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1.03% Stolen by the Rebel King / Chapter 6: The Truth Behind Rumors

Chapter 6: The Truth Behind Rumors

The intruders rushed toward King Atticus, intending to overwhelm him with their attacks. But Atticus merely stretched his neck languidly, like a panther preparing to strike.

"Look out!" Daphne screamed in warning, but it was too late.

Those intruders didn't know what her new husband was truly capable of, despite getting a tiny hint of his powers. With a tiny flex of his finger, Atticus had flung the same man whose ribs he crushed, straight into the chandelier hanging over their bed. The curved golden spikes stabbed straight through his body, as though he was a pig trussed up for slaughter.

The intruder gurgled, desperately trying to cry for help, but he only succeeded in coughing out blood. More blood flowed out of his wounds, sullying the bedsheets.

"Not how I expected blood to be shed this wedding night," Atticus said disapprovingly, glaring at the bloodstains as though they personally offended him. "Now the servants have to change the bedsheets."

Daphne shuddered at the sight, but her new husband wasn't done with causing enough carnage. The other two men made more desperate attempts to kill her husband, causing her to trip as she tried to keep out of the way.

These intruders clearly didn't care if they trampled on her in their attempts to kill the king!

While her fiance must have sent out this team of rescuers, they certainly didn't have her well-being as a priority! In fact, Daphne had the strangest feeling that she was merely an afterthought, the men were focused on killing Atticus, and not so much on rescuing her.

She had to rescue herself. Daphne plastered herself to the side of the wall, eyeing the drop from the window.

No, that wouldn't do. It was a long way down and she couldn't fly. If she focused, she could see a limp body lying prone on the ground, with his neck lying awkwardly to the side. She had no intention of joining him.

Daphne hurriedly turned back, only to see Atticus stepping on their heads with his foot, their faces frozen into a wordless scream.

"Now… where should I put you both?" he asked casually, not expecting a reply. "It's regretful that I only have one chandelier."

"Underneath my bed? No, no, too dirty. My dust bunnies don't deserve this," Atticus mused to himself. "The mantlepiece? How about the vanity table? I suppose if I lop off one of your heads I could mount it over… Wife, which head do you want to stare at while you do your hair?"

"Atticus!" Daphne screamed. "I don't want any heads! Let them go."

"Fair enough." Atticus shrugged, and flicked his fingers.

There were two identical cracks as both necks snapped at once.

Daphne gasped, horrified. This man, her husband, had just killed two men with a flick of his finger, as though he was snuffing out candles.

"I told you to let them go!" Daphne cried out.

"Yes, I let them go to receive divine judgment from the heavens," Atticus said blithely.

"You know that's not what I meant," Daphne seethed.

"Then you should have been more clear," Atticus said, his eyes blazing. "And I see no reason why you should care for these intruders."

"They were my rescuers!" she screamed. The hopelessness of the situation was sinking in; her last hope of rescue was gone, twisted away with a simple flick of his fingers.

"Sunshine, you cannot be this foolish," Atticus said, looking strangely disappointed. "How can this paltry team be a rescue party fit for a princess? I am offended on your behalf."

"Maybe this was all my fiance could manage in such a short time!" Daphne retorted. "It's not as though you gave him a lot of warning!"

"Are you listening to yourself? Crown Prince Nathaniel, of the prosperous Raxuvia Kingdom, can only afford to send a team of five to retrieve his fiancee? If you were my fiancee, I would have ridden out myself, rather than entrust such an important task to these pathetic assassins. Does he even care about you?" Atticus demanded, his eyes blazing with indignation.

"Assassins? How do you know?" Daphne chose to focus on that part. She didn't want to think about the heart-fluttering thought of Atticus riding out to rescue her from trouble. He was her trouble. She was in this state because of him!

Atticus easily pulled off one of the dead man's masks. He tilted his head, so that Daphne could see a tiny black mark at the back of his ear. It was in the shape of a serpent.

Her heart chilled.

Why was her fiance acquainted with them?

"You see this mark? This shows that he belongs to the Order of the Serpents. Surely you must have heard of them."

Daphne nodded, stunned into silence. While it was not customary for princesses to know about assassination guilds, Daphne had hoped that these people, living on the outskirts of the law, would know how to deal with her… inability.

As such, members of her family had once approached this and other similar guilds in hopes that someone from the black market would have a method to help her harness magic like she should've been able to at birth.

They hadn't.

And thus the royal family decided that this princess was no longer useful to keep around.

"Then," Atticus continued, "you should understand that they are most certainly not good people your 'lovely' fiance had sent to rescue you."

He walked around the bodies, easily evading the corpses without even having to look down. When he approached Daphne, the latter instinctively stepped back. The singular step was enough to send a throbbing pain up her foot, the sensation trailing up her leg like a bolt of lightning.

Instantly, Daphne hissed. She had forgotten about the cut herself.

"You've got a cut on your foot from the glass," Atticus commented, his nose wrinkling. "These men obviously didn't have your well-being in mind."

When Daphne tried to move again, Atticus clicked his tongue in impatience.

"Stop squirming. You'll only hurt yourself further."

Gently, Atticus reached for Daphne's foot. He picked at the piece of glass that was wedged in between her flesh, one hand holding her leg. His touch was feather-light and warm, a jarringly stark contrast to the violent monster that had torn apart four men just now.

"This will hurt."


Prequel Available!

Check out the prequel: The Hidden King's Stolen Wife

Chapter 7: Monsters Can Be Kind

Without further warning, Atticus pulled the wedged glass out of Daphne's foot.

A scream tore through her throat. The pain of it was just as bad as when it had cut into her flesh. Now that it was so abruptly pulled out, the wound scorched.

