Stolen by the Rebel King
Chapter 80: Déjà Vu

Chapter 80: Déjà Vu

Atticus looked doubtful.

Daphne hadn’t seen so much expression on his face ever since Eugene Attonson’s escape. Ever since then, it seemed like the only thing she had ever witnessed him wear as an expression was either anger, irritation, or bloodlust.

"Are you sure?" he asked. "If you’re uncomfortable with it, you don’t have to force yourself."

Daphne’s heart sank. What did he mean by that? Did Atticus not want to share a bed with her after all? Was he really that disgusted with her that even sleeping ― innocently, at that ― side by side was revolting to him, so much so that he couldn’t even stand doing so for just one night?

All of a sudden, her chest felt like it was constricted by a thousand iron chains. It weighed her down so much that she found it difficult to even breathe. The back of her eyes felt hot and her breath felt haggard.

The feeling of rejection was suffocating. To think she had been putting Atticus through this the entire time.

Just as Daphne had opened her mouth to speak, a bolt of lightning struck down from the heavens outside. Thunder crackled soon after, the sound reverberating through the air. Daphne instinctively jumped, a squeak escaping her lips as she jumped forward― and straight into Atticus’s arms.

"What, are you scared of a little thunder?" he asked. Even with her eyes squeezed shut and her face practically shoved into Atticus’s broad chest, Daphne could hear a ghost of a smirk from his tone.

"I’m not scared," Daphne denied, her eyes still closed. Her fingers gripped Atticus’s shirt a little harder when another boom of thunder echoed through the room, the flash of light created by the lightning illuminating their figures for a split second before disappearing. "I am just not terribly fond of thunder, that’s all."

Just like Daphne had guessed, Atticus was indeed holding back his laughter. When he finally couldn’t keep it in any longer, his chest rumbled, the tinkling melody of his chuckles taking over the cacophony created by the thunder.

Warm arms wrapped themselves around Daphne, holding her tighter into his embrace. So befuddled by fear, she could barely register what was happening. She merely wormed deeper into his hold, seeking out the warmth and comfort brought by his hug. Slowly and gently, she could feel Atticus patting her back in his own way of calming her down.

"There’s nothing to be afraid of."

"Dislike."

"There’s nothing to dislike," he corrected. "I’m here. I’ll protect you."

Daphne didn’t reply to his words. She knew that it might just be another empty promise so that she could calm down. Yet, a nagging voice at the back of her mind reminded her of the times Atticus had rushed to her aid time and time again. First on their wedding night, when she had been kidnapped, and then with the thornhounds earlier in the day.

He had always protected her.

"Let’s get you into the bath," he said. "We’ll get some sleep after you’re all cleaned up."

Nodding numbly, Daphne allowed herself to be carried into the bathroom. When she was placed back onto the floor, her eyes quickly found the wooden, poor excuse of a tub that sat right in the center of the room. It was big, probably enough to even fit two people. But there was a problem.

There was already water inside, warm enough for one bath, definitely not for the second. Daphne wasn’t even sure if they could still get warm water for a second bath at this hour.

"You go first," Daphne said. "The water will be cold by the time I am done."

"I am covered in blood," Atticus replied. Truthfully, the stains were mostly on his clothing, but even so, it was minimal. Most of what was on his skin had already been cleaned off in the carriage. "The water will be too dirty by the time it’s your turn if I go first. I’ll wait for you outside. I am used to bathing in cold water."

That brought a frown to Daphne’s face. Atticus was a king, after all. There was no way that could be true. Even if he didn’t mind it, he definitely wouldn’t prefer it.

A thought popped into her mind and she quickly blushed, looking down at her feet.

"Actually, the tub is big enough for the both of us." Daphne suggested, "We could always... bathe together."

Silence came thereafter. Daphne wanted to knock her head against a stone wall and immediately cease breathing.

How could she have suggested such a shameful thing? Atticus was probably still angry at her! Just a little bit of kindness from him just now shouldn’t warrant such an intimate request. They might be husband and wife but that was entirely just a namesake.

Slowly, she mustered her courage and looked up from the ground, her gaze searching for Atticus’s face. When she finally met his eyes, she realized that he was staring right at her, his lips slightly parted and his golden irises dark and tinted with an emotion unknown to Daphne.

He didn’t seem angered by her suggestion, per se, but Daphne didn’t know what to make of it.

"Never mind," she said, shaking her head. "Forget I even asked."

"No, wait," Atticus finally piped up, blinking rapidly. "You can’t take that offer back."

Now it was Daphne’s turn to be flabbergasted.

"What I mean is," he clarified, "are you sure about this? You didn’t seem too happy about sharing a bath last time in the castle. That bath was way bigger too, compared to this―"

The look Atticus gave that tub could only be described as a sneer.

"―sorry excuse for a bath."

"It’s just to save time!" Daphne’s cheeks were quickly reddening. Every second this conversation dragged on was another second she badly wanted to jump off the nearest cliff and never see the light of day again. "If you were to catch a cold, who is going to protect us?"

"Didn’t you say that Jonah can protect us?" Atticus retorted, folding his arms across his chest.

"That’s... That’s different."

"How’s it different? We are both capable of magic. Jonah is as capable of protecting you as I am." Atticus raised a brow.

Daphne felt as though she had just been hit by déjà vu.

"It’s different because..." She bit her lip in hesitance. Then, she said, "It’s different because you are my husband, and I am your wife."

This time, she boldly met his gaze, her blue eyes clashing with Atticus’s golden ones.

"And I seem to recall someone saying this― I am yours, as you are mine."

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