Stolen by the Rebel King
Chapter 438: Beacon II

Chapter 438: Beacon II

Atticus spotted a blond head in the midst of the whirling sandstorm. He knew it was Jonah because only a fool like him would not use his magic to shield himself from the grains of sand, but instead wrap his face with his stupid cloak that was meant to ward off the chill of the night.

"Jonah! Why aren’t you taking shelter?" Atticus demanded as he flew closer.

Jonah’s green eyes were already wet and red, most likely due to irritation from the wind. His mouth moved, but the storm was loud, and Atticus couldn’t make out Jonah’s words nor read his lips under the cloak.

"I know you missed my illustrious self, but you really should look after yourself," Atticus scolded. He moved even closer, huddling closer to him so he could wrap Jonah in his own magic. He would survive anything the desert could throw at him, but Jonah was slightly more fragile and a lot more foolhardy.

He wasn’t losing his oldest friend to drat sand out of all things.

"Atticus," Jonah’s voice escaped in a hoarse croak, and his face was so pale that it was almost bloodless. "There’s bad news from Sirona."

"What is it?" Atticus narrowed his eyes. Sirona was not one to make random calls, and knowing Jonah’s attitude, he would not have tried so hard to contact Atticus in the middle of a natural disaster unless things were dire.

"Daphne lost the baby, and she might lose her life," Jonah said in a rush, parroting Sirona’s words near verbatim. He wanted to ask more, but Sirona most likely had her hands full with keeping Daphne alive to care about them.

Atticus heard the words, but it felt like they were spoken in another language. His mind knew what the words meant separately, but his mind had trouble stringing them together to form coherent meaning. It felt as though he was listening to Jonah’s words from the bottom of the ocean.

Daphne... lost... their child? Impossible!

Daphne... was... dying? Even more ridiculous!

"We have to go back immediately, but the storm..." Jonah wiped his eyes with a finger.

Now that Atticus knew the truth, he realized that Jonah’s swollen eyes were not merely the cause of the sandstorm. His friend must have been weeping for Daphne’s loss since he received the news.

For his loss.

He no longer had his child.

Atticus raised his head and let out a scream so anguished, it felt less like a cry from a human being and more like a howl from a beast. It tore out of his throat, yet Jonah doubted that anyone else could hear him. The desert sandstorm had swallowed up all sound.

"We’ll go back immediately," Atticus declared fervently, grabbing Jonah by the arm. Jonah blinked tiredly.

"Atticus, the storm is still ongoing. You can’t just fly us back to the palace! Sirona would kill you if you overexerted yourself!"

"I have to get to Daphne," Atticus said, his eyes blazing with frenzied determination. At that very moment, he seemed more fanatic than man. "Are you coming with me?"

"I’ll wait out the storm here first," Jonah said worriedly. "If you have to use your magic on me, you’ll be exhausting yourself. Go, Daphne needs you. If there’s anything, let me know using Sirona’s sodalite piece."

Atticus swallowed past the lump in his throat. He was a lucky man to have gotten Jonah’s undying loyalty and friendship.

"Don’t do anything stupid!" Atticus said instead because it was better than breaking down in his arms while his world was slowly falling apart.

"How can I?" Jonah retorted dryly. "You’re taking all the stupid with you."

Atticus shoved him playfully, before coating himself with magic. With no hesitation, he launched straight into the air and hurtled himself in the direction of Xahan’s capitol. If anyone looked up, they would have thought they saw a shooting star flitting across the sky.

But then again, no one would be looking anywhere up in this storm. The locals all knew how to huddle in their makeshift mud houses, burrows, and caves for safety. None of them knew of the calamity that befell Atticus’s life.

While Atticus flew at a breakneck pace, his thoughts whirled relentlessly like the desert winds that continued to whip sand particles at his being. He had stopped coating certain parts of himself that were covered by his clothes, using his conserved magic to go even faster. His stomach twisted and churned at the exertion and his anxiety, and he couldn’t help but wonder if this was how Daphne felt when she got the news.

Gods. Was she even alive? The very thought of Daphne dying, possibly alone and afraid spurred him further on. He would gladly let the sand cut him a thousand, no, a million times if it meant he could reach Daphne in time.

Soon, after what must be at least an hour of flight with nothing but his negative thoughts for company, he saw the tower of Xahan’s main palace. The windows were boarded up most likely due to the incoming desert storm, but Atticus had too little patience to enter via the main gate. It would take too much energy and finesse; his frazzled brain simply could not afford such a task.

With a quick mental apology to King Calarian and Queen Lavinia, he crashed through the boarded window, easily breaking the wooden boards into smithereens and sending their pieces flying, the magic surrounding his body vanishing with exhaustion.

He made it.

However, his dramatic entry made such a loud noise that the guards immediately came rushing in, surrounding him before he could even get back on his feet. He felt their swords pinning down his body, face down, and he couldn’t help but laugh at their paltry attempts to subdue him.

"Contact Queen Lavinia, let her know that we have apprehended Jean Nott!"

Excuse me? Did the guards imply that Jean Nott was spotted on the premises? Atticus’s head swam — there were no unlucky coincidences in his world — that bastard must have had something to do with Daphne’s miscarriage!

A growl escaped from his throat, causing the guards to eye him warily. Atticus raised his head, letting them have a good look at his face. Their eyes widened in shock as they saw who exactly they were trying to arrest, and they quickly scattered to the side.

"King Atticus!"

Unknown to Atticus, his eyes were bloodshot from the exertion. He looked more like a devil than a dignified king.

"Jean Nott... what did he do to my wife?!"