Stolen by the Rebel King
Chapter 203: Grievances

Chapter 203: Grievances

Atticus watched helplessly as Daphne said nothing more. She didn’t argue with him at all, which was incredibly uncharacteristic of her.

Atticus’s heart fell to his feet. Clearly, her problem was with him!

Daphne must be displeased with his inability to clear her name and put to rest all the nasty rumors flying around about her. He was the king of the citizens that were hurling abuse at her, yet he couldn’t do a damn thing to fix the issue.

Atticus couldn’t threaten his citizens to stop gossiping about Daphne; he had learned this lesson the hard way during the Crown Conquest. Back then, every attempt to stifle gossip only caused it to get worse.

The only way he could fix her reputation and clear her name was to arrest the creature responsible for such destruction.

That damn kelpie.

Once he caught the kelpie, he would blame the kelpie for enchanting Daphne, and then have it executed in the town square. That way, Daphne would be spared.

"I..." Atticus tried again. "I just wanted to make sure you were alright. Especially after Zephyr’s passing. I know you cared a lot about it."

Daphne blinked, finally looking into his eyes.

"What are you talking about? Zephyr is perfectly fine."

True enough, Atticus heard a familiar loud cry coming from under the bed. Zephyr hastily emerged, squawking loudly in indignation. It flapped its wings irritably, as though it understood Atticus’s words and wanted to look especially lively to dispel the rumors. Its beak, talons, and front plumage were stained red.

"Oh." Atticus’s tone was flat with disappointment. "It’s alive."

"You don’t have to sound so disappointed," Daphne noted. "Why did you think he was dead to begin with?"

"Maisie said there was a dead bird!" Atticus shot an accusing look at Maisie, who frantically shook her head.

"I didn’t! I mean I did― but I meant the chicken! Your Majesty, you ran so fast I couldn’t keep up," Maisie said apologetically.

"Isn’t this the chicken?" Atticus jabbed a finger at Zephyr. It was certainly fatter than a hen.

"...No... I mean... Your Highness..." Maisie said slowly, giving Daphne a pleading look, wordlessly begging her to explain to her husband.

"Someone left a dead chicken on my windowsill," Daphne said with a heavy sigh. Her fingers twisted in the side of the soft fabric of her silk nightgown as she recalled the gory sight.

"What?" Atticus stormed to the windowsill, only to see a broken window pane and a trail of blood. "Where’s the body?"

Zephyr gave a proud chirp and flew up to the bed, preening itself. Atticus stared at it in disbelief.

"You ate it? That’s practically your relative!" Atticus complained. "And that was evidence!"

He never thought he would live to see the day but Atticus swore he witnessed the baby griffin roll its eyes. It let out a disgruntled huff before burrowing itself into Daphne’s sheets; thankfully, the blood had dried up enough, and nothing transferred over to the fabric of her covers.

"There should still be a trail of dried blood outside the window," Daphne said. She cast a worried glance over in its general direction but made no move to go over to double-confirm for herself. "It leads into the bushes. Though, I suspect..."

She trailed off.

"Suspect what?" Atticus prompted.

"You’ve already seen the town, haven’t you?" Daphne murmured, her voice turning softer and softer. "I am sure the people of Vramid are less than happy that I am here as their queen after the entire scandal."

"So I’ve heard," Atticus affirmed, which only caused Daphne to recoil further into her own body.

She was nearly hunched over, none of the proud princess that Atticus had gotten so used to seeing. It seemed like after the Crowned Conquest, it had been one thing after another dealing blows to his precious wife.

"You don’t think it’s one of the townsfolk, do you?" Atticus asked.

His question caused Daphne to sharply look up. Her eyes widened, a collection of surprise and feelings of grievances surging to the surface, causing them to water uncontrollably. Good God, she had turned into a crybaby!

Daphne tried to blink her tears away but she could still hear the yells of outrage and words of scorn that her people had thrown her way just because of some carefully calculated verbal manipulation from Francessa Seibert. Her heart clenched painfully, wondering if Atticus believed in that wretched woman as well.

"It can’t be them," Atticus said, answering her doubts without Daphne having to even say a word of confirmation or denial. "The palace security is high― or at least, enough to keep some normal humans out. It is also warded with various sorts of magic. The average person will not be able to find the correct wing unless I allow them to. If it were them, the knights would’ve apprehended them before they even set foot on the grounds, much less bring a dead chicken corpse to your bedroom window."

"What if it was the palace staff?" Daphne blurted out. "They would’ve heard what happened at the Spring Parade as well. Statistically, there must be at least a handful of them that won’t be too happy with what they heard."

Atticus firmly shook his head. "Not enough to attempt regicide," he said. "But if you are worried, I will have some trusted members of staff conduct a thorough search."

He took a step closer, holding out his hands. Daphne was shivering violently despite the warming weather. It wasn’t as cold as it had been a few months ago and yet, she was quaking as though there was a blizzard outside.

"Daphne..."

Seeing how she didn’t avoid her touch, Atticus gently placed his hands on her arms. She looked up right as he pulled her into his embrace, placing one hand on the back of her head. His fingers gently combed through her silky long hair, repeating the action while her face was pressed against his broad chest. Daphne shut her eyes, feeling her tense body relax for the first time in a long while.

"I didn’t do it..." She sobbed into his shirt, her tears quickly wetting the fabric. "I just wanted to help."

"I know," he mumbled, attempting to soothe her.

"That vile woman... She purposely lied to get the crowd to follow her train of thought..." A wave of injustice surged through her chest. Daphne’s fear and upset gradually evolved into anger, the smug look on Francessa Seibert’s face tattooed into her memory.

Daphne pulled away from Atticus’s hold. This time, there was fire behind her eyes again despite the tears that pooled around the rims.

"I want her to pay."