Stolen by the Rebel King
Chapter 78: Familiar Face

Chapter 78: Familiar Face

Atticus was absolutely dumbfounded. "What for?"

"To protect us, of course!" Daphne reasoned. "Besides, it will be much easier for me to tend to his wounds when he’s in the same carriage. We can’t just leave him like this. He’s your best friend."

"To protect us?" Atticus echoed in disbelief. He frantically gestured to Jonah’s multiple injuries then back at his own very unharmed body. "Are you that blind that you can’t even tell who is the one that is currently injured and who saved the rest of us without even breaking a sweat?"

"No need for personal attacks," Jonah grumbled under his breath. He turned to Daphne and said, "It might be better for me to ride behind. That way, we might be able to lure potential perpetrators out from hiding if they saw that the carriage was with minimal guards protecting it."

More importantly, he didn’t fancy being stuck in the carriage with this married couple that had communication issues. He wasn’t a masochist; if he had to sit through their arguments he might as well impale himself with his own sword to spare himself the misery.

"Well, I for one feel safer with you around," Daphne declared.

Under the wide-eyed stares of everyone within the vicinity, Daphne grabbed Jonah’s hand, practically manhandling him into the carriage behind her. She left no room for argument, swiftly tugging Jonah with her as she disappeared through the doors of the carriage, leaving Atticus standing there in his original spot, his jaw agape.

Truthfully, Daphne didn’t think that Jonah would be that much of help when it came to her overall safety against monsters during their journey. After all, it was an undeniable fact that Atticus was the best in the field. His feared reputation as a bloodthirsty warlord hadn’t been granted to him for nothing.

However, she was very clear that Jonah might just be the only person ― other than Sirona, who wasn’t present at the moment ― who could protect her from Atticus.

How hilarious. It was none other than her own husband that made her feel the most fear.

She wasn’t lying. It wasn’t the first time she had seen Atticus murder-happy, tearing apart limb from limb and flesh from bone. But, it didn’t make it any less scary each time she witnessed him going on a killing rampage. It didn’t matter whether his target was man or beast.

The look in Atticus’s eyes was frightening.

So, as much as she respected his power, she was also terrified of it.

"You are going to get the both of us in a lot of trouble, Your Highness," Jonah grumbled under his breath when Daphne pulled him to sit down beside her. "And by ’us’, I mean me. I am going to be in deep shit because of you."

"Oh, you can definitely handle him," Daphne said, waving the matter off. "You have taken care of all his little tantrums over the years, anyway. What’s one more?"

Jonah gave an awkward chuckle as he died a little inside.

How was he going to explain to Daphne that this was a different case? And that his best friend ― someone that he treated as a brother ― was going to kill him like he did the thornhounds because Atticus would not be too happy about the existence of a love rival? After all, that was the true reason why the king hated Eugene Attonson so much.

On top of his possible treason, of course. But Jonah would bet his unbroken arm that Atticus cared more about him being a love rival than any murder plot Attonson was involved in.

Atticus joined them in the carriage soon after. Surely enough, just as Jonah had guessed, his face was as black as coal, his expression thunderous. Jonah had never seen the golden glint in his eyes so terrifying before, not even on the battlefield when they were slicing through men like they were butter.

Jonah visibly gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. He had never been very religious but if there was such a thing as a god, Jonah prayed they would save him.

"Move."

One word from Atticus and Jonah quickly jumped up and away. He plopped down on the seat opposite Daphne, leaving the space open for Atticus to take over. The latter calmly sat down, his face stoic and impassive. Yet, only Jonah knew the amount of glee that Atticus must be feeling right now.

Daphne, on the other hand, looked just about as pale as a sheet.

"We’ll be―" Jonah coughed, clearing his throat when his voice came out like a squeak. "We’ll be arriving at Frostholm first," he said. "Of course, it will be a little later than what we planned because of the thornhound attack. We might not be able to get enough rooms at the local inn."

The carriage started to move again, gently rocking back and forth as they proceeded on their journey.

"Frostholm is a quiet town," Atticus replied, leaning back in his seat. He crossed his leg, placing his hands behind his head in a relaxed manner. "It wouldn’t be too difficult to find somewhere to stay the night."

"We’ll have to set up camp if we can’t," Jonah said. "It’s too dangerous to proceed, since the guards posted in the Everfrost Woods have reported signs of monster activity as of late."

"Set up camp?" Atticus frowned. He cast a surreptitious look at his fragile little wife, who was still not looking at him. "No. We’ll find an inn. If not, I’ll purchase a house. I need a summer home, anyway."

"A summer home?" Jonah deadpanned. "In Vramid? Really?"

Atticus said nothing, simply smiling in satisfaction.

The rest of the journey proceeded smoothly. There were no new surprise monster attacks, no more scary turns and dips, just plain even roads with the occasional pebble that the carriage wheel would run over.

As the sun began its descent, hues of gold and crimson spilled across the sky, casting a warm glow over the tranquil countryside as they left the familiar roads of the capital city. The rolling hills embraced the fading light, their silhouettes dancing in the evening’s embrace. The fading warmth of the day painted a portrait of serenity, as the vibrant colors gradually softened into a tapestry of pastels.

A gentle breeze rustled through the fields, carrying with it a whisper of tranquility. As night fell, so did the snow. Nature seemed to exhale, releasing the day’s worries and embracing the peaceful embrace of twilight, as the sun dipped below the horizon, bidding farewell until the morrow.

They arrived at Frostholm well into the night. The roads were barely lit with oil lamps, providing a scarce amount of light. It was barely enough for Daphne to see far out the window.

Her eyelids felt heavy, weighed down by the exhaustion of traveling for an entire day. With the consistent rhythm of the horse’s hooves hitting the cobblestones, Daphne was almost lulled to sleep when she caught sight of a familiar figure hidden by the night.

She immediately jolted upright, her fingers tightly gripping the edges of the window as her face pressed against the glass in an attempt to get a better look.

There she was again. Just for a brief second, Daphne saw a familiar tuft of fawn brown hair, shortly styled to the girl’s shoulder.

"Maisie?"

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