"Cheers," King Calarian lifted a wine goblet, "King Atticus, I am mightily impressed at the speed at which you accomplished my request. You might rival my virility. One must wonder at the timing― it is nothing short of miraculous."
His words were nothing but congratulatory, yet Atticus would be a fool if he didn't detect the faint hint of disbelief in those calculating eyes. Atticus wasn't offended in the least; if it were him in King Calarian's position, he'd straight up accuse the other person of lying to get their hands on the iron meteorite.
After all, news of Daphne's pregnancy arrived the day after his ultimatum. The diagnosis was made by Sirona, a healer who was loyal to Atticus. It did not take a genius to connect the dots to form a damning picture.
