Stolen by the Rebel King
Chapter 53: Doctor’s Orders

Chapter 53: Doctor’s Orders

"Why isn’t she waking up?" Atticus demanded as he paced around the room anxiously, staring down at Daphne’s face, slack with sleep. "It’s been two whole days! Are you sure you gave her the correct treatment?"

"Oh no, I’m purposely sabotaging her recovery so that you’ll sulk around me like a cranky goblin," the doctor said with a deadpanned expression. "Of course I treated her to the best of my abilities, you buffoon!"

"How could you call me that? I’m your king!" Atticus spluttered.

In comparison to Atticus’s anxiety, Sirona was calmly mixing herbs in her stone pot. She would normally create her concoctions in the kitchen or in her own quarters, but Atticus had all but ordered her to stay with Daphne around the clock, just in case she needed emergency medical attention.

And now he had the nerve to distrust her expertise after evicting her from her workplace! She brandished her pestle at him threateningly.

"You can be both a king and a buffoon. Do you want to pour water over her, you foolish man? That’ll probably wake her up immediately."

"Of course not!" Atticus squawked.

"As you said, it has only been two days. From what you’ve told me, I wouldn’t be surprised if she slept for a week. She did awaken her latent magical abilities and use them without any prior training to demolish an entire building and a couple of nearby fields. That’ll take a toll on anyone."

Atticus had all but thrown Daphne in her direction the moment he rode through the gates on his horse, screaming that she needed help.

Sirona had treated the bruising on Daphne’s neck, removed the smoke from her lungs, and healed all sorts of scratches and wounds on her arms. She even fed her a concoction that would temporarily suppress her magical abilities, just in case Daphne burnt herself up from within in the midst of a nightmare.

But Sirona had no way of predicting when Daphne would wake, or how her mental state would be when she did. It didn’t take a genius to guess what had been attempted on her. For a princess that had never suffered much hardship to be confronted with the darkness that resided in people’s hearts...

Sirona hoped Atticus would be able to help. Meanwhile, she decided to distract him before he wore a hole in the floor with his pacing.

"If you have so much time to stand around accusing me of medical malpractice, go and sort out the leaves by size for me." She handed him a basket of moonshade leaves.

"You’re just making things up for me to do." Atticus complained, but he still took the basket obediently."I’m getting bored already. Can’t you make Jonah do it? He already gathered these leaves. Might as well sort them too."

"These leaves are needed to mend wounds and ailments," Sirona retorted. "Jonah already did his part, and since you’re idling around, spending all your free time being a disturbance, you might as well help me restock my inventory."

It was Daphne’s treatment that put a sizable dent in Sirona’s inventory, after all. Might as well have her husband make up for it.

Atticus fell silent with one last grumble and dutifully began sorting― right next to the sleeping Daphne so that he could keep a closer eye on her even as he worked.

Sirona internally rolled her eyes. Atticus could claim that he wasn’t in love until his mouth ran dry, but his actions clearly showed otherwise.

"Maybe you should speak to her. Or sing," Sirona suggested. "Some countries had deemed it to be a very good form of emotional treatment."

"You’re right. I’m sure she’ll wake up when she hears my dulcet voice!" Atticus began singing an old song. The king of Vramid was blessed with many gifts, but good singing wasn’t one of them.

"More like she’ll wake up to tell you to shut up," Sirona grumbled under her breath. "But sure. If it works, it works."

At this point, anything would be better than Atticus yelling at her every fifteen minutes, asking when Daphne would wake up. She had already heard him whining for two days straight and didn’t need more of that.

And thankfully enough, the task kept Atticus pretty preoccupied. After Sirona had informed him that the moonshade leaves would be for Daphne, he made sure to put in extra effort when sorting them. It was a good herb to keep around too, since it wasn’t one that was easy to find as the plant would only mature under the light of the full moon. It could treat a multitudinous list of wounds and ailments.

It might also be the only thing that could help Daphne at the moment.

For a good while, there was silence between them. The only thing that could be heard was the sound of Sirona’s mortar and pestle grinding against each other, the crunching of the various herbs she added, the sound of leaves rustling as Atticus sorted them, and Daphne’s stable breathing.

Until Atticus broke that silence again.

"Do you think..." he started to say but paused, hesitant.

"Hmm?"

Atticus chewed on his bottom lip. Then, he said softly, "Do you think she will really wake up after that?"

Sirona’s repetitive motions paused as she stared at the king, observing him. He had his head tilted down, staring intensely at the leaves in his hands. The deep green leaves sat between his fingers, nearly crushed by the amount of force he was putting into his grip. If Sirona watched closely enough, she could even see the slight shiver in his hands.

"Not a lot of people are able to control their magical abilities," Atticus continued. "We’ve seen many, remember?"

Sirona silently nodded, not saying a word.

"And they’ve all succumbed mere days, some even hours, after the discovery of their magical affinity." At long last, Atticus looked up. His eyes were watery, rimmed with a little bit of red. He looked at the set of garnet earrings that sat on the bedside table, sparkling under the light. "What if she is like them?"

"The queen is of royal blood," Sirona reminded. "Those people weren’t. Their bodies weren’t made to withstand such raw power. That’s why they died."

Atticus then turned to look at Sirona. "Is she really?"

Sirona didn’t have a chance to reply. Her lips had barely parted when the sound of stirring caused both her and Atticus to whip their heads and focus their attention on the patient that was lying on the bed.

Daphne had moved a little, her eyebrows deeply furrowed as she groaned in her sleep. Then, as slow as ever, she began to blink. At first, she squinted against the sudden light in the room. When her eyes finally adjusted to the brightness, she began to look around, her line of sight landing on a very worried Atticus that hovered right over her from the side of her bed.

"Atticus?" Her voice was hoarse as she croaked out the words, barely able to even speak his name properly.

Sirona immediately reached for a glass of water, handing it over to Atticus while using her free hand to continue grinding the herbs. The king grabbed it immediately, carefully bringing it to Daphne’s lips.

"I’m here," he said. "Here, drink."

Daphne certainly didn’t argue. She took hold of the cup and began to sip at it. She knew she had to take her time but the moment her lips made contact with the cool water, she began to chug the liquid down in huge gulps. Daphne had never felt this parched before. She felt as though she had been left stranded in the desert for months, finally finding a life-saving oasis.

"Drink slowly," Atticus gently chided from one side, trying to tilt the glass in the opposite direction so that Daphne wouldn’t drink as fast as she wanted to, and in turn, wouldn’t risk accidentally choking. "There’s still more."

Glass after glass, Daphne wasn’t sure how much water she had chugged down. When she finally stopped, her belly felt as though it was filled entirely with water. The slight hunger she had felt when she had just woken up was completely gone, replaced with a bloated stomach. Yet, she sighed, finally satisfied.

"What happened?" she asked, sitting still as Atticus used a dry towel to gently dab at the corners of her lips, getting rid of the droplets of water that had lingered.

"What do you remember?" Atticus threw back the question cautiously.

"There was a fire," Daphne said, frowning, deep in thought. "I think... I think I was the one that started it, though I am not sure how." She looked down at her hands and then back at Atticus. "Maybe I had knocked over the candle on the table."

"It wasn’t just a fire," Sirona said. She scooped the mixed ingredients out of the mortar, adding it into a bowl that already had an unknown bluish-purple liquid inside. "It was an explosion. The sound could be heard all the way from the castle."

"I was in the slums, I think. How did the explosion happen?"

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