Stolen by the Rebel King
Chapter 52: The Aftermath

Chapter 52: The Aftermath

There were many terrifying outcomes Atticus had imagined on his wild ride to the slums. Daphne, with her body beaten black and blue. Daphne on the floor, her neck lying at an unnatural angle. Daphne, with her clothes torn off her, ravaged into pieces.

None of them could have compared to what actually greeted his eyes. Daphne was alive, but she wasn’t well at all. She was huddled on the floor, her legs curled up to her chest. Her arms were wrapped around her thighs and she was rocking minutely, as if she was a child trying to entertain herself.

But what scared Atticus the most was the empty look in her eyes as she stared unblinkingly at her feet.

Daphne always had expressive eyes, even if they were spent glaring at him in judgmental silence most of the time. Her eyes sparkled when she was happy, and shone when she was pleased. They widened when he surprised her and squinted when she was confused.

He had never seen her look so blank and lifeless before. It was as though the Daphne he had known was long gone, replaced by a porcelain doll.

"Daphne? Can you hear me?" Atticus asked quietly. He watched as she blinked to herself. Did she believe she was hearing things?

Then Atticus remembered that she was in the center of that loud explosion. It could have injured her ears.

He repeated her name as he walked slowly towards her. "Daphne?"

Daphne finally looked up in his direction, but she didn’t respond. Atticus paled; did his wife forget him?

"Daphne, it’s me, Atticus," Atticus immediately crouched down so they were at the same eye-level. He reached out to hold her hands, but she flinched, immediately scooting further away. She curled herself into a tighter ball and stared back at her feet.

"No..."

"Alright... alright... I won’t touch you...," Atticus said, making sure to keep his voice soothing and his eyes as non-threatening as possible, even though he really wanted to kill those people responsible.

He slowly raised both hands into the air where she could see, moving slightly away from her. Instantly, she relaxed a little of that tension.

It didn’t escape his eyes that the collar of Daphne’s dress had been torn right open, nearly revealing her full chest.

There was only one reason why someone would rip away a dress that roughly, and that very thought made his blood boil.

Sadly, that wasn’t the worst of Daphne’s wounds. There was a nasty bruise on her neck, the deep red mark looked almost like a brand, wrapped around her throat. If Atticus focused, he could even guess where the kidnapper had circled his fingers around her neck and dug in with all intention to hurt.

Once again, Atticus rued the fact that no one had invented necromancy. Perhaps he should start trying. Atticus wanted to bring those assailants back to life so he could torture them slowly and painfully before sending them on their way.

Atticus took in a deep breath and tried to calm himself down. The air was thick with smoke and the disgusting smell of charred human remains, yet Daphne seemed oblivious to it all, stuck in her own mind.

He had to get her out of here for treatment.

"I’m going to get you out of here," he said, watching her every move and waiting to see if she had a negative response. "Okay?"

It was only when she didn’t, when she simply looked straight ahead with eyes that looked watery and glazed over did he move.

First things first, he took off his cloak and draped it around her shoulders, as though he was wrapping a child up in a blanket. He did everything slowly, cautious not to make any big, sudden movements that could startle her again. Thankfully, she barely had a response when the cloak touched her and she allowed him to do as he pleased.

When he was done, Daphne looked up and blinked again. This time, a hint of recognition flashed across her eyes and her mouth moved, but it was too brief and no words came out. Instead, she began coughing.

"Shhh shhh don’t push yourself. I need to get you to the castle. Let’s go home," Atticus said, rubbing comforting circles around her arms. He made sure to keep eye contact with her. "Daphne, can you stand? Or do you want me to carry you?"

"Dead... all dead...fire..." Daphne whispered to herself. Her breaths were coming out in tiny pants, and her voice grew increasingly hysterical. "Me... I did it... dead... all..."

"Alright," Atticus said, still trying to project an aura of calm as he stared into her fearful eyes.

His wife must have been imagining things. How could she be responsible for such destruction? Clearly the kidnappers must have fed her lies to destroy her mind.

"No, darling. You’re not at fault. You’re never at fault. Everything is fine now. I’m here for you. There’s nothing that can hurt you now, I promise you."

