Claimed By The Tyrant King

Rowan had taken those risks for her, quietly and without question.

She had ignored him, dismissed his warnings and continued anyway.

Now he was the one paying for it.

"What do you want?" Rosalind asked, turning to face Alaric.

"To see you thrown in there, fighting to survive. It would be a splendid sight," he replied, taking a slow sip from his drink as though discussing something trivial.

"What does your majesty want in return for releasing him?" she asked, her voice firm despite the urgency pressing against her chest.

Alaric tilted his head slightly, studying her. "Are we bargaining now?" he said, a faint note of amusement in his tone. "I never said I was going to release him," he added, lowering the cup to his side.

Please, Rosalind thought inwardly, her chest tightening painfully. She would not be able to bear it if she became the reason for his death. All this while, he had been watching out for her, and the least she could do now was protect him in return.

Alaric rose from his seat with ease, adjusting his robe before making his way toward her.

Rosalind held her ground, forcing herself to remain composed even as tension built within her. When he stopped in front of her, his gaze narrowed slightly as he looked down at her.

"He’s just an ordinary footman, Rosalind. Let him go and I’ll assign you a better one," he said, as though the matter were insignificant.

"No," Rosalind replied at once, the word leaving her before she could reconsider.

Alaric clicked his tongue softly. "You are getting bolder," he remarked, his tone light but edged with something colder beneath it.

The words sent a chill down her spine. "You refuse me so openly... I must admit, this defiance is beginning to bore me," he added, his eyes narrowing further.

Rosalind had no patience for this as time was slipping away.

She glanced toward the pit just in time to see another blade cut across Rowan’s back, and her heart lurched painfully at the sight before she forced herself to look back at the king, who watched her with calm indifference.

"I find it amusing, Rosalind," Alaric continued, his voice steady. "That you seem to care so deeply for a mere footman... more than you do for me."

"You’re not the one in danger," she replied, her voice tight.

Silence followed.

Then her voice softened, dropping into a restrained plea. "Please... just let him go, Your Majesty. I will do whatever you ask in return," she said, the desperation now evident as fear for Rowan’s life tightened around her.

"Anything?" Alaric asked, a hint of amusement returning to his expression.

He had not suggested it, yet she had offered herself so easily. Just how far was she willing to go for that man?

"Yes," Rosalind repeated, though hesitation slipped into her voice.

She knew she would regret this, knew she was making a decision she could not take back, but there was no time to dwell on it when his life hung on a line.

Down in the pit, Rowan had finally been forced to his knees. One of the men held a sword at his neck, and all it took was one swing to end it.

For years, no one who entered the pit had ever walked out alive, and now, because of her, Alaric found himself considering breaking his own rule.

He raised his hand.

At once, the guards withdrew their weapons from Rowan’s neck, stepping back before bowing slightly to the king and retreating into the shadows.

With Rowan left alone, Rosalind released a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding as relief washed through her.

Before it could settle, Alaric’s hand moved sharply, gripping her face and forcing her to look at him. Her breath caught as her eyes met his. "Now that you have offered yourself willingly in exchange for his life," he said, his voice low, "you will do exactly as I say."

Rosalind’s throat tightened. "You will not attempt this again," he continued, his grip still firm. "The moment you do, you place his life at risk once more."

His gaze held hers. "And finally," he added, his tone shifting into something more dangerous, "your time, your heart, your body, and your loyalty will belong to me alone."

He paused just long enough for the weight of his words to settle. "Because I intend to make you fall in love with me... and when that happens, you won’t want to leave."

Hearing what Alaric had just said made Rosalind’s heart stumble. He was going to make her fall in love with him?

How far could his madness go?

Love was not something that could be forced, not in any way, yet there was something in his eyes that made it clear he believed he could have whatever he wanted.

"It’s not possible to love you, Your Majesty," Rosalind muttered under her breath. The words were meant to stay in her thoughts, but they slipped out, and Alaric heard them.

His hand stilled against her face, and for a brief moment, she saw something in his expression falter before he quickly regained his composure. Still, when he spoke, there was the slightest break in his voice. "Why?" he asked.

"Because of what you are," Rosalind replied quietly.

He was controlling, he was cruel, and he cared only about himself. No one could feel safe with him as every day would feel unpredictable. Rosalind did not want that kind of life. She wanted calm, she wanted warmth, she wanted peace, and none of that was something Alaric could give her. With everything he had done, she did not believe she could simply ignore it all and open her heart to him.

"And what am I?" Alaric asked, his brows lifting slightly as his voice returned to its usual sharpness. Rosalind swallowed but said nothing. He leaned closer to her, his gaze fixed on hers. "I’ll show you, Rosalind... that even the devil can be loved."

He withdrew his hand from her face, his eyes lingering on hers for a moment longer before he turned and walked away without another word.

Rosalind’s gaze drifted back to the pit, landing on Rowan, who was still on his knees and their eyes met. She blinked, and by the time she focused again, he had already stood and turned away from her.

****

"Will he be alright?" Rosalind asked the physician.

Rowan sat with his head slightly lowered, dark strands of his hair falling across his face while his jaw remained subtly clenched. His wounds had been cleaned, treated with medicine, and were now being covered.

"Give it a few weeks, and he will be fine. Fortunately, the injuries are not too deep," the physician replied.

As her eyes traced the outline of his form, she noticed a marking near his shoulder and before she could make out what it was, Rowan put on his shirt.

"I’ll take my leave now, my lady," the physician said.

"Yes, thank you," Rosalind replied, dipping her head slightly as he left the infirmary.

Silence settled in the room afterward.

Rosalind pressed her lips together. She did not know how to begin apologizing for what she had caused.

Taking a breath, she stepped closer and reached for his arm, intending to guide him. "Rowan, let’s go," she said softly.

He pulled his arm away and rose to his feet.

Rosalind looked at him in confusion.

But Alaric’s words echoed in Rowan’s mind... having inappropriate feelings for her...

"You should remember to act properly at all times, my lady," he said, his head lowered and a faint frown settled on his face.

His formality struck her harder than anything and Rosalind’s heart clenched. It suddenly felt as if he had drawn a line she could not cross.

"Fine," Rosalind said, her voice tightening slightly as she turned away without another word while Rowan followed behind her.

And on a day that should have brought her happiness, she felt nothing but a mix of sadness, confusion, and hurt.