Stolen by the Rebel King
Chapter 244: Woman Scorned I

Chapter 244: Woman Scorned I

Fragmented pieces of Daphne’s memory began to flicker like long-lost stars in the night sky. At first, it was like trying to grasp smoke; elusive, fleeting, and just beyond reach. Then, in the depths of her mind, the memories grew bolder, taking on form and substance.

A distant laughter, a sun-drenched meadow, and the echo of whispered promises danced before her mind’s eye.

The floodgates of recollection opened wider and moments of her past surged forth like rushing water. However, it was not enough for Daphne to piece together a proper image. She recalled seeing a youth in her memories — someone that looked oddly like Nereus — but before she could properly examine his face, her head felt like it was blasted right through with a bomb.

"Ugh..." Daphne grunted, cradling her head in her hands as she sank to her knees. "My head..."

"Do not force yourself to recall it if you are unable to," Nereus said. His voice sounded oddly near and when Daphne cracked open an eyelid to look, he had knelt down right beside her.

Nereus had placed a hand on her shoulder, his fingers glowing where it touched her skin. A cooling sensation surged forth from her touch and it seemed to follow the path of her veins all the way to her head. It eased her headache by a great deal and Daphne felt like she could finally breathe properly again.

"What is happening to me?" Daphne asked, panting heavily. She felt as though she had just run laps around the palace’s perimeter. Her lungs were burning and her knees felt weak. If she attempted to stand, she knew she would no doubt fall back to the ground in an instant.

"You have forgotten," Nereus plainly said. Then, his expression melted from concern to unbridled rage. In some ways, it reminded Daphne of how Atticus looked when he was angry― cold, calm, deadly. He said, "They made you forget."

"Who made me forget?" Daphne asked. "I didn’t forget anything."

For all she knew, there weren’t any suspicious gaps in her memory. Everything was just as they were supposed to be. Her childhood had been plain and boring. Before everyone had given up hope on her abilities, she had spent a lot of her time training and playing in these very gardens by the lake.

After she was deemed useless, the tutors spent their efforts teaching her new brothers and sisters instead. Daphne was left in her room to rot.

Even if she did forget something, it wouldn’t have been anything of importance.

Right?

"It doesn’t matter. You will remember. Soon." Nereus sounded awfully sure of himself.

A rustle of leaves caught both of their attention. While Daphne thought it might’ve been the wildlife, Nereus seemed a little more cautious. He examined their surroundings, his eyes narrowing as he stared hard, his gaze fixated in a particular direction.

"Is there anything wrong?" Daphne asked, looking over. She, however, caught sight of nothing out of the ordinary.

Nereus said nothing. Not even a word of goodbye. He simply stood up and quickly dashed off, his steps hurried. In no time, he had disappeared between the shrubbery, the forestation quickly camouflaging him. Just like the moment after he had passed Daphne some flowers for the floats, there wasn’t a single trace to mark that Nereus was ever there.

Daphne was left there, sitting at the same spot where she had collapsed. Thankfully, her headache had subsided with Nereus’s help.

Ignoring the pins and needles that had crawled up the length of her legs, she forced herself back onto her feet. The moment she did, she heard the sound of a twig snapping behind her.

For a second, Daphne thought that Nereus had returned, but the direction where the sound was coming from was all wrong. In that fraction of a second, Daphne pursed her lips and adjusted her expression, whirling around to meet the newcomer face-to-face.

"Welcome back to Reaweth, Daphne," the woman said. She wore a pleasant smile on her face but Daphne knew that she was feeling anything but pleasant.

"Hello, Hazelle," Daphne greeted. "It’s been a long time."

So much for all the glory of being the crown princess of Reaweth. Alistair’s wife, Hazelle Molinero, lived worse than a rat in the sewers. She was always hiding and running, finding places she could lock herself away from the gossipy crowds whenever her husband was caught frolicking with another woman.

Every wife would hate the thought of one day becoming like Princess Hazelle. Even though she was the future queen of this land, not a lot of people respected her. More of them pitied her instead.

Daphne was all too familiar with the tales and stories of her brother’s rather colorful love life. It was always someone new every few weeks, sometimes even days. And after every time, her sister-in-law would chase down the unfortunate other woman and wreak havoc in her life.

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

Hazelle was the perfect embodiment of that. No wonder Nereus ran that quickly. Even a kelpie had heard of this tigress’s ferocious reputation.

"Were you with someone just now?" Hazelle asked, peering over Daphne’s shoulder. "I think I saw someone."

"It was just a servant." The lie easily slipped from her lips, natural as ever.

"No, it is not," Hazelle said. "I would know if it’s a servant. Alistair and I are in charge of overseeing the staff of the palace. I would know if it was a young man with strikingly white hair." Her eyes glinted with unspoken words. "It’s not a common color to have, after all."

"Either way, it is none of your business, is it?" Daphne retorted. "Now if you would excuse me, there is somewhere I need to be." She took a step closer to Hazelle, speaking right by her ear. "My husband will be worried if I am gone for too long."

Even from the corner of her eyes, Daphne could see the way Hazelle stiffened. Everything and anything related to romance was a sore spot for this future queen, considering how torn and tattered her marriage was. Beforehand, there was nothing Daphne had to counter Hazelle whenever the latter threw vindictive remarks her way.

Now, there was everything. Daphne could easily prick and prod at all of Hazelle’s wounds just by being happy with Atticus. It was akin to kicking Hazelle right in her face with a scalding hot shoe made of steel.

Daphne was about to happily walk away, victorious, when Hazelle’s hand suddenly grasped her arm and held her in place. When touched, Daphne’s grip on the book tightened, worried that it might be the reason why Hazelle had stopped her. Yet, what the woman said next was even more worrisome.

"Right, your husband, the king of Vramid," Hazelle mused. "Who knows how long he might remain as your husband?"