Cotton was surprisingly a much better material to wear than Daphne had guessed. Call her pampered but she was, after all, raised as a princess. There was never a need for her to wear anything less than the finest fabrics the kingdom had to offer.
Yet, dressed in a simple white bell-sleeved blouse and a pale brown skirt, Daphne felt much more comfortable than she would in those stuffy corsets and embroidered gowns. At least she felt like she could breathe properly for once.
When Maisie had shown up with the clothes, an idea popped up in Daphne's head. Or rather, just one word.
Escape.
It was stupid, yes, she could've guessed. However, if Atticus had been so kind as to use magic to treat her foot injury instead of letting her heal on her own, Daphne deduced that she must be somewhat of value to him.
She just wasn't sure how valuable she was. Plenty high, though, she assumed.
That would mean that if ― or rather, when ― her escape plan failed and she was once again captured, at least Atticus wouldn't have her head. There was no use patching up a small tear just to rip the entire fabric the next day.
Of course, sweet darling Maisie hadn't guessed what was running through Daphne's mind when she had helped her change into the clothes. Daphne had bid her farewell, promising to return soon after, claiming that she was on her way to look for the king.
Bless Maisie; she hadn't asked to follow along. She had simply let the princess run off on her own.
The chain of events eventually led Daphne to where she was now. Completely, utterly, foolishly lost in the castle. She had not a single clue where she was, how she got there, and how to leave. And given the fact that she was supposed to be a prisoner, she didn't dare ask for directions either, lest the castle staff recognized her.
"I can almost swear the gate is supposed to be around here somewhere," she murmured under her breath.
She was in an open courtyard. Again. Daphne could've sworn she had just been in an area similar to this. It wasn't possible for a castle to have that many courtyards, was it? Surely the entire castle was enchanted. She wouldn't put it past Atticus to do such a thing as punishment for servants that don't pay attention.
"Need some help, sunshine?" a voice asked from above her. "You've been walking in circles for the last hour."
Daphne's blood chilled, her feet rooting to the ground when she heard that familiar teasing voice. Her eyelid twitched in annoyance, her head slowly pivoting to face where the noise came from.
Surely enough, lo and behold, there sat Atticus right at the windowsill two levels above her, one leg dangling outside while the other was raised, his arm resting on his knee. As ever, Atticus wore a cocky smile that Daphne wanted nothing more than to scratch off his lips.
He was dressed casually― a loose white linen blouse and some dark-colored pants with matching boots. The lace of his blouse was left untied, revealing his broad, muscular chest.
Damn him. Damn him and his God-blessed looks. If only he had the personality to match.
With Daphne stunned, silly, and speechless, Atticus chuckled.
"Perhaps you would like some help?" Atticus asked.
He then leaped off where he sat, slowly descending until his boots made contact with the stone pavement with barely a sound. Up close, right before he reached ground level, Daphne could see wisps of indigo surrounding him, a tell-tale sign of his magic at work.
"Show off," she grumbled under her breath.
If Atticus had heard her, he didn't show. Instead, he said, "I'm not going to lie. It was awfully entertaining to watch you run about like a mouse in a maze. But it's also getting slightly infuriating that you still can't find the exit even though the corridors are empty of guards to catch you."
Daphne could feel a vein throbbing underneath the skin of her forehead.
"I almost had it," she said through gritted teeth.
Atticus grinned, his dimples showing. "Darling, you have such a terrible sense of direction that I am starting to think that I am not even sure you can escape from my kingdom even if I pointed the path to you and gave you a map."
'Breathe,' Daphne reminded herself. 'Dear Lord in heaven, would you please smite him for me or would I have to do it myself?'
Outwardly, she merely forced out a smile. "Why, if you would be so kind, I would be happy to prove you wrong?"
The king chuckled, his laughter bouncing off the walls that surrounded them.
"No can do, sunshine," he said. "However, if you're keen on leaving the castle but returning after night falls, I would be happy to show you around town."
