Stolen by the Rebel King
Chapter 328: Precious Baby Sister

Chapter 328: Precious Baby Sister

Drusilla couldn’t even remember the last time she had to run like this. Perhaps it was back in Raxuvia when they had participated in the wretched hunt in a maze. If it was even further back, it would’ve been during a time in her forgotten childhood.

For as far as Drusilla could remember, she had lived her life in the palace. She vaguely remembered spending her days on the streets, living in poverty until her mother decided to pack them up and move to the palace. Even now, grown, Drusilla could remember the sheer delight and confusion she had felt when she was told to call the king her father.

Even as a child, Drusilla knew the power of wealth. Wherever the king was, that would be where wealth would be as well. If the king was her new father, it meant that she was now a princess. She no longer had to eat stale and moldy bread for her meals and the winters would no longer be cold.

As the king’s favorite daughter, Drusilla hardly had to exert herself when doing anything. She had servants to care for her every need and siblings who loved her― or at least if they didn’t, they surely did a damn good job at pretending they did.

Her only competition in life had been her older half-sister, Daphne.

How ironic.

Drusilla was now on the ground, having fallen face-first into the wet soil, her dress stained and her face dirtied by the muck and grime.

Or more accurately, it was Daphne’s face. Drusilla no longer had a face she could call her own.

She stared in anguish at the reflection in the puddle of water. Bright pale blue eyes, even paler blonde hair, and eyes that were mesmerizingly beautiful. Even Drusilla had to admit that Daphne was beautiful.

After all, Drusilla had resented that fact for many years, ever since the sisters had hit puberty and grown into their features.

"There you are."

The sudden voice caused Drusilla to spin around, her eyes widening with surprise. She hadn’t recognized the voice at first for it was barely even above a whisper. When she came face to face with the speaker, she nearly didn’t recognize his face either.

Alistair looked deranged, haggard, and worn. His hair, usually kept neat and tidy, was in a mess, tousled and charred at the ends. His clothes were drenched and parts of his skin looked like they were peeling apart and scabbing. More than a human, Alistair looked like a walking corpse.

"B-Brother Alistair," Drusilla said with a startled gasp.

She subconsciously backed away, scuttling back from where she was on the floor, not caring about the dirt that got dragged along her skirt. They had only been separated for a couple of hours at most and the prince looked as though he had aged decades. More specifically, it looked as though he had been rotting for decades already.

"You... You w-were looking for m-me?" she asked, stammering as she spoke.

Drusilla cautiously watched for Alistair’s reaction, resisting a shriek of horror from ripping through her throat when he dropped to his knees, bending down so that he could meet her eye to eye.

"Of course I would," Alistair replied, murmuring. "Why wouldn’t I look for my baby sister?"

Drusilla’s skin crawled. She had stopped being his ’baby sister’ when she had been caught tossing sheets with Duke Lanperouge. After that incident, Alistair had been clear enough― he wanted nothing more to do with this sister of his.

Yet, Drusilla knew that he might not even be talking about her. This ’baby sister’ he spoke of was referring to Drusilla’s current face― Daphne.

"Where is Daphne?" Drusilla mustered her courage to ask, her lips parted and eyes unblinking as she watched Alistair’s reaction closely. "The trap worked, didn’t it, Brother Alistair?"

"Would I still need you if it did?" Alistair asked, his eyes bloodshot.

Drusilla bit her lip. She knew it. The question was merely asked to test Alistair’s response.

After all, she had witnessed Daphne’s own return to the palace. That was the entire reason why she could even escape King Atticus’s grasp and escape into a forest. How could Alistair have succeeded in his plans if Daphne had reappeared?

"Then why do you still need me, Brother Alistair?" Drusilla asked, chuckling awkwardly. "King Atticus knew nearly immediately that I was a fake. I can’t seduce him. It’s impossible!"

She backed away even further, creating as much distance as she could between herself and her brother. However, it was for naught. Every inch she moved back, Alistair doubled it to close the gap.

Drusilla had wanted to get Atticus all for herself, but having experienced his anger firsthand, she now understood why Atticus had such a fearsome reputation before he married Daphne. Daphne, lucky as ever, had somehow managed to tame the beast that no one dared to even get close to.

Now, Drusilla no longer dreamed of becoming the queen of Vramid or Atticus’s wife.

She just wanted to live. Men weren’t worth risking her life for.

"I didn’t manage to capture Daphne," Alistair said. All of a sudden, he reached out and grabbed her hand, causing Drusilla to suck in a breath of cold air through her teeth. "You, however, still look just like her."

"Is there a way to change me back?" Drusilla asked hopefully. "Maybe the kelpie still has blood to spare? Or maybe Sister Hazelle―"

"Hazelle is useless," Alistair snapped, cutting her off. "She wouldn’t be of any use to me now. But you... You, my dear Drusilla... You’re a diamond in the rough."

Drusilla gulped, swallowing the bile in her throat. Somehow, she didn’t think that was as much of a praise as it would’ve been if Alistair had said it a few months ago.

"What do you expect me to do, Brother?!" Drusilla asked, exasperated. "I’ve already said that King Atticus saw through my disguise nearly instantly! He could tell apart his wife from a fake and I, unfortunately, am not the real deal―"

"Ah, but that’s only because they are married," Alistair said.

He used a rough finger to stroke Drusilla’s cheek, running down her smooth skin and along the contours of her face― Daphne’s face. Chunks of dirt and dried blood coated his skin, along with his chipped nails and ridges formed by the cuts he had sustained.

"I wonder," he said, "if a man that isn’t married to Daphne would be able to tell the difference."