Stolen by the Rebel King
Chapter 66: Wine & Sob Stories

Chapter 66: Wine & Sob Stories

Daphne’s words sent Atticus’s mood plummeting faster than any cooking disaster. The kitchen was now filled with the delicious aroma of simple home cooking, but the air was thick with tension as Daphne glared at Atticus with barely concealed venom.

The blunt butter knife she was holding looked like a lethal weapon in her hands. Atticus gulped and slowly took a step back, hoping not to anger her further. This dinner date hadn’t even started, but it was off to a terrible start.

Perhaps he should have taken Sirona’s advice and got the chefs to make something instead. At least like this, Daphne wouldn’t be allowed in the kitchen, where she had access to a multitude of knives and other sharp objects.

"I wouldn’t do that," Atticus tried to explain himself. "You’re important to me. Can we start over? Like we did for this meal?"

"What is this ’we’?" Daphne raised a disparaging eyebrow as she slapped the knife on the counter with a resounding thud. "I’m the one putting in the work here after you ruined things. And now you’re slacking off from the one task you have!"

Then she scoffed to herself. Wasn’t it the truth?

Atticus winced; the double-meaning in her words was blatant enough. But he wouldn’t be a king if he avoided the first sign of conflict or difficulty.

He had endured worse things than a cold shoulder from an angry wife. He just had to power through this.

"Yes, you are incredible in the kitchen," Atticus admitted it easily, hoping that flattery would work. "I’m sure you put all other royals to shame. Where did you pick up this skill?"

However, Daphne treated him as though he had not spoken, choosing to focus on portioning out the food into two servings, decorating one with some parsley and additional cheese while sloppily slapping the other one onto the plate like it was grub for the pigs.

"This is my share?" Atticus commented in surprise. He took a look at the portion she had prepared for herself. "Do I not get cheese and parsley?"

He hurriedly wiped his hands free from the suds before drying them with a towel. With Daphne’s anger, he expected her to eat everything herself to spite him.

Daphne’s response was a wintry glare, but she didn’t chuck the second serving into the bin or at his face. Atticus considered that great progress and smiled winningly at her.

"Hmph." She grumbled under her breath, "Give an inch, take a mile."

Daphne shot him one last disparaging glare, picking up her own plate and some clean utensils before stomping out of the kitchen. Atticus scurried after her, grabbing his own food as he trailed after her footsteps like an eager puppy.

"I’m eating in my room, since I’ve been imprisoned there after all," Daphne said blandly. "Your Majesty should eat elsewhere."

"Let’s eat together. Please, just give me one chance," Atticus pleaded, grabbing her elbow to stop her.

"One meal," Daphne said with grim finality. Atticus nodded and led her to the dining hall he had specifically prepared for this meal.

At first, Atticus took a seat at his usual spot right at the head of the table. Daphne, however, had chosen the one furthest away― the seat right at the opposite end. This brought a frown to Atticus’s face. He grabbed his plate, shifting to the seat on Daphne’s left side. His action earned a glare from her but nothing more.

He considered that a victory, but that notion was immediately shot down when Daphne opened her mouth to speak.

"Whatever you’re doing, it’s not going to work. You can’t buy my forgiveness with just one meal, especially one that you failed to even cook properly."

Even with the romantic candlelight, the wine, and the great food, the horrible company made the meal uncomfortable. Needless to say, Daphne had still not forgiven Atticus.

Not for pretending to be poisoned, not for antagonizing Eugene, and most certainly not for the way he had spoken to her and treated her as though she was garbage. He had many things to apologize for, and Daphne wasn’t sure if he even knew that.

"In case you’ve forgotten," Daphne said, stabbing the piece of gnocchi with a lot more force than what was needed, "I am supposed to be your prisoner. Why did you want to invite me to dinner?"