"You mean…" Daphne's eyes widened. "You would let me go to the fair?"
"I would escort you while you visit the fair," Atticus corrected her firmly. Not only did his new wife have a bad sense of direction, but the report Jonah gave last night also highlighted the possible threats. He wasn't taking any chances.
"Oh," Daphne's face fell."I had hoped for more anonymity. How will I enjoy the festival with you around?"
Her brothers and sisters had always enjoyed fairs, and the more daring ones even went in disguise, claiming that it was the best way to get an authentic festival experience. Once one appeared as royalty, vendors would be cloyingly fawning while the townspeople would gawk and stare. It didn't seem much fun to her, to be scrutinized like a prized animal.
"Anonymity, you say?" Atticus raised an eyebrow, taking a closer look at her attire. "Like you pretending to be a palace maid to escape?"
Daphne spluttered.
"But I see your point," Atticus continued. "In that case, I'll make some changes to my wardrobe. Meet me in the main courtyard in half an hour. Keep your maid attire, if it pleases you."
With that final statement, Atticus turned and leaped back through the castle window, using the branches as leverage. That casual show of strength infuriated Daphne and made her nearly green with envy, but she told herself to remain calm.
She was going to the fair. Surely she would be able to find help there, especially if she revealed her identity to any Reaweth trader!
Now… where was the main courtyard again?
Check out the prequel: The Hidden King's Stolen Wife
It was absolutely infuriating.
Daphne no longer knew if she was just mad at the man or if everything he did was truly against all that was right with the world. However, no matter what it was that Atticus did ― even breathe ― it sent Daphne's eyelid twitching and hands itching.
She had been led out of the inner courtyard that she had been walking rounds in and towards the back exit where the stables were. There, she waited for a few minutes with the quiet castle help until, eventually, her knight in shining armor arrived on a white horse.
Only, he wasn't really a knight nor dressed like one.
Atticus didn't look very different from the way he was dressed previously, other than the new brown vest he had added on top of his linen shirt. His hair was tousled, still slightly damp from what Daphne assumed was a bath. The materials he had chosen for his clothing were much simpler too, closer to what actual peasants would wear. But despite the fact that he was stripped of all the glitz and glamor, he was still a sight for sore eyes.
'It's witchcraft,' Daphne thought to herself, unable to help but sneer as she watched him trotter over on the horse.
"Your disguise isn't realistic," she said out loud to him when he was near enough. "No peasant is this good-looking. It's unrealistic."
"So you admit." Atticus smiled coyly, stretching out one hand for her to take.
Daphne was about to grasp his hand when she heard his words, pausing. She cast him a curious look as his beam widened.
"You admit that I am good-looking?"
Immediately, Daphne scowled, swatting his hand away instead of holding it. To Atticus's and the nearby servants' surprise, she easily mounted the horse on her own without needing the help of anyone else. Sat snugly behind Atticus, Daphne huffed.
"Whatever floats your boat, Your Majesty," she said patronizingly.
"And how would you know what realistic peasants would look like?" Atticus continued, ignoring the death glares she shot him. "Have you been looking at many peasant men? I thought that the glass princess of Reaweth had never left the royal palace. Princess, do you have something to confess?"
If looks could kill, even the great king of Vramid would be six feet under with the way Daphne was shooting daggers at him.
"Let's. Go."
Atticus's laughter was melodious. He raised the reins of the horse, prepared to send it into a gallop. Right before, he cast a look over his shoulder to glance at the princess sulking behind him.
"You might want to hang on a little tighter, sunshine."
"I will be fine," Daphne replied, clutching onto the saddle instead. She knew what Atticus was implying and she didn't wish to give him that satisfaction.
"Don't say I didn't warn you." The words were sing-song. "Hyah!"
