8 Cracks in Walls

With Jonah gone, the hallway fell into uneasy silence. Daphne was once again alone with her captor, the monstrous King Atticus who took joy in tormenting her and forcing her to marry him.

The same King Atticus that saved her and healed her, who bantered and sulked like a schoolboy when teased by his oldest friend.

The thought was making her head hurt. How could a man be so different from one moment and then another?

"You're awfully silent," Atticus observed. "Are you alright?"

Daphne looked away from where she saw Jonah last. Her eyes met Atticus's, holding his gaze for a second or two before she blinked and looked away.

"Just a lot to think about," she muttered.

A lot indeed. The look he gave her whenever he thought she wasn't paying attention, the way he could joke and jest when around those of his inner circle, and also, the gentleness of his hands when he had healed her. Daphne hadn't forgotten the manic look in his eyes when she had first injured herself too.

"You shouldn't walk," Atticus said.

Again, Daphne was in his arms without warning. This time, she merely gasped. She wasn't as surprised as when he had done this the first time, but still, it wasn't something she had entirely expected.

"A little warning would be nice," she grumbled under her breath.

Beneath her touch, she could feel the vibrations from Atticus's laughter.

"Always have to have the last word, don't you, sunshine?"

"Only because you're such a prick."

"Not really something I would expect a princess to say," Atticus answered, chuckling. "But you're not wrong either."

Then, a glint of mischief lit up Atticus's eyes. He threw Daphne slightly up. It wasn't much, just so she hovered barely inches in the air before landing back in his arms again. But it brought about the intended effect.

A sharp yelp escaped Daphne's lips as she tightened her hold on him. Her arms wrapped securely around Atticus's neck, burrowing her face into the crook of his neck. From their close proximity, her warm breath tickled his bare skin.

"Who knew you could be such a darling when you're not gearing up to attack?" Atticus mused.

When Daphne realized she's been had, she immediately pulled back. Or at least, as much as she could while still in his arms. Her cheeks flushed hot for the hundredth time that night, indignation and embarrassment surging through her veins.

"Now now," Atticus sang, "don't get your knickers in a twist."

"I can't believe I―" Daphne stopped herself short. She pursed her lips, glaring hard at her new husband.

"Well?" Atticus raised an eyebrow. "Spit it out."

'I can't believe I ever thought well of you.' That was what had nearly slipped out. But there was no way she could say what she thought. Daphne would rather die than admit she thought well of this evil man.

"I feel like strangling you," she said instead. An ordinary man would have been horrified at her words, but Atticus merely chortled, throwing her up again. She shrieked, her arms immediately grabbing his shoulders for support.

"How kinky." Atticus laughed at the redness on Daphne's cheeks. Truly, she was too easy to tease. "We'll save that for the bedroom."

"Bedroom?" Daphne flushed. The intruders had merely postponed the inevitable. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt as she thought about the bedding, and what it would entail. Her body grew clammy with fear.

It did not escape Atticus's eyes.

"Well, now that Jonah is trying to salvage whatever's left of our bedchambers, I suppose you would have to make do with a guest room for the night," Atticus answered. "Don't worry, it'll be just as comfortable as the original bedchamber."

"...I'm sure," Daphne replied faintly. Even if she tried to strangle him, she had a feeling it would end up with her hands feeling more tired than his death.

With Atticus's heaven-blessed long legs, they crossed the expansive corridors of the castle within mere moments. Daphne had wished ― prayed ― that it would take longer than that to get to their new bedchambers. Every step Atticus took just made her heart drop further and further into the pits of her stomach.

They stopped in front of a door, plain and unassuming. But when Atticus had opened them with magic to reveal the room inside, Daphne bit the inside of her cheek.

It was definitely nothing quite as grand as Atticus's original chambers. Yet, their substitute bedroom was certainly still much grander than many other rooms even back home. With how night had already fallen, the flickering candles were all that illuminated the space. Ornate furniture decorated the room, along with a large floor-to-ceiling window that led to a balcony and, of course, a huge bed fit for a king.

The second they entered, the room closed shut behind them. A slight dark purple glow shimmered around the door frame, a sign once more that it was all Atticus's doing.

Daphne couldn't help but sulk a little at his display of magic. It was so easy for him, so effortless. Yet for her, whenever she used magic, she seemed like a fish flopping about on dry land.

Painfully, utterly, completely useless.

She had never cursed her own inability more than now. If she had some elemental ability, she could get away, but instead, she was helpless while Atticus gently laid her on her new bed. She gazed up at him, face red and her stomach queasy with fear.

Atticus leaned closer, and brushed her hair away from her face. Daphne held her breath as his eyes met hers, and then they drifted to her lips. Daphne flushed, the memory of their brief kiss floating unbidden in her mind.

She did not have anything to compare it to, but it was a nice kiss.

His eyes continued to roam down, to her breasts. Daphne's heart began to race, was he going to undress her? She heard whispers from the scullery maids about what men liked to do to women's breasts― surely someone as cruel as Atticus would have plans for every part of her body, in addition to getting her with child.

She squirmed underneath his gaze.

Atticus smirked, like he could sense her unease and was reveling in it. She paused, taking a deep breath. She would just lay on the bed like a dead fish. If Atticus liked making her react, she was determined to be as blank as the castle walls.

Atticus continued to stare at her as the candles continued to melt themselves to stubs. Eventually, Daphne caved.

"Just get it over with already," Daphne complained. Her fear had morphed into irritation at his inaction. She did not like feeling like a mouse squashed beneath the claws of a playful cat."Why are you wasting time?"

Atticus moved, faster than she expected, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. She breathed in deep, steeling herself. Perhaps Atticus would devour her lips and rip away her dress― but to her surprise, Atticus simply stood up and made his way to the door.

To say Daphne was confused was a massive understatement. "Where are you going? Are you leaving me alone?"

Her words bore an unspoken meaning. 'Are you not going to carry out what you claimed you would?'

"Why rush the inevitable?" Atticus turned his head enough so that Daphne could see the sly edge of his smile. "You'll be begging for it soon enough. Sweet dreams, sunshine."

Then he turned tail and left the room, leaving Daphne alone. Her cheeks flushed with anger as she realized she had once again been toyed by him.

'That infuriating man!'