Stolen by the Rebel King
Chapter 65: Cooking Disaster Saved

Chapter 65: Cooking Disaster Saved

As if to back up her statement, the pot behind Atticus that was still on the stove sizzled and popped, a flake of the food flying out with a trail of steam before landing on the stone floors. The crackling fire was all that filled the otherwise silent kitchen, Atticus and Daphne just locked into a quiet staring contest.

In the end, it was Daphne that broke the silence first. Atticus was, after all, too mortified to even speak.

"You look like you need some help," she said, looking pointedly at the mini mountain of pots and pans of wasted food. "Maybe you shouldn’t be in the kitchen, being a cooking hazard and all."

"I am not a cooking hazard!" Atticus immediately rebutted.

He raised the hand with a knife almost instinctively, causing Daphne to take a step back. When he realized what he had done, Atticus sheepishly put his hand down, practically tossing the knife in the opposite direction and away from Daphne as if to emphasize that he was of no harm.

"Ahem," Atticus’s eyes darted back and forth as he cleared his throat, an attempt to muster up his courage.

His tongue felt like it had been tangled in his mouth, causing him to become mute right when he needed his voice most. He thought back hard to what Sirona had said when he had been practicing his invitations but nothing came to mind.

In the end, he said, "Would you care for some dinner?"

Unable to contain her horror, Daphne scoffed at the mess Atticus had created, shaking her head slowly as her eyes went up and down in a slow assessment of the ruined kitchen. It looked like Atticus had just started a war here, with all the various ingredients littered everywhere and the cooking wares tossed and chucked to every corner of the kitchen. There was almost not even a single clean spot in the kitchen, much less anything edible that had come out of Atticus’s hands.

"And eat what exactly?" she asked, snorting. She then pointed to a basket of fruits that sat right by the window, possibly the only thing in the kitchen right now that was still vibrant and not coated with either char or flour. "That’s about the only edible thing here."

"I’ll whip something up," Atticus hurriedly replied. "Just... Just give me a moment."

With another clatter of pots and pans, Atticus had soon disappeared into the pantry area of the kitchen. Daphne could only sigh. She had braced herself for the possibility of getting caught by someone while she was out but she hadn’t thought that it would be Atticus himself that she would run into. What’s more, he had invited her to dinner.

How ludicrous was that?

She should just grab some fruits and dash before―

Another series of clatters caused Daphne to automatically look in the direction of the pantry.

"Shit, ah crap, don’t roll you little bastards!" Atticus cursed from inside.

A couple of potatoes rolled out from the archway, tumbling down the two steps of stairs that elevated the pantry area and eventually rolled to her feet before stopping. When Daphne looked away from the stray ingredient, she spotted Atticus hugging a dozen potatoes in his arms as he tried to pick up the ones on the floor.

Again, when their eyes met for what felt like the hundredth time, Daphne felt a strong urge to laugh.

She had no idea what it was that came over her but before she knew it, she had bent down to get the potato and was walking straight to the pantry.

"Thank you―" Atticus was about to reach out and grab the potato from Daphne’s hands, thinking that she had picked it up for him, when she just walked around him as if he were merely a piece of furniture. "Wait, what are you doing?"

She expertly moved around, grabbing ingredients here and there. A small sachet of flour, a few tomatoes, sprigs of herbs, and a handful of other aromatics like garlic and onion. With those in hand, she calmly walked back to the stove. Atticus followed behind her like a lost puppy, still holding onto the potatoes he had picked.

"Wash," she instructed, pointing at the pile of dirty dishes that were the result of Atticus’s cooking catastrophe.

Atticus dutifully obeyed, immediately grabbing the pots and pans before running them under water. As he scrubbed at them, Daphne worked on the potatoes. She cleaned and peeled them, tossing them into a pot (that Atticus had just scrubbed clean) of boiling water with a bit of salt.

Once she was done, she moved on to the tomatoes, cooking them with some lard, onions, and basil leaves.