"I..." Atticus pursed his lips. "I―"

"And just because I cooked you dinner, it doesn’t mean that we’re automatically good friends again. It just means I felt pity for you and your pathetic attempt at dinner," Daphne continued ruthlessly, poking holes in Atticus’s self-esteem.

"Besides, since when have prisoners ever cooked for their captors? Or are the rules different in Vramid?"

Atticus had only caught one word. "Again?" he asked, the ghost of a smirk tilting his lips. But before he could manage a full blown smile, Daphne quickly interrupted, stamping on his joy.

"Are you that surprised?" She snarked. Was he treating this dinner as a frivolous joke, like he expected Daphne would forgive him after a few well-placed quips?

"We weren’t bosom buddies, but I had foolishly hoped we had become good enough friends that would treat each other with courtesy and respect." Daphne emphasized the last bit, staring furiously at her plate. She shoved another mouthful of food inside her and chewed angrily.

The dining hall fell silent, save for the sound of cutlery.

With Atticus being silent, the fury behind Daphne’s attitude slowly turned from a heated boil to a slow simmer. Daphne looked down at her plate, her fork playing with the last bits of food. The tomato sauce left streaks of red across the white crockery, all too similar to lines of blood.

Friends.

Had she considered Atticus her friend?

Deep down, she knew she did. After all, why else had she been so hurt when he had marked a clear line and placed distance between their relationship. Why else was she so hurt when he treated her like a mere afterthought, a burden, an idiot?

A knife always hurts more when it comes from the back.

She didn’t know enough people to consider as friends growing up, but she was sure that wasn’t how friends treated each other. Atticus had made the first move to befriend her when no one in her home kingdom did, and then he lied to her, tossed her aside, yet got angry when she made her own friends.

Eugene certainly didn’t deserve his ire.

"For what it’s worth, Daphne, I am sorry." Atticus’s voice pulled her attention back to the table. She looked at him, meeting his gaze, surprised by his words.

"Sorry doesn’t cut it," she said, forcefully biting down on her food. "You can’t just stamp a ’sorry’ on your mistakes and expect the other party to forgive and forget."

"I know," Atticus murmured. "I am just... I apologize for what I said the other day in your quarters. I was honestly just terrified."

Daphne scoffed. "Think of a better lie next time."

"I’m serious!" Atticus protested, his eyes wide. "Believe me, I had never felt this fear in my life!"

"Whatever for?" Daphne asked. "What could you, the feared, ruthless king of the North, be so scared of? I thought you were fearless."

"I was." Atticus nodded. "But not anymore. It’s because of you, Daphne."

"Me?" Daphne laughed. "Please, there’s no need to flatter me like this."

"I am not afraid of your abilities," Atticus clarified. "While your feats of magic are indeed incredible, you’re less than a novice with your lack of control. Deep down, you’re not dangerous at all."

The sound of the chair’s legs dragging across the floor screeched through the hall. A muscle twitched in Daphne’s jaw. "If you’re planning to insult me for the rest of the evening, I think I’ll just return to my quarters."

"Wait!" Atticus reached out in panic, grasping Daphne’s wrist. "I’m not done yet."

She didn’t say anything in response but the pointed stare was enough permission in Atticus’s opinion.

He continued to say, "I am afraid of losing you. I don’t know how you do it."

"I, too, would be utterly devastated if I had lost my prisoner," Daphne jabbed back emotionlessly. "After so painstakingly kidnapping her while she was on her way to her wedding day."

"It’s more than that." Atticus frowned. "Daphne, I care about you."

"Hard to believe." She snorted. "With all of your actions lately, it’s really making me believe quite the opposite."

"How should I prove it, then?" Atticus asked, his gaze firm and filled with resolve. "What can I do to make it right to you?"

"See, that’s the thing," Daphne said, pulling herself up to her full height. "This is something you should know. It’s your mistake. You know why I am angry with you. I’ve said it many times and I bet Jonah and Healer Sirona also mentioned as much since they are your friends. You just don’t listen."

Atticus stared back at her with widened eyes.