Stolen by the Rebel King
Chapter 421: Counterfeit I

Chapter 421: Counterfeit I

"That’s none of your concern, is it?" Daphne said with a scowl, much to Jean Nott’s delight.

He roared with laughter, not at all afraid that his voice would attract the attention of patrolling guards on duty― or worse, a returning King Atticus with a plateful of food for his pregnant wife. Instead, he continued over to the bed, gently wiping the sheets with a handkerchief, a look of disdain on his face, before sitting down with one leg crossed over the other as he smiled at Daphne.

"Your first reaction should’ve been to deny it if I was wrong," he pointed out. "But you didn’t." He laughed. "That means there really is trouble in paradise after all."

"I don’t see how the status of my marriage is of any concern to you," Daphne retorted.

Carefully, she moved her hands under the sheets, her fingers wrapping around the piece of sodalite that connected her with Cordelia. Jean Nott might be sitting just a short distance away but with the amount of fabric shielding her hands, he shouldn’t be able to see the glow of the stone if she used it to call for help.

"Probably not," he said with a shrug. "But I can’t say that I am completely unaffected by it. I do wish that the day will come when you realize your husband is both a tyrant and a fraud. But we already know the former, don’t we?"

"Is there a point in telling me all of this?" Daphne quipped.

Her thumb carefully ran over the slightly rugged surface of the stone, channeling magic into it bit by bit. She couldn’t do it too quickly― the glow might become too intense too soon, garnering suspicion. With her now expecting, she couldn’t afford to enrage this dangerous man.

With her magic, she could feel a steady buzz beginning to build up. She could only pray that the little amount of magic placed into the stone would allow sound to be transmitted over to Cordelia’s side, but not over to Daphne’s from where Cordelia was. If Jean Nott heard the Nedish princess speak, Daphne would be done for.

"Of course there is," he said with a flourish. "After all, I am still a little―" He pinched his index finger and thumb together, leaving just a small gap in between, "―just a teeny bit upset that Prince Alistair had decided to bring me counterfeit goods despite what he promised. Of course, I think that he had already suffered his just punishment for attempting to trick me, so I shall not pursue the matter."

Quicker than the eye could see, he reached forward and yanked the blankets off of Daphne’s body, revealing the sodalite piece faintly buzzing with magic in between her fingers. He yanked it right out of her grasp before she could fight back, her grip weakened by surprise, though it wouldn’t have been strong enough to keep him away even if she were at her best.

"Oops," he mused. "Can’t let you be activating this when the conversation is just getting fun, now, can we?"

A shroud of black and bronze encased his hand as he squeezed the piece of sodalite in his hand. The crystal was immediately crushed into smithereens, its fragments raining onto the bed like sugar crystals as Jean Nott dusted them off his palm.

Daphne could only stare at the ruined stone, her only way safely out. It was destroyed so easily. Despair quickly loomed over her. How was she going to reach for help now?

Her ring began to glow, though not because she was actively channeling magic into it but because of her rippling emotions. It pulsed like a heartbeat, the flash of blue from the aquamarines on the Symphony blending in with the red of the garnets hanging on her ear.

Jean Nott’s eyes slowly trailed over to the ring that settled on Daphne’s finger, his lips curling into a slow, small smile. He seemed not at all afraid of Daphne using magic on him, no doubt already understanding that even if she wanted to, she couldn’t. Or at least, if she wished to keep the baby safe.

"You’re really a silly woman," he said, a hint of fondness coloring his voice.

Daphne’s skin crawled at the amount of affection placed in his words, scowling as she scooched back on the bed.

"Have you not realized it yet?" Jean Nott continued. "You’re wearing it all hours of the day and somehow, you’ve not questioned your husband about it?"

"Question him about what?" Daphne snapped. "If he is a tyrant and a fraud, as you so eloquently put it, it won’t be easy asking him anything, would it?"

Her response caused a bark of laughter to rip free from Jean’s throat. He raised a hand, using his index finger to delicately wipe away the tears that had formed with how hard he had been chuckling. With a shake of his head, he sighed.

"You are wonderful," he said. "Those quippy comebacks. I’ve missed them. King Atticus had sanded you down so much that you’re almost unrecognizable now compared to when you first came to Vramid."

"Stop changing the topic." Growling, this time, she allowed the heat of her anger to power her flames. A small flame quickly grew in her palm, threatening to only grow bigger if Jean Nott dared to try anything. "Spit it out already. Aren’t you short on time? Atticus will be back any minute."

"My my," he tutted, "you make it sound as though we are lovers having an adulterous affair behind your husband. But sure, I will tell you what you wish to know. However―"

He placed his hand over Daphne’s palm and a spray of fog and mist quickly rose up in the room. There was a rush of freezing cold before water dripped down onto the sheets below. By the time he removed his hand from hers, Daphne’s fire had been smothered and put out. What was left behind was an icy feeling that lingered on her skin.

"I’m sure you’ve already guessed it, haven’t you?" he asked before gesturing to her wedding ring. "Your ring. It’s a fake."