Stolen by the Rebel King-Chapter 543: Déjà Vu

"That woman is the devil. An utterly conniving witch," Atticus muttered bitterly under his breath as he stomped all around the floor in the room that the conniving witch in question kindly offered to them. "Why do you like her?"

"The same reason why I like you, I guess," Daphne said dryly, rolling her eyes. "For your blunt demeanors and dashing good looks."

Atticus threw his hands up into the air, affronted by Daphne’s statement. "We have nothing in common!"

Daphne snorted. "If you say so, dear husband. If you say so," she said in a non-confrontational tone, but Atticus knew she was laughing at him on the inside.

After that lunch where Cordelia had thrown the metaphorical gauntlet at his face after pawing at Jonah’s chest like a depraved animal, Jonah had manfully made a tactical retreat for his bedroom to change his soiled uniform. Atticus wanted to follow after him, or start demanding for Cordelia to announce her intentions with his best friend, but Daphne had cheerfully cleared her throat and fed him more food until it was time for them to return to their rooms for a brief recess.

The second task would be announced in an hour, and in the meantime, Atticus was trying to think up ways and means to save Jonah from Cordelia’s conniving clutches.

"Cordelia is going to eat him alive," Atticus lamented. "Sunshine, are you not worried about him? He’s going to be cannibalized! No, I need to save him!"

Daphne was perfectly impervious to Atticus’s dramatics. There was a bigger problem that she had to solve.

"I know it’s hard to believe, but Jonah is an entirely willing party," Daphne replied as she flung open her wardrobe to peruse her selection of gowns. She had to change her outfit for later, as the weather was a lot more humid in Nedour than it was in Vramid.

She realized that her hair was frizzier a lot more easily, and the fabric of her gowns tended to cling to her body like a second skin, plastered by her sweat. Not even the sea breeze could completely dry it off.

Perhaps there was a reason why Nedour’s people tended to dress less conservatively. It wasn’t because they were so much more... liberated, it was merely a necessity that came with living here!

Daphne said a mental apology to Cordelia for judging her methods of dress before she knew her. Her own gowns were more conservative; even the ones suited for lighter wear would be hard to hold up in the humidity. It was hotter in Xahan, but the heat left just as quickly.

In Nedour, it seemed like the entire kingdom was sweating in the heat, even with the sea breeze. The moment Daphne left the sanctuary of her room — with the sea breeze — she felt a bit like a puff pastry sent to bake in the palace kitchens.

She did use magic once or twice to cool herself down, but frankly, it was all too troublesome to do it consistently. A better course of action would be to get a more suitable dress for the weather.

With that in mind, Daphne picked up a bright blue dress made out of chiffon. It included a lace corset, but at least it was made out of lightweight cloth instead of leather. Hopefully, it would be cool enough for her.

"He doesn’t know what he wants― that man once thought about being a worm so that he could eat dirt all day," Atticus grumbled as he recalled Jonah’s past nonsense, whirling around to make his wife see sense.

He wanted to complain more, but then he caught sight of Daphne’s exposed arms from above the screen as she stretched, flinging the dress over the screen, and felt his mouth run dry.

It had been an awfully long time since they were intimate since Atticus would never want to do anything that made her uncomfortable. Which meant that now he had to turn away and not think about his naked wife in the same room.

Technically, she would still have her undergarments on, but still. No matter how Atticus rationalized things, there was a tell-tale twitch in the lower half of his body, and he could only stare mournfully at his manhood for being so pathetic.

Perhaps a swim in the ocean would help, Atticus thought, before reminding himself to remain calm and collected. He was a tyrant to his enemies, but he would be nothing less than a gentleman to his wife.

Daphne, meanwhile, had no idea that her husband was contemplating an impromptu dip in the ocean. Instead, she was struggling with lacing the corset of her dress. All the magic in the world could not replace another person, nor could it fix this paltry inconvenience.

Daphne despaired to herself, gritting her teeth as her magic missed its mark, tugging on only one side of the string. She muttered a hasty curse under her breath.

"Atticus, can you help me with this?"

"With what?" Atticus asked, distracted from his thoughts. Surely she didn’t want him to...

"I need you to help me with my laces." Daphne’s head peered out from the side of the screen. "Magic is all well and good, but it turns out that I can’t use it when I can’t see what I’m doing."

"Oh," Atticus swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he did so.

He moved closer toward Daphne before holding onto the laces where she gestured to. This was a new form of torment. Yet, Atticus could not help the small smile that grew on his face as he recalled the first time he had done something similar for her.

"Sunshine, that sounds like a skill issue," Atticus commented playfully as he began to pull the strings, tugging at the laces.

"Oh shut it you," Daphne grumbled goodnaturedly in return as her waistline continued to shrink. "Not all of us are blessed with wicked magical abilities and the skills to use them from birth."

"All I hear is ’Thank you, Atticus, you’re my very talented husband and I’m happy to have you’," Atticus replied impishly, and Daphne rolled her eyes. "How’s this?"

"Perfect, thank you," Daphne said, turning back. Only when she had did Atticus realize how close they were standing to each other once again, the heat from his body warming her from within.

When their gazes met, Atticus could not help but get a sense of déjà vu. It felt just like before, that his feet had been nailed onto the floor and his heart had been whipped― it was racing like a horse running free.

"You’re welcome, sunshine," Atticus croaked out, his eyes darting to her lips for a brief moment. The ocean dip was looking more enticing by the minute.