Claimed By The Tyrant King

When the hour finally arrived, Rosalind stood before the mirror as the servants finished dressing her in the emerald gown.

Just as she had imagined, it enhanced her beauty without revealing too much, the rich fabric catching the light and glinting softly beneath the chandelier. The deep green seemed to bring warmth to her hazel eyes, making them glow.

She then fastened the diamond bracelets around her wrists and the matching earrings at her ears, while the pearl necklace rested delicately against her neck. Her makeup had been done so flawlessly that every feature seemed softened yet striking, and her hair was swept into an elegant updo with a few loose tendrils escaping to frame her face.

"You are ready, my lady," the head maid said, while the others bowed.

Rosalind took a moment to study herself once more in the mirror, and for a second even she could hardly recognise the woman staring back at her. She looked almost unreal, like some goddess dressed for worship.

"Thank you," she said softly, genuinely meaning it.

The head maid bowed once more before leading the others out of the room.

Just then, Verity appeared by the door, pausing as the maids filed past her in a single line before stepping inside. Her gaze landed on Rosalind, and a small smile curved at her lips.

"You look lovely," Verity said.

"You look beautiful too," Rosalind replied, her eyes taking in the blue dress Verity wore. Though it had a deeper neckline than her own, it hugged Verity’s figure perfectly, making her look effortlessly elegant and her hair fell behind her in soft waves.

The two women simply stood there looking at each other before they moved forward and embraced.

"I think green really suits you," Verity said as they pulled apart.

I thought so too, Rosalind mused inwardly.

Then Verity seemed to remember why she had come and gently took Rosalind’s hand.

"I know you must be nervous, but don’t be," she said reassuringly. "You’ve practised enough, and from what I saw yesterday, you learn quickly. You only need to do exactly what you’ve been doing."

Her voice softened. "You’ll be fine, Rosalind."

Rosalind drew in a slow breath. It was true that she had been nervous since the previous night, and the feeling had only worsened this morning, though she had done her best to hide it.

Yet hearing the reassurance from Verity eased something in her chest, and for the first time since waking, she felt a small sense of calm.

Verity really did feel like the elder sister she had never had. "Thank you," Rosalind said sincerely.

"Anytime," Verity replied with a smile. Then her expression shifted slightly. "We should go now, we’re running late."

Rosalind quickly reached for the white fur shawl she had set aside, meant to rest around her shoulders and neck. Once she had it in place, the two of them stepped out of the room.

As soon as Rosalind began walking, Rowan quietly fell into step behind her, keeping his usual distance.

They descended the stairs slowly, and as they reached the final step, both women paused in surprise.

Thalia was waiting there.

She was dressed in a soft pink gown that complemented her figure beautifully, her hair falling in waves down her back while one side was tucked neatly behind her ear and the other brushed across her cheek. In one hand, she held a delicate fan which she clutched lightly. "Do you mind if I join you?" she asked.

Rosalind and Verity exchanged a brief glance before shaking their heads, and the simple gesture seemed to brighten Thalia’s expression at once. Soon, the three women began making their way out of the ladies’ quarters together.

Meanwhile, Sabine and Claire had already gone ahead to the ball.

As they walked along the long corridor leading to the ballroom, the sound of music drifted toward them, soft at first and then clearer with every step. Nobles passed in elegant attire, moving gracefully toward the grand doors where names were being announced one after the other.

Rosalind felt her stomach tighten.

Something about the night made her uneasy.

She could not explain why, but there was a strange heaviness pressing against her chest, a quiet feeling that something somewhere was about to go wrong.

Still, she forced herself to breathe and tried to push the thought away.

And then, as though fate had chosen to mock her, a familiar voice called out from behind. "Rosalind."

She froze.

She could recognise that voice anywhere.

Her heart thudded sharply against her chest as she slowly turned around, only to find her father standing there.

Viscount Calder.

He approached with a broad smile on his lips, looking every bit the image of the perfect father. He offered a courteous bow to the other mistresses, and Verity and Thalia returned it politely.

Rosalind did not move. Her gaze had already hardened the moment she saw him.

"I’ll meet you both inside," she said to Verity and Thalia.

They nodded before continuing toward the hall, leaving Rosalind alone in the corridor with her father, while Rowan remained a short distance away, silent but observing.

Once they were alone, Calder turned to look at his daughter with a look of pure satisfaction and almost pride, his eyes twinkling as they moved over her appearance. "Just look at you," he said with a pleased smile on his lips. "You are being well taken care of. I can hardly believe I fathered such a goddess."

He reached forward as if to touch her hair, but Rosalind immediately took a step back, leaving his hand suspended awkwardly in the air. His expression tightened, and his eyes narrowed at her reaction.

Rosalind drew in a slow breath, forcing herself to remain calm even as anger and hurt twisted inside her. "How can you stand there and act as though nothing happened?"

Calder let out a faint breath, already seeming weary of where the conversation was heading. "Stop whining, Rosalind," he said dismissively. "It isn’t as though all of this is not for your own good."

