Stolen by the Rebel King
Chapter 474: Lover or Executioner

Chapter 474: Lover or Executioner

Prince Alistair Molinero’s body was found in the dungeons the next morning, along with the dead bodies of ten knights from Reaweth’s royal cavalry and King Cyrus Molinero.

Queen Anette had been the first to be notified of her husband’s passing. Surprisingly, when she saw the corpses of her son and husband, the Queen seemed fairly unmoved. She didn’t show a sliver of upset nor anger, her face too calm to be true. In the end, she merely spared the deceased one last glance and a sigh before she turned away, ordering for their bodies to be buried.

That same morning, Lady Josephine was also escorted out of the palace with nothing more than the clothes on her back. Now that her husband and her daughter were dead, there was no one left in the royal palace of Reaweth who was willing to speak up for her.

Needless to say, Lady Josephine had gone mad with rage. She had clung to the gates of the royal palace for hours, refusing to leave the site. Eventually, it took the knights to show up with their weapons, threatening her life when she finally left. The servants who witnessed the scene all told tales about how they could hear Lady Josephine’s deranged cackles resonating deep into the forests where she had gone, rather than into town.

Of course, Queen Anette did not care where that lunatic went as long as she was gone from her line of sight. She had swallowed her pride and said nothing when King Cyrus brought his lover to stay in their marital home. Now that he was dead, Queen Anette was more than happy to do some housekeeping.

"You should eat a little more," Atticus said, frowning when he noticed the half-finished bowl of soup that was left on the coffee table. "This surely isn’t enough."

Daphne sat by the windows, staring out into the open world, wordless. Ever since Atticus had returned with food, Daphne hadn’t moved from her spot. She sat there quietly, watching the birds in the sky and the palace staff busy with their daily errands on the lawn. The only time she left the windowsill was to eat a few mouthfuls of food before returning to her spot.

"I’m not hungry," she said, keeping her eyes glued on the window. However, she could clearly see Atticus from the reflection on the glass.

He sighed, prodding at the food with the spoon before leaving it on the tray.

"The ritual will begin shortly," Atticus said. "Do you want to bear witness to it?"

"What for?" Daphne asked. "What difference does my presence make? Will you not go through with it just because I’m there?"

"Sunshine, I can’t promise you that," Atticus said, sighing. He seemed to be doing a lot these days. "I’ve already explained why―"

"I know," Daphne said, cutting him off. "You don’t have to say it again."

Atticus huffed. Silence hung over them for a brief period of time before he eventually reached into his pockets. There was something Daphne needed to have and perhaps there was no better time than now to give it.

Just as his fingers grazed the cool object, Daphne’s voice pierced through the silence, drawing his attention.

"The Symphony that you returned to me," she said, "it’s a fake, isn’t it?"

He gripped the object, pulling it out of his pocket before staring at it. "Yes," he answered.

Daphne said nothing more. She had already heard enough. A tear uncontrollably slipped from the corner of her eyes, dripping onto the back of her hand.

"Among the things that you’ve told me, which of them is real?" she asked breathlessly, desperately trying to contain the tears. However, her eyes continuously betrayed her mind, sending wave after wave of tears to fall. In no time at all, she was sobbing.

Atticus immediately rushed forward, clasping her hand as he kneeled down on the floor beside her.

"Daphne..." The way he murmured her name was so gentle, so soft, that she was nearly fooled into thinking it was sincere. It could be, but she didn’t dare hope for it any longer. "Sunshine, have I ever told you why I call you that?"

"What?" Daphne looked over at him, her eyes raw, itchy, and no doubt red. "Call me what? ’Sunshine’? It’s because of my hair, isn’t it?"

"No," Atticus said. "Because you are the light of my life. My world had been so filled with gloom and darkness that it felt like an eternal night."

He reached his hand up, grazing his thumb under her eyes to wipe her tears away. His finger was filled with callouses from tens of thousands of brawls and battles, ones which Daphne hadn’t even been around Atticus yet to witness. Scars decorated his body, most of them faded away with the sands of time, but when Daphne looked thoroughly for them after hours of lovemaking, she would always find some faint lines across his tan skin.

She had forgotten.

In fact, Daphne had only remembered Atticus in recent days as a tyrant, a bloodthirsty killer, a monstrous king who only knew to take and never give. The rumors that hung around Atticus had always painted him in such a savage light that when she witnessed the darkness that surrounded him, she had forgotten that it was also he who gave her light during her moments of loss.

"Your arrival was what made my days warm and pleasant. For the first time in my life, I felt like I had a home, and it was all because of you," he continued.

Gently, Atticus pried open Daphne’s hand, placing in her palm something small and cool to the touch. He curled her fingers back before she could look, but Daphne thought she felt the faint thrum of magic.

"I need to do this," he said. "It is my life’s mission to right the wrongs of my ancestors. However, with this, I hope that you can return to me. Be it to lift me or end me, my life is entirely in the hands of my love― your hands."

Raising Daphne’s hand, he laid a gentle kiss on her knuckles before returning it to her lap.

"I’ve always meant every profession of love," Atticus said. "Even if you are the one to carve out my heart after all this ends, I will die willingly in your arms, so long as the last sight I get to see in this mad, god-forsaken world is none other than you."