"I... I..." Daphne tried to speak, but her voice had grown so soft and frail that a spring breeze could have swallowed it. Atticus leaned in closer, trying to catch them. "I...want...to..."

Then there was silence and Atticus watched with growing horror as Daphne’s eyes fluttered shut, her body slumping to the floor.

Atticus grabbed her before her body could hit the floor. She felt so light in his arms, yet it felt like he was holding a living star.

Her body was burning up.

"Daphne! Wake up!" Atticus called out, frantically patting her face. Her skin was warm, but her breath was shallow.

A glint at her earlobes caught his eye. The earrings he had given her thrummed with newly-found power.

Atticus’s eyes widened in shock.

Could it be?

Atticus quickly carried her in his arms; there was no time to waste― he had to get her back to the palace for Sirona to treat her. He ran out of the wreckage, hoping to find his horse quickly.

"Atticus! Are you alright? What happened?"

Jonah had finally arrived on foot. He and his men had arrived at the edge of the slums when they heard a deafening explosion, as though someone had set off a bomb in the slums.

Knowing Atticus’s temper, Jonah immediately rushed towards the location. Initially he expected that Atticus might have gone overboard with killing the kidnappers, but the amount of carnage he was greeted with was too uncontrolled for someone of Atticus’s caliber. No matter what, the king knew that he couldn’t be wreaking havoc out in a civilian area like that.

"What happened here?" Jonah asked no one in particular.

The men behind him simply looked at each other with equally dumbfounded expressions. They’ve seen so many battlefields, witnessed so many wars with their own eyes, and yet, this was the first time they’ve witnessed such a catastrophe compacted in such a tiny place. Nearly everything had been incinerated to the ground.

Then Jonah caught sight of the human bundle lying unconscious in Atticus’s arms. He paled.

"Oh my god! Is that the queen?" Then, his voice lowered dramatically, almost quaking as if afraid to hear the response. "Is she alright?"

"No time to explain," Atticus barked. "I need to get back immediately. She needs Sirona’s help."

Jonah nodded gravely, and he got a few men to escort Atticus back. Meanwhile, he and the rest of the men stayed behind to clean up the remains and question the slum dwellers.

No matter how disgusting their burnt bodies were, all of it was still precious evidence for a crime.

"Find the culprits―" Jonah paused in the middle of his sentence and thought about it, his face scrunched into a frown.

What culprits?

He caught sight of a piece of white bone a short distance away not too long ago. If his guess was right, everything had already been razed into nothing more but ash and dust. There wouldn’t be any culprits left for him to find.

He then changed the phrasing of his words. "Find the bones. The skulls, especially. We need to know if they’re dead or, by some miracle of God, if they had managed to escape."

The men nodded, and began to search around the ruins, holding their breaths to avoid inhaling the smoke. Deep down, they knew they weren’t going to find anything better than ash and bone for Jonah to keep, but still they had to try. If King Atticus found out they returned empty-handed, there would be hell to pay.

Jonah also searched fervently, leaving no stone unturned. He dug his hands into the ground, calling on his magic to search through the debris, desperate to find clues to make sense of this crime. It was exhausting work, but Daphne’s pale face, smeared with soot as she laid unconscious in Atticus’ arms, kept him digging.

And he was rewarded for his persistence. His senses detected a strange aura hidden below the rubble. He used his hands to extract the offending item, gingerly wiping away the cloud of dust that had settled on its surface.

It was a black stone fragment, its sheen obvious under the light.

Sodalite.

Jonah quickly pocketed the crystal, knowing that Atticus would definitely wish to examine it himself. He then returned to fiddling around with whatever was left with the place, causing huge puffs of dust to emerge every time broken bits of furniture or scorched wood was lifted.

Unbeknownst to Jonah, a pair of eyes watched from a distance away. The explosion hadn’t gone unnoticed and since then, they had been watching as the king arrived and whisked the queen away in his arms, followed by the arrival of the royal cavalry.

The figure scowled, clenching their jaw tightly, then slipped back into the shadows.

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