Stolen by the Rebel King
Chapter 265: Dark Experiments II

Chapter 265: Dark Experiments II

"So it’s true, then?" Lottie asked. "What a shame. It seems rather unfair that Prince Alistair had worked so hard for his position, only for it to be ripped away because of something so trivial."

Silas couldn’t help but snort. He grabbed Lottie’s wrist, the ruby pendant on his neck glowing with warmth― so did his palm.

A sharp intake of breath parted Lottie’s lips. Her eyes widened as she instinctively tried to pull back, but her wrist was tightly locked in Silas’s hold. He hadn’t used much strength nor much power, only enough to frighten her.

"Why so alarmed, love?" he asked. "Losing a hand is a pretty trivial situation, is it not?"

"You misunderstand, Your Highness," Lottie said quickly. "That’s not what I meant."

"Oh, is that so?" he mused. "Then what is it you meant?"

"You’ve not been around recently, Prince Silas," Lottie said. "These days, there is a new patron around these parts. The word on the street claims that he can create miracles."

"So you’re trying to replace me now, Lottie?" Silas raised an eyebrow, only to be greeted with an appalled look on Lottie’s face as she pursed her lips, looking every inch the wronged innocent, despite Silas spending nights with her.

"Surely you jest, my prince. I would never replace you for some stranger, no matter how wealthy! Besides, rumors say that King Atticus is hunting for this man. We’ve seen his guard sniffing around the brothels recently, but he never stays the night."

"Oh?" Silas leaned further back against the bathtub and closed his eyes. For King Atticus to spare his bloodhound to hunt such a man, he must be valuable indeed.

"What miracles can he create?" Silas asked curiously. He let go of her hand and Lottie slowly withdrew it, careful not to make too jerky of a motion.

She rubbed her wrist subtly, allowing the warmth to fizz away in the water before scooping a handful down Silas’s back.

"Magic is nothing compared to his miracles," Lottie said.

Her hands ran up and down the expanse of his back, stroking his shoulders and down his arms before moving back up. Every movement was just half a second longer than it needed to be, her skin lingering against his just to increase the tension.

Silas had always wondered if Lottie was capable of magic. After all, her hands sure felt like they could work them.

"Pray tell," he muttered, closing his eyes again as he leaned back against her touch.

Now, it was Silas’s interest that had been piqued. A random new patron of the red-light district that was both wanted by King Atticus and could use magic? That was interesting news indeed.

Lottie began to massage his temples, rubbing circles into his skin to soothe the wrinkles and rub the stress away.

"He seems to be some noble from Vramid," Lottie said. "Exiled, I heard. He doesn’t frequent this specific brothel but you know that we women love to share the word. Some have said that this particular viscount was once handicapped and had managed to regrow his own limbs, curing himself of his impairment. Of course, I know it sounds fanciful. But all rumors have a grain of truth in them."

Silas’s eyebrows furrowed, accepting the wisdom of Lottie’s words. "What’s his name?"

"They called him Viscount Attonson," Lottie said. "Eugene Attonson."

***

"I have lost an arm, Hazelle, not my intelligence," Alistair’s voice wasn’t loud by any means but it still sent waves of fear into the poor woman who cowered in the corner of the room.

Hazelle held a hand to her cheek, holding the red and swollen skin tenderly. Even just a simple touch felt like it was scorching her face, yet she knew that her ’lovely’ husband hadn’t even used an ounce of magic in his hit.

He might have lost his dominant hand but as the crown prince, Alistair had trained for all his life to be superior in many ways. Not only was he the most proficient in magic when compared to the rest of his family, he was also a skilled swordsman. While his abilities might not be as perfect when using his left arm as compared to his right, he could still hold his own in battle.

Much less use it for petty acts of violence.

The crown princess didn’t dare to move an inch. She sat there in her little corner of the room as her husband paced back and forth, his left hand tugging at the strands of his hair.

Prince Alistair could claim that he still had his intelligence intact for all Hazelle cared. However, there was no denying one fact.

He had clearly already lost his mind.

"It was a suggestion," she said meekly. "Perhaps the doctors in Raxuvia might have a cure for you. Their crown prince is―"

"Prince Nathaniel would sooner attach a broken wing back onto a chicken than help me regain an arm," Alistair said with a hiss, cutting her off mid-sentence. "Don’t forget. That man was once Daphne’s betrothed and from our last trip to Raxuvia, it was obvious that the imbecile was never able to get over her."

Alistair’s eyes were bright with hate as he tore into Nathaniel with his words. "He is an obsessed, lovesick fool, hanging around for the smallest hint of her affections. Pathetic and spineless! He is constantly surrounded by beautiful women, but he only has eyes for my useless sister. If this is not a sign of idiocy, what is?"

’At least he is capable of loving a single woman,’ Hazelle thought to herself bitterly. If it weren’t for the prestige of becoming the future queen, she would never stay with this disgusting excuse of a man.

That, and her father would also behead her himself if she had returned home wanting to be separated from her husband.

"Father thinks that Daphne might be a better ruler than me!" Alistair began to laugh hysterically before bending down and grabbing Hazelle’s face with his good hand. "Can you believe it? Daphne! That weak little wench!"