Poisoned Wine for a Poisonous Tongue

"Greetings to the king," Eugene immediately greeted, bowing.

Atticus barely inclined his head in response. He was behaving like a badly behaved guard.

"Took you long enough." Daphne hissed under her breath. Her nose wrinkled in displeasure; she could smell the stench of other women on him. For some reason that upset her immensely.

How dare he come back smelling like a perfume bottle?

"Oh, you were waiting for me?" Atticus asked hopefully.

Daphne responded by discreetly trodding on his toes, feeling vindictive pleasure in the way he tried not to wince.

"I'm sorry, sunshine. I had to make sure to pick the most suitable wine for you," Atticus said, looking appropriately repentant. He grabbed the glass from Daphne's hand and replaced it with his own.

Daphne wanted to warn him about the drink, but maybe he already knew. Atticus was many things, but he wasn't an idiot. If he was one, her escape plan would have worked the first time.

Speaking of idiots, Daphne also wasn't fooled by his acting, but at least she wasn't cornered by Eugene.

Atticus then shot Eugene a look so derisive, as though he was muck found at the bottom of his shoe.

"I'm a jealous man, Lord Attonson. I don't appreciate anyone getting drinks for my wife."

"Jealousy is a vice, King Atticus," Eugene replied easily, but Daphne saw how his eyes darted from Atticus' face, to the ring on his finger. Obsidian had never glinted so ominously.

"Then let the gods judge me as they deem fit," Atticus said wryly, and before Daphne could react, he downed the entire glass of wine.

"Atticus! Don't do it! Spit it out!" Daphne shrieked in horror, and the entire ballroom fell into stunned silence as they turned to stare at them.

The new queen was making a fuss, and the man next to her had such a muddied reputation it made convicted felons look like saints. Did Lord Eugene already offend Vramid's royal couple? Or was the new queen already losing her mind?

Regardless, it was a scandal waiting to happen. The crowd watched with bated breath.

"What?" Atticus said, blinking innocently as Daphne tried not to hyperventilate. "Sunshine, you have your own drink. I just gave it to you. Drink up, you're looking quite red."

Eugene chuckled darkly. "Your Highness, your wife thinks I've poisoned you. I must say, this does hurt a man's feelings."

Daphne spluttered frantically. "You―"

Atticus laughed, as if highly amused. "Would you rather she hurt your feelings, or for me to hurt you?"

Eugene laughed warily with a light bow. "I'll accept whatever decision you deem worthy."

"Wise man," Atticus said cheerily, but the hard glint in his eyes didn't vanish. "Stop monopolizing my wife with your inane conversation and scram."

Anger briefly flashed through Eugene's eyes as he was ordered to leave, as though he was a mere servant. Daphne internally shuddered at the look. She wouldn't put it past him to take revenge at a later date.

However Eugene Attonson said nothing. He merely gave one last reluctant bow before stalking off, presumably to harass other young ladies.

Daphne breathed a sigh of relief at his retreating back, watching Atticus from the corner of her eyes.

"That was rude of you. Are you not worried he'll see revenge for this slight?"

"He'll have to get in line. I have so many enemies that'll fight him for the honor of decapitating me," Atticus said matter-of-factly, before turning to give Daphne a careful once-over. "Did he say or do anything to you?"

Then returned that careless smirk.

"If he did, nothing will stop me from throwing him into the dungeons," he promised.

Daphne gave him an incredulous look. "I'm not the one that drank the wine he offered! It could have been spiked! Or poisoned!"

Her new husband, instead of being appalled or worried at her accusation, beamed even brighter. Daphne had to wonder if he had been dropped on the head as a baby.

"You were worried about me? How sweet, sunshine. I'm glad to know you care so much about my well-being."

"I do not care about you," Daphne retorted defensively. "I'm just shocked that my new husband has so little self-preservation that he would drink poisoned wine. Perhaps if the heavens are kind, I'll be a widow by next week."

"Yet again, you demonstrate your lack of faith in me. I would be hurt, if I didn't find it incredibly charming."

Daphne snorted in disbelief. "So charming that you took an astonishingly long time to get a single glass of wine? You didn't even get me a single crumpet or scone to go along with it."

Atticus shot her a teasing grin, a hand idly stroking the small of her back. "So you were watching me. Were you jealous that this handsome husband of yours has women swarming all over him like bees to honey?"

Daphne spluttered, her face red. Jealous? Only in his wildest dreams. To spare herself the indignity of a reply, she all but drank her wine like it was water.

"Sunshine, have I driven you to alcoholism?" Atticus asked, watching her with mild alarm.

"Be thankful you haven't driven me to murder," Daphne replied primly, 'accidentally' stomping on his foot.

He winced, but then that disturbingly happy grin refused to leave his face. It made plenty of women titter behind their hands, snatching covetous glances at him and disdainful looks at Daphne.

King Atticus had always been a handsome man, but when he smiled, he was breath-taking. It was such a shame that he had to be saddled with such a talentless princess! Such were the thoughts the women had, even among those who were already married.

"I hate her, I hate her so much!" From the corner of the room came a bitter whisper.

It was Lady Veronica, the youngest daughter of Earl Yarrowood. She had been beside herself with glee to be invited to the ball, yet that woman caused her to make a negative impression in front of King Atticus!

It wasn't like she was lying. Princess Daphne of Reaweth couldn't do magic. What right did she have to act pitiful in front of the King and insult them afterwards?

"She doesn't deserve him! Look at her― she still dares to stomp on his foot!" Veronica scowled, stomping her own foot in anger.

"So ill-bred. Was she raised in a barn?" Her bosom friend, Lady Penelope, daughter of Baron Huntington, added in agreement. They watched as King Atticus led the Reaweth princess in yet another series of dances, and nearly went blind with jealousy. "Look at how she doesn't even smile when he's paying her so much attention. Who does she think she is?"

"Then why don't you teach her a lesson?"