Stolen by the Rebel King
Chapter 467: Verimandi

Chapter 467: Verimandi

"Warmonger?" Atticus repeated, before breaking out into a sharp bark of laughter. Daphne was startled, her breath coming out in pants as her husband continued to wheeze breathlessly to himself.

"What’s so funny?" Daphne demanded.

"Nothing, really." Atticus shook his head slowly. "I simply cannot believe that I’m hearing such a descriptor from my own wife. Tell me, Daphne, what do you think I’ll do once I succeed?"

"You’ll conquer kingdoms."

"And what will I do with them?" Atticus asked, amused. "Just because I have the capability, doesn’t mean I’m about to commit atrocities across the continent. Besides, stealing kingdoms isn’t my style."

"Not like anyone could have stopped you," Daphne added bitterly. "Once — if — your plan succeeds," and Daphne hoped with every fiber of her being that it did not, "the world is yours, whether they know it or not."

"You have a point," Atticus conceded with an elegant tilt of his head. "But if it makes you feel better, there’s only one kingdom I’m intending to make my own, and I’m already halfway there."

It can’t be Vramid, since Vramid was already Atticus’s. Raxuvia was still under the rule of Prince Nathaniel, and Xahan in the hands of King Calarian and his family.

The only one that was halfway there to being his own was... the kingdom of the very same bed she laid in.

"...It’s Reaweth, isn’t it?" Daphne’s breath came out in a noisy exhale and she had to close her eyes.

"Yes, sunshine. Point for you," Atticus said, "But let me share a quick history lesson for you― this kingdom was meant to be mine to begin with."

"What?" Daphne’s eyes snapped open, only to realize that Atticus was deadly serious. "How could this be? My family has ruled Reaweth for generations!"

"Only four generations at most," Atticus said, slamming his hand against the bedside table. Daphne jumped, her heart in her throat. "Your history tutors might have neglected to mention this part. Dear King Rowan Verimandi was my ancestor, not yours."

"This... this is ridiculous!" Daphne spluttered. What Atticus was saying was so far-fetched that she had almost forgotten that she was afraid of him and what he had become, afraid of what he had hidden from her. "What proof do you have of this relation?"

It was as though they had a debate during dinner about what would happen if pigs could fly. Something utterly inane and improbable, but this time, Atticus wasn’t going to lose this fight or be pacified with a kiss.

Atticus held out his hand and slowly whirled the dagger in his hand with magic. Daphne noticed that he wasn’t wearing his ring. In fact, he had no jewels on his person; she could not spot the tell-tale glow that accompanied magic use.

"Daphne, is this not enough proof?"

Daphne shook her head in disbelief.

"King Verimandi might have shared magic with the rest of the world, but everyone else still needed to use crystals as a conduit. Have you ever wondered why your husband, the man you slept next to every night, could do impossible feats of magic without even using a single crystal?"

"You are very skilled, but there’s a chance you might not be the only one." Daphne wet her rapidly drying lips. She couldn’t hear her voice over the roaring in her ears. "It could be luck. Maybe you’re reincarnated from him―"

"Now you’re just scrambling for excuses at this point," Atticus chided gently, as though she was a child caught stealing from a cookie jar. "You’ve read the History Of Magic from top to bottom. I know you remember what the book wrote about King Verimandi and his wife."

They only wore their gems for show. They had no need for gems to channel magic.

Daphne’s breath escaped in one long exhale, her heart beating so quickly she felt like she would collapse. She wasn’t sure if she believed Atticus’s words, but from what she saw, Atticus wholeheartedly believed he was the lost descendant of King Rowan Verimandi.

Whether it was true or not was something left to be decided by Daphne, with help from the heavens above. She decided to ask more to see if her husband was truly deluded, or if he had some basis for his ideas.

"If you’re indeed King Rowan Verimandi’s descendant, how did you end up ruling Vramid? Why is my family ruling instead?"

"Because your ancestors were a bunch of good-for-nothing throne robbers," Atticus said coldly.

Daphne gulped at the venom in his eyes; she had never been faced with such hatred from him. Daphne reminded herself that Atticus wasn’t directing his hatred at her― it was simply at her ancestors.

"King Rowan Verimandi did so much for the world, but Reaweth remembers him as a maniac, assuming they remember him at all. Tell me, sunshine, did you even learn about King Rowan Verimandi during your lessons? Or about how your family suddenly came into power?"

Daphne shook her head. As far as she knew, her family had always ruled Reaweth! There was never a need to question such an undeniable fact... until now.

Atticus clicked his tongue disapprovingly.

"As expected. Fine, sunshine, I’ll tell you more about your illustrious family. They were nobles who benefited the most under King Rowan Verimandi’s grace and generosity, and then they betrayed him the moment his back was turned.

"After slaughtering him and sending the rest of his family into exile, they had a fun delightful time spreading tales about his cruelty and madness, claiming that the magic led him down a dark path, twisting his mind until he could no longer tell friend from foe.

"With the excuse that such madness could be inherited from parent to child, his family were hunted down like criminals with no recourse. My grandmother was King Verimandi’s youngest daughter, and she managed to escape by pretending to be a maid when she was just a young girl, barely even a teen. Eventually, she made her way to Vramid and married my grandfather. But she never forgot where she came from and who she was."

Atticus’s eyes were dark with rage, and yet, in a completely contradicting manner, his golden eyes seemed to glow with fury that resembled the everlasting flames of hell.

"She never forgave those that stole what she deemed was hers, and she made sure my father didn’t forget either."

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