Stolen by the Rebel King

Chapter 4: Wedding Night

"C-Consummate?!" Daphne all but squeaked, her voice cracking in disbelief as she echoed the word she just heard― the only word she heard.

"Is that so hard to digest, my beloved wife?" Atticus questioned, the corner of his lips raised in a slight curl. "Isn't that something that every average, ordinary couple would do?"

He leaned forward, bending down slightly so that they could meet eye to eye. Daphne leaned back as far as she could. If she hadn't, their lips would've met again.

A small part of Daphne wasn't too against it. After all, King Atticus was remarkably handsome―

'No!' Daphne squeezed her eyes shut. 'Snap out of it!" she chided herself internally.

The man was indeed handsome, she would give him that. But he was also rude, annoying, and a persistently disrespectful, pigeon-livered―

"Why is your face so red, my darling?" Atticus continued to ask, wearing a lazy grin as he watched her sulk. "Surely you wouldn't abhor the idea as much as you seem to show?"

"In case you don't remember, Your Majesty, I was not and am not a willing participant of this marriage. " Daphne smiled with all her teeth. "And besides, no one would classify you as average and ordinary."

King Atticus smiled. "So you do think I'm extraordinary. What high praise, it almost makes my heart flutter."

Before she could slap him for his impudent comment, he continued.

"The whole hall heard you say your vows, sunshine." Atticus dared to reach forward, playing with a lock of her hair in his hand, twirling it around his finger. "You are now my queen whether you like it or not. And ultimately, you will still be by my side whether you like it or not."

"Your Majesty!" A guard suddenly appeared, saluting the king.

"Speak."

"The room has been prepared as per your instructions."

Before Daphne could react, Atticus scooped her up in his arms bridal-style, an arm under her knees and another supporting her back. She was swiftly lifted into the air and hulled out of the hall, a collective gasp ringing throughout the hall as the crowd watched their king and new queen practically disappear in a cloud of dust.

"Put me down!" She protested, but of course she was ignored.

They went past a few different corridors which all looked the same to Daphne. And when they finally came to the last door at the end of the hallway, Atticus unceremoniously kicked it open, causing her to panic. That door was made out of heavy wood, and it was dented by one mere kick. If he used his strength on her in bed, her bones would shatter immediately. She immediately squirmed, trying to escape.

He tightened his arms around her as he strode into the room. "Don't worry. I won't hurt you."

She had half-expected him to be rough. Yet, Atticus gently laid her down on the silky sheets before reaching for her shoes. Carefully, he helped her to remove them without another word, placing them against the wall and out of the way.

"What are you doing?" Daphne asked, wrinkling her nose in suspicion. "Why are you suddenly so… so…"

Gentle.

That was what she wanted to say. Yet, the word was caught in her throat.

"Hmm?" he hummed, looking up. In the dim light, Atticus's eyes reminded Daphne of a wild animal― wild and ravenous.

"Can I not help my lovely wife get comfortable in our own bed?" Atticus asked.

He reached up, loosening his own clothing. One by one, each piece of fabric fell from his body until all that was left was a loose white top with a very low collar. Daphne's eyes dropped down, betraying her by stealing a glance at his broad, firm chest.

She caught a slight glimpse of his sculpted figure, tantalizingly hidden only by a piece of sheer white fabric. But before she could see more, a finger was propped under her chin, lifting gently so that now her gaze met the king's.

"Eyes are up here, sunshine." He chuckled.

Atticus leaned forward, sending Daphne quickly scrambling back in a futile attempt to create distance between them. However, her back soon came into contact with the head of the bed frame, rudely reminding her that she now had nowhere else to run.

So instead of running, Daphne looked for a weapon. Her eyes flitted back and forth around her immediate vicinity until they landed on the bronze candelabra that was placed right next to the bed. She reached for it and gripped it tightly in her hold, poised and ready to strike.

"Is that necessary?" the king asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't exactly fancy the idea of fornicating with a man I am not in love with."

"Most married couples aren't in love, especially kings and queens," Atticus dryly replied. "And, correction, we are husband and wife. We should 'fornicate' intensely and frequently, for the good of our people."

"Frequently?! You must be daft. I see― you just want children. Well, since I'm your wife, I'll let you adopt all the children you want for your lineage! There's no need for consummation." She wielded the candelabra in front of her protectively, her knuckles turning white.

At her words, he chuckled darkly. "My my, are you so sheltered to believe that children are the only reasons for consummation?"

"Why else would anyone have bedroom relations?" Daphne demanded, her cheeks red hot.

She knew. Of course she did. There were more than a hundred whispers from the maids whenever they thought that no one else was within listening range. It was just that Daphne had never dared dream of it.

Could anyone even imagine? She was a princess! These vulgar gossip should've never made it to her ears. However, God made women curious creatures.

"And ― if it were for children ― what if I wanted children born from true royal blood?" Atticus hummed, his voice almost sing-song.

Daphne gulped, wishing away the bitter taste in her mouth as she prepared for what she was about to say next.

"Then take concubines, lovers, if you must."

"And you would allow that, my queen?" Atticus teased. "If I were to spend the night with another woman in bed," he moved forward, "tumbling in the sheets," another inch closer, "our breaths hot and heavy…"

Daphne took in a sharp breath when Atticus edged in nearer. Their faces were barely inches apart now. She was so close that his gaze was all that she could see, and as like before, she was entranced.

Just a bit. A bit more and their lips would've touched. But as much as her mind fought against the thought, her body couldn't seem to obey.

"Tell me, my sunshine," Atticus continued, "would you truly be okay with seeing your husband with someone else intimately?"