Unlike the putrid smell that had flooded the kitchen, an aroma quickly wafted around in its place. Atticus watched in awe, his movements stopping as he observed the way Daphne expertly moved around in the kitchen. His hands remained soaked under the water, holding onto the dirty dishes while his eyes were glued to Daphne’s handiwork as if entranced.

Noticing that he had stopped washing, Daphne whipped her head around, frowning. "What did you stop for?" she barked out. "Clean up after your own mess."

"Yes, Your Highness," Atticus replied, returning to his duties. He snuck a couple of glances still, but whenever his gaze clashed with Daphne’s, he would immediately cower back to look at the dishes and suds in his hands.

Daphne, on the other hand, carefully strained the potatoes and mashed them, adding flour to create gnocchi. Her movements were practiced, familiar― after all, she had done this about a hundred times before. An unfavoured princess had to make her own comfort meals. She tossed the pasta into the boiling water to cook for a couple of minutes before adding it into the readied tomato sauce she had prepared.

In truth, Atticus wasn’t the only one that had his eyes straying from his task just to look at his partner. Daphne, too, had glanced over a couple of times. At first, it was out of curiosity why the almighty king of Vramid had been cooking and washing dishes with his bare hands when he could’ve easily used magic to do everything for him. Then, she realized.

His ring was missing.

The signature obsidian ring that Daphne had always seen on Atticus’s finger was now gone, leaving a faint imprint on his skin where it usually sat. That was why he had to do everything himself, though Daphne wasn’t sure what for.

She had tried to come up with a bunch of reasons. Maybe he was cleaning the piece of jewelry? Maybe he had lost it? But they were all excuses that she tossed to one side for she knew that they were weak ideas.

In the end, curiosity was what won out.

"Your ring," she suddenly said.

Atticus immediately raised his hand, looking at his hand.

"What about it?"

"Where is it?"

"Oh." Atticus turned his hand, looking at the empty finger that greeted him. It had been a while since he had been stripped of his power, left without the buzz of magic that constantly coursed through his veins. "I left it in my office."

"Why?" Daphne wrinkled her nose. She shaved a bit of cheese onto the cooked pasta, mixing it a little to prevent the bottom of the pan from burning. "Wouldn’t magic be useful? Why are you even in the kitchen? You have plenty of cooks and servants to help prepare food for you if you’re hungry."

"I am not cooking for me," was all Atticus said. He stuffed his hand back into the murky water, fishing yet another pan from inside.

"Then?"

"Sirona said that it would be a good idea to invite you to dinner," he muttered. If Daphne looked hard enough, she would’ve even spotted a tinge of red that coated the apples of his cheeks. "And since you didn’t seem too keen on having food prepared by the finest chefs of Vramid, I thought, why not whip you up a meal myself."

Daphne gave a deadpan expression. "You’re trying to poison me. I have to give you points for effort and creativity."

"No, I am not!" Atticus protested.

"And how would you explain that?" she said, pointing to the disgusting gray liquid that was the byproduct of Atticus trying to clean up the mess he had created. "I don’t suppose you actually think the food you’ve cooked is edible? I wouldn’t feed this to my worst enemy!"

It was true. Atticus knew that Daphne had every right. After all, she had just spent less than an hour in the kitchen and it now smelled absolutely heavenly in here. The fragrance of the tomato, herbs, and cheese had perfumed the kitchen and righted all the wrongs that Atticus had committed in a culinary sense. What was more, she had made it look so simple!

"I... had hopes," Atticus said, rubbing the back of his neck with his soapy hand. Daphne winced at the lack of hygiene. "The cooks left me instructions and said it was the easiest dish to make. It should have been doable."

Daphne gave him an incredulous look in response. "I guess I should be thankful that you left your ring in the office. I don’t fancy dying in an explosion."

"I would save you though, if it got that far," Atticus said honestly.

"Really? Or would you push me into the fire?"

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