"An apology?!" Alistair echoed in disbelief.
He bellowed in laughter, clutching his stomach and wiping imaginary tears out of his eyes until he realized that Atticus was very much serious about his words. He then scoffed, raising an eyebrow.
"Pray tell, King Atticus, why should I do such a thing?"
Atticus merely calmly walked over to where Daphne stood.
Just like Drusilla had pointed out, his wife was in the center of it all. Her dress was nowhere near pristine, having experienced the brunt of everything. She had several chunks of food all over her skirts, staining the material in all sorts of colors. Her hair was also in a mess with strands sticking out of place.
The rest of the women had all pointed their fingers and thrown their insults at Daphne and yet, they failed to realize that she wasn't someone that had managed to emerge from the scene unscathed. Daphne, too, was a victim.
