Stolen by the Rebel King
Chapter 174: Happy Wife

Chapter 174: Happy Wife

Daphne asked sweetly, but Atticus noticed the undercurrent of anger. His eyes widened.

"Sunshine, of course I don’t mean you, I know you―" Atticus took a quick look at the surroundings for eavesdroppers before whispering, "―are a very powerful prodigy."

But Daphne didn’t seem to be appeased. In fact, she seemed to look even frostier as she took a step back. Her gaze tightened into slits as she folded her arms across her chest, eyebrows knitted together in a steely scowl.

"You’re nothing like him!" Atticus tried to reassure her, trying to hold her in his arms, but she shrugged him away, shaking her head in disappointment.

"No, Atticus, I am just like him. I am weak. Someone who tries to live in a world that doesn’t favor people like us," Daphne said, drawing herself up to her full height as she stared down her arrogant husband.

As someone who was powerless for most of her life, unable to channel the slightest bit of fire, it was impossible not to empathize with Prince Nathaniel’s circumstances. How dare Atticus make light of his struggles and mock him for wanting better!

If Daphne had known about the herbs that could possibly boost her magical ability, she would have guzzled all of it down, no matter how bitter. If she had known about the right crystals, she would have gladly thrown herself on them, no matter how hard they cut her skin.

Anything to avoid being called useless.

"You do not understand," Daphne said, closing her eyes as she sighed heavily. "You’re revered as the fearsome king, a magical prodigy that even most royals could only dream of becoming a fraction of. Meanwhile, I..."

She paused, her voice sounding more and more strangled as the words went by. Atticus thought he saw her fight back a tear. Daphne sounded like she was on the verge of crying, only, she refused to bend.

"Nevermind. At least now I know what you would have thought of me, if I never bloomed. And if we ever have weak, powerless children, I’ll know what you think of them too."

She turned around and walked away, leaving Atticus staring shell-shocked at her retreating back.

"You just can’t help it, can you?" Sirona scoffed, huffing loudly. A stray strand of hair that had been blocking her face flew into the air, returning back to its place. "One time. I pray, just keep your damn mouth shut one time!"

"You know that’s not what I meant," Atticus said with a frown, exasperated. "Since when have I cared for her powers and how strong her abilities are?"

"Yes, because all you care about is the fact that she is a Reawethen princess," Sirona pointed out. When met with Atticus’s stunned expression, she continued, "No, I have not forgotten the reasons why you chose to marry her in the first place, despite her known betrothal to the crown prince."

"It’s not that," Atticus said, his voice a little soft, defeated. "I am the one that has forgotten."

His head hung low, silence engulfing them both for a moment.

"I should go and clarify," Atticus finally said.

"Don’t leave fights for the next morning," Sirona replied. "I am not willing to move my sheets back and forth again."

The healer gave her king’s shoulder a couple of heavy pats, her form of showing encouragement.

"Don’t make her wait too long."

Atticus heeded the advice as soon as it was told, quickly tottering over to their shared bedroom after giving Sirona a firm nod. He stared at the doorknob as he stood outside, praying that Daphne was in there, considering how he couldn’t catch any sounds coming from the other side of the door.

"Daphne?" Atticus called out unsurely. When answered with a disgruntled grumble, he fist-pumped in his heart. At least she was still willing to respond to him. "Can I come in?"

A pause. Then, another grunt that sounded unwillingly accepting. That was enough of an answer for him to push the door open.

Daphne stood by the window, her fingers fidgeting with a long strand of beads. Upon closer inspection, it seemed more like the bracelet that Prince Nathaniel had gifted her. The seeds of the Temporal Elderwood Tree glistened under the light of the sun. They were, after all, seeds of an otherworldly plant with magic imbued in them.

When Daphne found herself encased in warmth, enveloped by the familiar scent that was always lingering on her husband, she straightened up to her full height. She hadn’t expected his embrace and while a part of her was still annoyed with Atticus’s words, she understood that this was his way of an apology.

True enough, his verbal apology came soon after, his voice a mere whisper but loud enough to cause goosebumps to rise all over her skin with how close his lips were to her ear.

"I am sorry, Daphne," he said. "I misspoke. I shouldn’t have said that. You were right, it is indeed very arrogant of me."

Daphne remained silent. Her fingers wrapped around the bracelet, hiding it from view as she stared straight out of the window. She could see their reflection on the glass of the window― Atticus had his face nearly buried into the crook of her neck, his lips tickling her skin whenever he spoke. Even his breaths sent little butterflies up and down her spine, coiling around her stomach.

He looked so much like a child that was begging to be forgiven. But forgiveness was something to be earned, not freely given. Even kings would have to learn that life lesson and if no one was willing to teach Atticus that, Daphne would just have to!

"I think it’s unfortunate for royalty to not be able to wield magic," he clarified after he was met with her silence. "After all, the world has seen so many generations of magic users from royal families ever since magic was first discovered in Reaweth. To have grown up without the use of it would be a public execution in social terms."

"What happened to it being pathetic?" Daphne scoffed.