Stolen by the Rebel King
Chapter 458: Falling to Ruin II

Chapter 458: Falling to Ruin II

Daphne’s mouth fell open in shock. She couldn’t believe her ears. No, Jean had to be lying. That’s what he did― he was a liar through and through, and Daphne would be a fool to believe him again.

But if his wings were missing, that would explain Zephyr’s sudden deterioration. She knew better than anyone how proud Zephyr was of his plumage. He loved soaring through the skies. If he had lost this ability, it would have been a fate worse than death.

And it wasn’t as though Atticus didn’t have prior experience in robbing precious organs from magical creatures. Nereus’s missing eye came to mind, and Daphne felt her knees weaken. Her hands reached out to the walls of the fallen rubble for support, her breath coming out in sharp pants.

No, no, she had to think otherwise. Perhaps there was another explanation for this. Even if Atticus wanted to harvest a wing from Zephyr, Zephyr would have fought tooth and nail to prevent such a fate, especially when he already knew of Atticus’s intentions.

But who could actually stand up against Atticus?

Was that why he had wounds all over? Did Atticus inflict those wounds on Zephyr when Daphne was unconscious? Daphne didn’t know what to think.

Then Atticus began to speak, and she leaned in closer, straining her ears to listen to his reply.

"I didn’t think you cared so much about Zephyr," Atticus scoffed with a raised eyebrow. "Are you in the market for a one-winged griffin? I suppose he’s cheaper to raise now. He’s not eating as much."

"I have to thank you for that, but I was hoping for him to be perfectly whole," Jean replied dryly, amusement in his eyes. King Atticus was intent on burying his own marriage, and since Jean was nothing but helpful, he was going to provide a shovel. "He would have been such a good addition to my guild."

"He doesn’t deserve to fly," Atticus growled out. "Just like how you don’t deserve to live."

Oh god. It was true then.

Daphne fought the urge to sink to her knees, nausea growing in her gut. Atticus had done it. He had ripped off Zephyr’s wing, and yet no one had the nerve to tell her the truth. Sirona and Jonah had once again joined hands to lie to her!

Daphne wiped the angry tears that were beginning to form in her eyes. She wanted to scream at the heavens and seek justice for Zephyr.

And Zephyr, poor Zephyr, her sweet boy, claimed he had retracted his wings to conceal the truth from her. Why? Did he not trust Daphne enough to fight for him?

"You are a bastardly man. First, you take her kelpie’s eye, then you take her griffin’s wing. Daphne isn’t your wife; she’s a shortcut for you to achieve your goals," Jean Nott commented offhandedly, and Atticus frowned at the way he seemed to be speaking a little too loudly for a private conversation.

The city was deserted, devastated by their battle. But Atticus had not survived till today on blind faith; he quickly turned around, only to spot a blonde head duck behind a wall. He only caught sight of it for the briefest of a second, quicker than a butterfly’s wingbeat, but that was all the time he needed.

After all, blonde hair was rare in Xahan.

Fuck. It was Daphne. She was somehow here, instead of being tucked away safely in the underground of Xahan’s royal palace. Atticus’s blood chilled as panic began to brew inside him; how much had Daphne overheard?

No matter how much Atticus had hoped he made a mistake and it was some other woman, his soul knew otherwise. Back in Reaweth, there was a bevy of blondes that all resembled Daphne in some form or another. Yet it was no trouble for Atticus to distinguish his wife from the fakes, one of them being her literal half-sister.

It was a lot easier to tell which one was his wife now, when there was no cause for comparison.

No wonder Jean was so chatty. Enough was enough, Atticus had to silence him once and for all.

Jean Nott’s eyes twinkled as he realized King Atticus had discovered his wife’s presence. Shame on King Atticus for failing to notice his wife― his soul was clearly a corrupted, pitiful creature, a shriveled husk of a living thing. It did not light up like the horizon did at sunrise the moment Daphne was in the vicinity, unlike Jean’s own soul, which felt the echo of her existence like a balm upon his heart.

Jean would never have made such a mistake. He smirked up at Atticus. No matter what, he had already won, but he was a sore loser.

"Even your baby is―" Jean Nott commented offhandedly, and he gasped in pain as Atticus pushed the blade into his throat. He choked, and it was a wet gurgling sound as blood rushed out of his windpipe.

Atticus snarled viciously. Even when he was choking on his own blood, a hair’s breadth from death, Jean still had the same smirk on his face, robbing him of the satisfaction of seeing fear in his eyes as he passed.

But no matter. Atticus had to silence this man’s infernal mouth right now before he spewed out any more nonsense for Daphne to overhear.

’Baby? Your baby?’

Unfortunately, Daphne heard Jean Nott loud and clear. If the baby was Atticus’s, then it was hers too, wasn’t it? Her hand drifted to her belly, touching the flat surface gingerly as if it would give her the answers she was seeking.

No one had mentioned she was pregnant. Wouldn’t she recall being pregnant? Sirona would have said something. Cordelia would have. Queen Lavinia too. Even if all of them were forced to keep silent, Nereus would have told her.

Then, she remembered how sore her belly felt when she first woke up. It felt as though someone had hit her with an iron rod across the stomach. Sirona had told her she had fallen poorly. There was even some bleeding.

Was that what caused the miscarriage?

What kind of hopeless mother was Daphne, that she couldn’t even remember her own child?

That she couldn’t even remember losing her own child?