Stolen by the Rebel King
Chapter 462: When the Dust Settles II

Chapter 462: When the Dust Settles II

Instantly, Queen Lavinia and Cordelia exchanged glances, their gazes falling heavily on the separated body of Jean Nott before looking back at each other. Queen Lavinia’s face was especially pale― she had seen her fair share of unfortunate medical cases but such a gory display was still a rare sight. On the other hand, Cordelia’s eyebrows were hard-set, her lips tilted downward into a frown as she shook her head gently.

"I’ll get the kids to bed," Cordelia offered, shooting Atticus a nasty look before turning to her aunt and uncle. "This isn’t a sight they need to see."

King Calarian and Queen Lavinia nodded in appreciation, and with that, Cordelia took Bianca into her arms and headed straight for the door. The twin boys trailed along after her, and Queen Lavinia made sure to position herself right in their line of sight so that if they were curious enough to turn back, they wouldn’t see anything too graphic.

Nesrin, on the other hand, stood rooted to the spot.

"Nesrin?" Cordelia called out once she reached the doors, standing there and holding it open as she called for her younger cousin. "Are you coming?"

"Let her stay, Cordelia," King Calarian replied instead, eyeing his eldest child. "She needs to learn."

With a nod, Cordelia closed the door behind her, leaving just those five people in the room, alongside Jean Nott’s corpse.

"Well?" King Calarian prompted. His gaze turned a lot darker now that his youngest children had left the room. He looked to King Atticus, his lips pressed tightly as a stormcloud passed through his features. "Would you mind explaining how you created havoc in my city?"

Atticus immediately launched into an explanation, recounting the details of his and Jean Nott’s fight. There was the sandstorm, the goading, the icicles, and even more magic that Atticus had never seen Jean Nott use before. Not to mention, Sirona would’ve been fatally hurt if it weren’t for Atticus’s quick thinking and knowledge of Jean Nott’s habits.

"Jean Nott is from Vramid, is he not?" Nesrin suddenly piped up. Atticus had to look down in order to properly examine her expression― she was a teenager who hadn’t fully grown, while he was a hulking man who easily towered over her. In his eyes, she was nothing more than a child.

"Yes," Atticus easily replied. "Jean Nott, or better known in Vramid’s circles as Eugene Attonson, was a Vramidian nobleman. What of it?"

"Why are you bringing your battles here to Xahan?" Nesrin fired, heat behind her words. She glared haughtily at Atticus, using the same prickling tone that she used on Daphne just hours ago. "This sounds like something that you should have settled domestically, especially since he was here because of Queen Daphne in the first place!"

A vein throbbed in Atticus’s forehead. If he weren’t in Xahan, or hell, if King Calarian and Queen Lavinia weren’t present, he would’ve ripped her tongue right out of her throat for preaching without any care in the world.

This little girl may be a princess but she certainly did not act like one. She did not have the manners of a noble lady nor the conduct of a future queen. If anything, Atticus could only compare her to the town baker’s wife, someone who probably had a little too much time on their hands to gossip and do nothing else other than cause trouble for their neighbors.

"Princess," Atticus said, practically spitting out the title in a way that made it clear that he didn’t think she deserved it, "Jean Nott was an international crime syndicate’s leader. He had full command of the black market and was the head of the Order of the Serpents, an assassin’s guild. In other words, no matter whether or not he’s from Vramid, every leader of the known kingdoms wants his head on a silver platter for the crimes he has committed globally."

"But he wouldn’t have come here if it weren’t for you!" Nesrin cried out. "He could’ve gone to any kingdom, or you could’ve just dealt with him in Vramid. Why here?"

Atticus coldly laughed, his patience wearing thin. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to let slip of Jean Nott’s initial plans. Through the rumble and tumble, Atticus finally pieced everything together. Their goals were indeed very similar― in fact, they were flip sides of the same coin.

Alas, Jean Nott died before he could fulfill his plans.

"Jean Nott would end up in Xahan either way," Atticus said. "He was after your iron meteorite ores to power his own research and experiments. Only with it can he finish his elixir, a potion that could grant magic to anyone he so desires to give."

Grant magic? That was unheard of. Ever since King Rowan Verimandi, no one had that sort of capability. If Jean Nott had succeeded, he could have created an army of superpowered human beings that could rival any nation’s armed forces.

Thankfully, he was put to a stop. Otherwise, chaos would no doubt reign.

Nesrin’s lips immediately pursed shut. She desperately wanted to argue but Queen Lavinia quickly walked forward and placed a hand on her shoulder, signaling her to hold back. In front of King Atticus, it was true that Nesrin had none of the bravery and bravado that she put up while speaking with Queen Daphne. Even she knew what it would mean to offend this man.

"I will send men to help with the reparations of the capital city," Atticus promised, placing a hand on his chest. "Consider it as my apology for the damage done to Xahan."

King Calarian sighed. What more could he say now that King Atticus had offered his assistance? It was true that if Jean Nott hadn’t been stopped, the results could be catastrophic. While Xahan might be guarded against invaders due to its unique terrain, it would only be a matter of time.

Magic was limitless. As such, it was a terrifying power to possess, especially in the wrong hands.

"We thank you for your hospitality in Xahan for the last few weeks," Atticus continued, making use of Calarian’s silence. "However, my wife and I should return to Reaweth at once. Her brothers would be looking forward to the antidote."

Queen Lavinia nodded, her face still pale. Her hand on Nesrin’s shoulder tightened.

"Will Queen Daphne be alright?" she asked. She had seen the way she looked in King Atticus’s arms― pale, frigid, frail. It seemed like she was nothing more than a wisp of soul that was about to disintegrate.

"Of course," Atticus replied. "I will make sure of that."

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