts of Xahan were weird― it was always fluctuating, constantly oscillating between too warm during the day and too cold during the night. Atticus would need to make sure to look after himself to prevent illness, and a good way to do so was to make sure he ate well.

At least King Calarian wasn’t a stingy host. They were now seated in front of a cozy fireplace in front of the dining table, a whole feast laid out on the table as their dinner.

But when Princess Cordelia mentioned a banquet prepared for their arrival, Atticus had assumed it would be with everyone together. Not like this, with Daphne ’kidnapped’ by Queen Lavinia, and Atticus now held at an interrogation with King Calarian.

He couldn’t help but worry about Daphne spilling her misgivings about him towards the older woman. He had a feeling Queen Lavinia could unearth the darkest of secrets when given enough time.

Nevertheless, food was always welcomed, especially after many long and tiring days on the road, traveling to Xahan. The night had just started, and once the sun had gone down, it was time for a nice, cold drink.

But he had to keep his wits about him― dealing with King Calarian when he was drunk would only disadvantage him. Atticus might not feel tipsy after a glass or two but the king of Xahan was well known for his alcohol tolerance. Atticus wasn’t about to risk anything if he were to make sure their purpose here in Xahan was to end with success.

"You don’t wish to drink in front of your wife?" Atticus asked with a raised eyebrow, and Calarian let out a bark of laughter.

"Not entirely," Calarian said with an easy shrug. "She doesn’t wish for me to indulge in the presence of the boys. She says that it’s setting a poor example when they’re too young to know any better. And since she’s always with the boys..."

"You’re not allowed to drink in her presence," Atticus finished his sentence for him.

He then took a swig of his drink, the alcohol leaving a scorched trail down his throat. It was a wonderful sensation, and Atticus could already feel his blood roaring a little more than usual after that one sip. Calarian’s collection was exquisite indeed.

And dangerous.

Calarian nodded in agreement at Atticus’s words.

"Guilty as charged. Now, Healer Sirona," he turned to face the only woman present at the table, smiling cordially, "would you also like a glass?" Calarian asked, cheerfully offering her one too.

Sirona took it to be polite.

"And do try some of the spiced chicken," Calarian added. "I had the chefs reduce the spice levels, just in case."

Atticus and Sirona bit into their chicken and forced themselves to swallow it, gulping large amounts of whiskey to wash it down. If this was a reduced level of spice, Xahan’s citizens must have throats of steel!

Atticus narrowed his eyes as sweat began to form on his temples. This must have been a trick on King Calarian’s part to get him to ingest more alcohol, but he saw King Calarian scarf down his own meal and wine like it was nothing.

Perhaps it was truly a difference in food culture. If so, Atticus would have to ask Sirona for medicine very soon. He didn’t bring a chef in his retinue and he highly doubted his stomach would be able to handle the heat for much longer.

While Vramid’s food had always been flavorful, it certainly wasn’t as heavily spiced. It had certainly thrown Atticus off to have his chicken burn his tongue more so than a strong liquor.

Eventually, they cleared their plates and got down to business. Atticus was pleasantly buzzed from all the whiskey he drank to quench his thirst, and King Calarian was pleasantly buzzed because he liked to drink and was finally out of his wife’s — and kids’ — sight.

"Now, what’s this I hear about bloodthirsty monsters roaming around Reaweth?" King Calarian asked. "How true are those rumors?"

"As true as your love for your wife," Atticus said simply, and he began to recount the entire debacle, starting from the dragon attack and his amputation of Alistair’s hand.

When Jean Nott’s name was mentioned in Prince Alistair’s turning, King Calarian’s eyebrows were raised so high they nearly reached his hairline.

"So the criminal is still on the loose after all this time." King Calarian sighed as he swirled his glass. "You’re telling me that this man evaded the combined skills of Reaweth and Vramid’s soldiers?"

"Admittedly, there were other more pressing concerns, with my wife nearly dying and all," Atticus said pointedly. "And while Prince Alistair’s mind is ruined even before being turned, Prince Silas’s condition is still reversible if you offer us your help. Reaweth would be in your debt."

"Yes, Prince Silas..." King Calarian tilted his chair back as he gazed at Atticus impassively. "One of the twins. I’m surprised his sister, Princess Leonora, is not here begging for my help. One would think she would leave no stone unturned in her bid to save her brother. Are they not close?"

"Princess Leonora wanted to come along; Daphne convinced her otherwise. There is no point in sending two sisters when one will do just as nicely. The journey is long, and Reaweth’s royal family still needs an heir in the case of any... unforeseen circumstances," Atticus replied.

King Calarian let out a sharp bark of laughter. "King Cyrus and Queen Anette are still alive, are they not? They still have so many children, and they can still make more. Don’t speak of them like they are one foot in the grave."

Atticus’s eyebrow twitched, even as he nodded in acquiescence.

"Daphne is still the better option," Atticus insisted. "You extended an invite to the both of us, and I would hate to infringe on your hospitality by bringing about uninvited guests. Besides, your own niece is my wife’s best friend. Who else do I need to bring?"

"Yes, yes." Calarian waved his hand as though he was trying to physically bat the topic out of sight. "Speaking of your wife, how are things between the both of you? Any children on the horizon?"

Atticus cleared his throat. "Not at the present."

"A pity." King Calarian sighed. "If you had news of your first child, I could send some of the iron meteorites to you as a congratulatory gift. In that case, do you have Prince Silas’s head? Or Prince Alsitair’s― I’m not too picky."

King Calarian waited, as though he expected Atticus to pull out a talking head from his pocket. Atticus stared blankly back at him, not understanding his words. Sirona hurriedly spoke.

"Their heads are kept in Reaweth’s castle for safekeeping, King Calarian," Sirona said. "Prince Silas’s head is in his sister’s room as we speak."

"And yet she’s not here to speak for herself or her brother." King Calarian frowned and he put down his glass of whiskey. It landed on the table with a definite thud.

"King Atticus, forgive an old man for his bluntness. I do consider you a friend. But I cannot offer you my kingdom’s precious resource without actual proof outside of your words."