"For my own good?" Rosalind shot back, her voice rising as her fists clenched at her sides. The people moving along the corridor could not help but glance in their direction before continuing on, murmuring quietly among themselves "This is for your benefit, not mine!"

"I wanted to send you a letter," she said bitterly, "begging you to come and get me because I was in danger. I thought you were drowning in debt, only to find out that none of it was true. You handed me over just like that." Her eyes burned as she stared at him and her voice cracked but she did not stop.

"Do you know how broken I was? And now you stand here and dare to tell me this is for my own good? Tell me, Father...who exactly benefiting from this?"

Calder’s jaw tightened as he stepped closer, his voice turning sharp. "You will still respect me, Rosalind. I am your father. You do not speak to me like this."

But whatever respect she had for him had died long ago...

"I’m not safe in this palace," Rosalind said, her voice lower now but laced with bitterness.

Calder’s expression barely shifted. All he saw was a daughter dressed in luxury, fuller and more radiant than before. To him, that was proof enough that she was being cared for.

"Every day with the king feels like hell," Rosalind continued, her voice trembling despite herself. "I wake up every morning thanking God that I am still alive."

Then, without hesitation, she pulled the shawl away from her neck and revealed the dark bruises still marked across her skin. "Look at what he did to me."

Calder’s gaze flicked over the marks, but to Rosalind’s horror, his face remained almost indifferent. "It is all part of love, Rosalind," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Calder continued, "Look at the brighter side of things. You live in luxury now. You have servants attending to your every need. You cannot be this ungrateful."

Rosalind’s fingers tightened around the shawl. "What good is any of that if I end up dead?" she asked bitterly. "Because I know sooner or later, if I stay here, I will die. If I don’t leave..."

At once, Calder’s expression hardened. He seized her by the shoulder, his grip sharp enough to make her flinch.

"Do not even think about it," he warned, glaring at her. "After all these years I have taken care of you, now that you finally have a chance to be useful, you choose to behave like a foolish woman?"

His voice lowered, almost hissing into her ear. "Take a good look around you. All our problems are being solved because of this. Your mother is already receiving treatment, and soon she will be able to walk and speak again." His eyes bore into hers. "Do not make all my sacrifices meaningless!"

Rosalind’s throat tightened as his grip tightened on her shoulders "Why do you even complain so much?" he continued coldly. "Just endure it. It is not as if you are going to die."

His voice sharpened further. "And let me warn you... do not ever cross the king. Do not even think of running away. If he catches you, you will suffer. And if he does not, then I will. If you do anything that brings punishment upon this family, I will really disown you."

Every word struck like a blade.

Her eyes burned, moisture gathering despite how fiercely she fought it. "But for now," Calder said, his tone shifting back into something falsely gentle, "be good, and you will continue to be my daughter."

Then, to Rosalind’s disgust, he pulled her briefly into an embrace while she stood rigid and unmoving.

A moment later, he stepped back, gave her one last satisfied smile, and walked away. His gaze briefly passed over Rowan before he continued toward the ballroom doors and shortly after, his name was announced.

Rosalind remained rooted to the spot.

She could barely process everything she had just heard. Each word seemed to echo through her mind, twisting painfully in her chest until it became difficult to breathe.

Her trembling hands rose weakly to her head as her vision blurred and then her knees gave way.

Before she could collapse, Rowan caught her in his arms.

Through the blur of tears, she could barely make out his face, but she could feel the steadiness of his hold and the way his eyes searched hers as though trying to see the pain she could no longer hide.

The tears slipped free then, and she blinked rapidly, finally seeing him more clearly. He carefully helped her back to her feet.

"I’m fine," she murmured, though the words sounded hollow even to her own ears.

Rosalind quickly lifted her handkerchief and wiped away every trace of weakness.Then her breath caught when Rowan stepped closer and gently adjusted the shawl around her neck, covering the bruises once more just as she had worn it before. When his fingers brushed lightly against her skin, a shiver ran down her spine that had nothing to do with the coldness of the tears and for a moment, the warmth of his fingers felt steadier than the ground beneath her feet. "Let’s go," he said quietly.

Rosalind’s lips parted slightly.

The ease with which he had spoken startled her. And the way he had looked directly into her eyes while adjusting her shawl...

Almost immediately, Rowan seemed to realise his slip. He lowered his head at once.

"My lady," he corrected smoothly, his voice once again careful and proper, "we must head to the ball."

Rosalind said nothing.

Instead, she turned and walked toward the doors. The moment she approached, the great double doors were thrown open.

"Lady Rosalind Calder has arrived."

At once, it felt as if every gaze in the ballroom turned toward her. Among them was Sabine’s sharp look of annoyance. But above all those eyes, one gaze held hers captive.

Alaric.

His pale blue eyes were already locked on her from across the hall like he had been waiting for her and slowly, his lips curved into a smirk that made her stomach twist.