Stolen by the Rebel King

Chapter 12: No Longer Royal

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. VIsit n0(v)eLb(i)n.𝘤𝑜𝓂 for the best novel reading experience

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?"