The second the horse shot off, Daphne lurched forward with a squeal, her arms immediately wrapping around Atticus's firm torso. She pressed her face tightly against his back, basically hanging on for her dear life. She had ridden horses before and she was pretty adept at it too. However, they had never gone at such speeds, especially when she wasn't the one behind the reins.
With the thundering of the hooves against the ground and the wind that whipped across her ears, Daphne barely heard Atticus's chuckle.
The servants that were left in the dust, on the other hand, all stared wide-eyed at their king― a man that they had never seen smile so genuinely before.
***
They reached the outskirts of the town in no time at all because Atticus rode horses like a madman. Daphne didn't want to cling to him, but she didn't want to end up as an ugly splat on the floor either.
"Never again," Daphne wheezed as he finally got the horse to stop at a nondescript stable.
"Alright there, sunshine?" Atticus asked, easily dismounting from the horse and tying its reins to the post. He smirked up at her and offered a hand to help her down. "You look pale."
"I'm. Fine." Daphne gritted out, pointedly ignoring his outstretched hand. But her attempts to get herself down without help were unsuccessful. The horse was taller than what she was used to, and her limbs were still wobbly. Atticus snorted, and simply plucked her off from the saddle and planted her in the snowbank, ignoring her outraged noises.
"If I waited for you to get down, spring would arrive. Come on, sunshine."
Before Daphne could respond, Atticus slid his fingers between hers. She froze, unused to the sensation. His hand was big, much more so than she had guessed from sight alone. And the warmth it radiated rivaled the chilly cold of winter. It was cozy to have her freezing fingers tucked in his hold, protected from the wind.
She didn't move, scared that if she did, the spell would be broken. Who knew that the mere touch of a hand could be such a comforting thing? Though, Atticus didn't notice how the princess had been rooted to her spot. He simply tugged her towards the village path, where they joined the couples and families on the way to the fair.
The colorful tents that Daphne spotted from the castle soon came into view. Daphne's nose twitched; the winter air was crisp and cold, but Daphne was focused on the fragrant aromas. A quick glance showed that there were vendors selling food and drink. Roasted potatoes drenched in gravy, grilled meat seasoned with spice, sugared candy on sticks…
Her mouth watered.
"Are you hungry?" Atticus asked. "You did spend one hour wandering around the maze like a concussed duck."
"No it's fine, I'm perfectly well, thank you," Daphne said primly, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of being right.
Her stomach growled, loud enough for both parties to hear. Daphne flushed in embarrassment.
"Guess your stomach is more honest than your mouth." Atticus whistled cheerfully. "I'll pick something for you to try."
"I'll get it myself!" Daphne declared. This was her first time at a fair, and she'd be damned if she let Atticus haul her around without her input.
"As you wish, wife" Atticus bowed gallantly, causing some onlookers to giggle at his theatrics. Women especially, tittered behind their hands.
"Who is he? A traveler?"
"I want to know which village he's from!"
"So handsome!"
"Ah… what a pity he's already married."
"It's always the good ones that are taken…"
Daphne rolled her eyes at the whispers while she went to the grilled meat stall. If these women wanted him, she'd hand him over without a second thought. Since he had gone to the trouble of kidnapping her, she would even wrap him up in a burlap sack as repayment.
Meanwhile, Atticus idly strolled behind his wife, his hands in his pockets as he whistled a jaunty tune. His little wife was hilarious when miffed.
"What would you like?"
"A… sweetened spiced ham, please. And a roasted smoked bun. And a slice of grilled pork!" Everything looked delicious, and Daphne wanted one of each.
"Sure! That'll be 50 coppers."
Daphne reached into her pockets and froze.
She forgot to bring any money with her. And it wasn't as though she had any money, being a prisoner.
"You can't pay?" The shopkeeper's face turned dark. "Then get out of the line!"
"Darling, why did you walk so fast?" Atticus exclaimed loudly, drawing everyone's attention. He jangled his coin purse in front of her tauntingly. It sounded heavy.
"Forgetting something?"
Check out the prequel: The Hidden King's Stolen Wife
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