Claimed By The Tyrant King

Alaric’s fingers tapped lightly against the arm of his chair, the sound echoing sharply through the silence of the throne hall. His cold gaze remained fixed on the lowly footman standing before him, while a faint curl touched his lips.

"You must have assumed I was foolish," he said at last, his voice low and edged with menace. "That I would not see through what is happening in my own palace."

The words hung in the air like a blade and Rowan clenched his jaw, keeping his eyes lowered to the floor.

"Did you think I would remain ignorant?" Alaric pressed sharply, his tone cutting through the hall with ease.Then, as though granting a final mercy that was never truly merciful, he leaned slightly back. "I will give you one last chance. Where was Rosalind yesterday night?"

The king already knew the answer because a guard had reported unusual movement near the right wing at an hour when the palace should have been asleep. When Alaric investigated, he found that Rowan had redirected a guard from his post.

It did not take long after that to piece everything together. Rowan had been lingering around the right wing instead of where he was meant to be near Rosalind’s chamber. Watching over her and doing his duty.

And then there was Rosalind herself.

Someone had seen her near the exit gate the night before, briefly silhouetted against a window as though searching for something beyond the palace walls. The thought alone had made something cold settle in Alaric’s chest as he realised she had been looking for a way out, right under his watch, under his roof and under his control.

And this footman... this watchful servant... had been helping her do it.

Rowan remained silent.

"Rowan, was it?" Alaric said, tilting his head slightly. "If I have to repeat myself again, you will regret what comes next."

There was a brief silence before Rowan finally answered. "Lady Rosalind took a short walk and returned to her room afterward,"

Alaric’s expression barely changed, though something like satisfaction flickered beneath his calm exterior. A half-truth, carefully wrapped in obedience. It was almost admirable in its cowardice.

"And where exactly," he asked slowly, "did this short walk take her?"

Rowan’s jaw tightened again. His thoughts spiralling. He had warned Rosalind, told her to stop but she had not listened. And now, if he revealed too much, the king would not only see through him, but through her as well and there would be consequences neither of them could control.

"Outside,"

The word landed poorly and Alaric’s eyes sharpened at once. "Are you attempting to make a fool of me?" he snapped, his voice rising for the first time.

"Outside where!?" The command cracked through the hall like thunder.

Rowan said "The garden,"

Alaric leaned back into his chair, the tension in his posture easing as something almost pleased settled across his features. He did not look angry. In fact, there was something disturbingly calm in the way he regarded Rowan now, as if the entire exchange had only confirmed something he already suspected.

A lie. Of course.

But not one that disappointed him.

"Interesting," Alaric said quietly. "But for what reason," the king continued, his tone deceptively mild, "would you choose to lie? To protect her?"

Silence answered him.

Alaric exhaled slowly. "Do not tell me," he added with mockery in his voice "that your closeness to her has clouded your judgment. That you have developed... attachment. And now you believe she is worth shielding from me."

Rowan’s hands curled at his sides, but he said nothing.

The king’s gaze sharpened again, interest giving way to something colder. "Your punishment," he said at last, "has just become worse. First a lie. Then disobedience. And now... Inappropriate feelings toward her."

"I did not..." Rowan began, lifting his head slightly.

"Silence." The word struck instantly and Rowan lowered his gaze again, his brows drawn tightly together.

Alaric rose in his seat to signal the end of patience. "Since you have forgotten your place," he said quietly, "I will remind you." And he implication in his voice was worse than any threat spoken outright.

****

The next morning, Rosalind woke in a better mood than she had in a long time.

Before the maids arrived, she handled everything herself because she wanted to look good today, more put together than usual and more alive. It was the one day she allowed herself that small intention.

Back when her mother was still healthy, she would bake strawberry cake for her birthday. They would sing together, eat together, and for a while, the world would feel softer.

Now her mother was paralyzed, confined to a chair, and though she was still alive, things were not the same.

Calder no longer cared for celebrations. He called them wasteful and unnecessary.

According to him, money was better spent elsewhere. And that "elsewhere" was always gambling.

Rosalind closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She had to leave everything behind today, even if only for a few hours, and allow herself to be happy.

She had chosen to wear a deep purple gown with a golden undertone that complemented her skin. She added simple accessories, then applied red lipstick and a light blush to her cheeks. Her hair flowed down her back, the upper section loosely pinned into a slightly messy bun, with soft tendrils framing her face.

She studied herself in the mirror for a moment longer than usual. It was enough, she decided.

Lastly, she reached for the perfume. The red bottle caught the light as she sprayed it lightly, releasing a warm, slightly sweet, seductive scent she should have expected from Merovia.

When she was done, she moved toward the door. But as her hand hovered over the handle, she hesitated.

She thought about seeing her footman again.

After what had happened the night before, He had been irritated while she returned to her room, and neither of them had spoken. They were both avoiding his slip completely, pretending the moment did not exist.

Still, she opened the door.

She expected the usual scent of soap. The faint dampness from early morning duties. His presence standing exactly where he always stood.

But it wasn’t him.

Rosalind paused.

Did he get reassigned?

The servant standing there turned and bowed properly. "My lady, I will be serving you from now on."

Her fingers tightened slightly on the door handle. "Where is Rowan?" she asked immediately.

The servant’s face changed at once, and he looked uneasy. "He has been taken to the pit."

The pit.

Rosalind’s heart stumbled. ’What?’ she asked, her voice breaking slightly.

Her stomach tightened as the meaning slowly sank in... Whatever Rowan had done, whatever accusation had been made... it had already been judged and a sharp fear ran through her.

Without waiting for another explanation, she gathered her skirt and broke into a run.

"My lady!" the servant called after her, panic rising as he hurried to follow.

Rosalind did not stop. She moved fast through the corridor, heart already pounding in her ears. She reached the staircase and descended without hesitation, barely touching the rail for balance.

As she passed a table where Verity and Thalia sat, they looked up in confusion.

"What’s going on?" They asked, but neither of them had an answer.

Alaric’s words echoed in Rosalind’s mind... there was no winning in the pit.

If truly that was where Rowan had been sent... then he had walked into death.