But, surprisingly, as quickly as the pain came, it was gone. What was once painful was soon replaced by a cooling sensation. Daphne heaved, her chest rising and dropping rapidly as she looked down at Atticus, who was squatting just beneath her.

A king like himself, someone high and mighty, was bent over at her feet. He gently held her with one hand while the other hovered over her skin. She could feel a slight tingle where her wound was. It felt like frost was kissing her skin when his hand moved over.

Within seconds, Daphne watched as her skin stitched itself back bit by bit. It was only then had she realized that Atticus was using his magic on her― the very same magic he had used to kill those four men was now used to heal her.

Just like that, her foot was back to normal. There was no scar, no pain, no wound. Just a slight tint of redness from the leftover blood to remind her that what had happened was not just a frightening nightmare.

"Is there any leftover discomfort?" Atticus asked, drawing her attention.

Daphne snapped out of her reverie, blinking rapidly. Her throat was dry as her gaze met Atticus's. He was still on one knee, his hand holding her ankle as he looked up at her like a devoted follower in praise of his goddess.

"N-No," Daphne finally managed to force out. "I'm good."

The king nodded before rising to his full height once more. As soon as he stood up, he scooped Daphne up in his arms. She yelped a little in surprise, her arms quickly coming to hook around his neck as she tried to balance herself. Daphne could feel Atticus shake slightly in laughter.

"Let's get you somewhere safe," he said. When she looked away from the ground so as to meet his gaze, Daphne was met with mirth dancing in his eyes. "This isn't a room for a new bride. Especially when you're mine."

His broad steps quickly helped them cross the room. Daphne couldn't bring herself to look at the fallen men. She knew ― or had guessed ― when they had walked past them. The entire time, she had her eyes squeezed shut. Yet, even though she refused to open her eyes, she knew that the image of their broken necks and mangled bodies had already seared itself into her mind.

Without a doubt, she would be haunted by nightmares for many nights to come.

"Your Majesty, are you alright?" A man suddenly appeared with a couple of guards behind him. He was dressed a little differently, prompting Daphne to assume that he wasn't merely part of the knights, but maybe someone a little higher up the ladder.

"And of course, you couldn't have shown up fifteen minutes earlier when you would've actually been useful." Atticus snorted, rolling his eyes. "Clean up my room. Some idiots tried to plan an ambush."

"Did you…"

"Unlike someone," Atticus pointedly said with a glare, "I can actually get the job done quickly and efficiently. Go be useful, Jonah, and get someone to tidy up the room. I don't want the blood to stain my carpets."

"Seriously?" The man, Jonah, sighed. He rubbed the back of his head with a hand.

"Those were imported," Atticus said primly. "If you dawdle, I'll make you scrub them clean."

"How terrible," Jonah drawled out, seemingly unbothered by Atticus's words. "Princess Daphne, please convince your husband to be less of a tyrant. Scrubbing carpets isn't in my skill set."

Daphne raised her eyebrows in surprise. This man didn't seem to fear King Atticus at all! She took a closer look at him.

It was undeniable. Jonah was quite handsome, with humor visible in his eyes.

Daphne assessed him, giving the man a quick scan. Messy golden hair, forest green eyes, and a smile that reminded Daphne of a golden retriever.

The way he easily sidled up to the tyrant king of the North, however, was more than enough proof of his strength. Just because he looked harmless did not mean that he was indeed so. After all, no fragile do-gooder could so easily befriend the monsters parents would tell their children of.

He shot her a dimpled smile, as though encouraging her to join in a private joke. Bubbly youthfulness practically radiated from the man.

If King Atticus embodied winter's harshness, this man was the warmth of summer. She found herself relaxing the more she looked at him.

Then she remembered she was still in King Atticus' arms, and hurriedly gestured for Atticus to put her down. It was embarrassing to greet someone new when she was tucked in his arms like a baby.

"I can walk," Daphne declared, before turning to the stranger. "I'm Princess Daphne Molinero, of Reaweth. May I have the honor of your name?"

"The honor is mine." The man bowed, lips quirked into a smile. "I'm Jonah Raycott, leader of the Kingsguard. And an old friend of your new husband. Do look after him for me, he gets cranky easily. Sulky too, like a baby."

"Some guard you are." Atticus scowled. "And I do not get 'cranky' or 'sulky' easily. You liar."

The fact that his new bride seemed to warm up to Jonah in mere minutes irritated him. It had always been like this when they were children― Atticus, blithely offending people with his words and actions while Jonah soothed rankled feathers and hurt feelings.

"Do you want me to tell your new wife about all your idiotic moments?" Jonah threatened. "Because that's what will happen if you make me scrub even one carpet."

"Blackmailing the king counts as treason. I'll throw you into the dungeons."

"Then you'll be in the dungeons too, listening to my report for tonight," Jonah replied easily. "What will your new wife think? Her husband, spending a night in a cold, dingy cell, with only another man for company."

Daphne snorted in amusement. Atticus caught the brief twitch of her lips and sulked even further.

"Just leave, you moron." Atticus was a king, so he didn't ― couldn't ― whine, but there was a certain petulance in his tone as though he was a disgruntled child.

It was an emotion so ordinary that Daphne had to blink in surprise. All this time, Atticus had behaved like an intelligent, deadly monster, but at this very moment, he was merely a man teased by his best friend.

A funny feeling rose in Daphne's heart.

Said best friend gave him a two-fingered salute and then gave Daphne a deep bow. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Princess Daphne. Have a good rest. I'll leave him in your tender hands."

And then they were alone.


Prequel Available!

Check out the prequel: The Hidden King's Stolen Wife

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