Claimed By The Tyrant King

Rosalind stepped out of the bath, her hair still damp as she dried it with a towel before slipping into her nightgown. She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to ease the tension that still clung to her.

The day had not gone as she had hoped, from rushing to save Rowan, facing Alaric’s threats once again, and almost missing Lady Evelina’s class. She let out a sigh. The only thing on her mind now was sleep and she had no intention of sneaking out again, not after everything she had caused.

She moved toward the candles, blowing out a few until the room dimmed, when a knock sounded at her door.

Her brows drew together slightly as she glanced over. She wasn’t expecting anyone this late. "Come in," she said, her voice low.

The door opened, and her footman stepped inside. Her lips parted in mild surprise. She hadn’t called for him, so what could he possibly want at this hour?

Rowan remained by the door, his gaze falling on her. Her hair had fallen to one side of her neck, still damp, and the faint scent of something sweet lingered in the air. But it was not just that, his eyes had lingered where they should not have. He looked away immediately, his jaw tightening.

"Rowan?" Rosalind folded her arms loosely across her chest, watching him.

He lifted his gaze back to her, noticing the slight arch of her brow. Clearing his throat, he spoke quietly. "I brought this for you."

Only then did Rosalind notice the plate in his hand because until that moment, all her attention had been on him.

Her eyes lit up, and for a moment, she forgot every bit of composure expected of her as she stepped toward him. On the plate was a slice of strawberry cake, her favorite.

"But how did you know?" she asked, looking up at him with curiosity "I never told you it was my birthday."

Rowan hesitated before answering "It is for saving me,"

At his clarification, her expression shifted. Of course, that made sense. It wasn’t as if she had told anyone that today meant anything to her. Still, she smiled. She hadn’t had anything sweet all day, and the sight of it, coming from him of all people, stirred something warm and unexpected in her chest.

"You’re welcome," she said, reaching for the plate. Her fingers brushed against his as she took it.

Rowan drew in a quiet breath. Outwardly, he remained composed, but something about the brief contact unsettled him more than it should have. Rosalind looked up at him through her lashes, her smile lingering.

"Does that mean you’re not angry anymore?" she asked, tilting her head.

His lips parted slightly, "I was..." he began, as though he might say more, but he stopped himself. "No, my lady," he finished, his tone returning to its usual steadiness.

"I’m really sorry," Rosalind said, her voice softer now.

Rowan watched her in silence, not expecting an apology from someone as stubborn as she was. "I should have listened to you and gone back when you told me to. I didn’t mean to cause you harm," she continued.

She should have listened, Rowan thought, but there was no point dwelling on it now. What was done could not be undone and If anyone had to bear the punishment, he would rather it be him than her.

Still, hearing her say it eased something in his chest.

When she fell quiet, waiting for his response, his gaze sharpened slightly. "Next time, be careful," he said.

"Wait," Rosalind held out her hand. "Are you encouraging me to sneak out again?"

He gave her a pointed look. "No."

Then what did he mean by next time... To be careful? Rosalind thought inwardly. She studied him for a moment, then let it go.

"Alright, fine. I’ll listen to you," she said, her tone lighter and softer than before.

It lingered in a way that made him tense. "Goodnight, my lady," Rowan said, already turning away.

Rosalind returned the words, but he was gone before she could say anything more, the door closing behind him. She remained where she stood, a faint smile forming as her toes curled slightly against the floor.

Walking back to the bed and taking a seat, her gaze dropped to the strawberry cake in her hands.

She took a small bite.

The sweetness melted on her tongue, and it felt like everything else faded away.

"Maybe he’s not that bad," she murmured to herself, taking another bite.

But then, unbidden, memories surfaced starting from the first time they met, the way he had saved her, the look in his eyes. And that moment in the corridor... she could still feel the memory of his hand at her waist...

Rosalind paused.

Why was she thinking about that?

It was only a gesture, she told herself, nothing more than a simple way of saying thank you. If she had been in his place, she would have done the same for someone who had saved her life, so there was no reason to let her thoughts wander into something they shouldn’t.

With that in mind, she hurriedly finished the last of the cake, set the plate aside, and fell back onto the bed, pulling the duvet closer around herself before closing her eyes, determined to sleep and put the day behind her.

****

Rowan had tried, harder than usual to keep his expression neutral while standing before her, forcing down anything that might give the wrong impression. But the moment he stepped into her room and saw her, something in him had slipped.

Now, he found himself replaying it, wondering if she had noticed.

He hoped she hadn’t.

Rowan’s mind drifted back to the morning, to the way she had looked confused and hurt, all because of him. When all she had been trying to do was show that she cared. He had seen it clearly, yet the restraint he held onto so tightly had not allowed him to respond in any other way. It was easier to keep that distance than letting anything slip out of place.

And yet, she had looked different today.

It was only after his annoyance had worn off that he fully registered it. It took him long to realize why, and when it finally clicked, irritation stirred again, this time directed at himself.

In that letter, he had learnt everything about her enough to know today was a special day for her and yet he had almost forgotten it. Worse still, he had played a part in making it unpleasant when it should have been the opposite.

So the cake had been for her birthday.

But he had hidden it behind the excuse of gratitude because saying otherwise would only raise questions he could not afford to answer. He didn’t want her looking too closely at him, didn’t want her wondering how he knew the things he did.

It had been too long. She would not remember.

Still, he had chosen it carefully. At the ball, he had noticed how she had chosen strawberry over chocolate, so he had brought her the same, knowing it was what she liked. And when he saw the way her face lit up, the way her entire expression softened, he felt a quiet satisfaction settle in him, simply from knowing he had put that look there.