Claimed By The Tyrant King

Alaric’s grip tightened around the arm of his chair, his knuckles paling as his eyes burned with a dangerous intensity, like he could set the entire room ablaze if he wished. "Why haven’t they returned yet?"

The guards trembled where they knelt, glancing at one another, but no one had an answer.

A low chuckle slipped from Alaric’s lips as he leaned back slightly, though there was nothing amusing to him. He hoped it wasn’t what he was thinking. Granting Rosalind permission to visit her parents had not come easily to him. He had done it with purpose, expecting it to pull her closer toward him and not this.

The thought of her escaping made his jaw tighten, anger flashing sharply across his face. And that footman... He must have helped her run away. To avoid this, Alaric had sent guards along with them. But still, she found a way to escape his grasp.

"Rosalind," he thought, his lips pressing into a thin line, "you clever little witch."

If she had truly repaid him like this... His expression darkened. She would learn exactly how far he could go.

Alaric rose to his feet, and the guards immediately lowered their heads further, pressing themselves against the ground.

"Find them," he ordered coldly. "And bring them to me. Dead or alive."

"Yes, Your Majesty," they chorused.

Lightning flashed through the tall windows, casting a brief, violent glow across the hall and sharpening the darkness in his eyes. The guards didn’t hesitate. They scrambled to their feet, rushed out into the storm, mounted their horses, and rode out through the gates as rain lashed against the palace grounds.

Verity stood by the window in the ladies’ quarters, watching the rain pour down relentlessly. It had not rained for days, and now it fell as though it had no intention of stopping.

She had learned of Rosalind’s visit to her home and had been glad for her, knowing how much it must mean, but now night had come and Rosalind had yet to return. The thought unsettled her, because she knew how dangerous it could be outside the palace at night. "I hope she’ll be okay," she murmured.

"The footman is with her. I don’t think we have to worry," Thalia said, sounding completely reassured, as if Rowan’s presence alone was enough to guarantee Rosalind’s safety.

Verity found herself agreeing, yet the unease remained.

Sabine looked down at Verity and Thalia’s concern for Rosalind. A slow smirk curled on her lips. She was pleased that Rosalind had not returned yet. For all she knew, the girl could have been attacked by wild animals in the forest, and even that footman would not be able to save her. The thought filled her with a quiet satisfaction.

For once, Rosalind might be out of the palace for good, and she would have all of Alaric’s attention to herself.

Earlier that day, Sabine had been furious when she learned that the king had allowed Rosalind to return home. None of them had ever been granted such permission.

She had been content here, but Alaric doing that for Rosalind left a bitterness she could not ignore. As she watched the storm rage outside, her smile stretched. She told herself she would let it go as long as Rosalind did not come back.

****

Rowan added more wood to the fire, setting it carefully so the flames would burn higher. He had managed to find some dry wood deeper inside the cave, likely left behind by travellers who had used the place before moving on. It was the only reason the fire held at all.

A sound drew his attention.

His gaze shifted toward Rosalind’s frame. Her breathing was uneven, her fingers clutching tightly onto the shirt he had used to cover her. Her head moved restlessly from side to side, and despite the cold, a thin sheen of sweat had formed on her forehead.

He rose slowly, his eyes fixed on her as he approached. She was having a nightmare.

A scream left her lips just as Rowan reached out to steady her, but before he could say anything, she cried out, "Let go!" and, in her panic, bit down on his hand.

Rowan stilled, a sharp hiss escaping his lips. Slowly, Rosalind looked up, her gaze meeting his.

Realisation dawned, and she pulled back at once, blinking in confusion before embarrassment settled in. Inwardly, she could have smacked herself for what she had just done.

"I’m sorry," she said quietly as Rowan withdrew his hand.

"You were having a nightmare," he said, his voice softer now. "Everything’s fine. You’re safe."

His words eased something in her, though only slightly. "How did we get here?" she asked, trying to recall what had happened. She remembered collapsing, but nothing after that.

"We just did," Rowan replied.

"Did you get hurt during the fight?"

"No, my lady"

"What about those men chasing us? Will they come back?" Rosalind asked again, fear creeping back into her voice.

He tried to calm her frayed nerves. "They’ve probably turned back as the rain is still heavy."

Rosalind glanced outside the cave and saw that the downpour hadn’t eased in the slightest. It fell just as hard and without realising it, her fingers tightened around the shirt in her hand.

"Are you cold?" Rowan asked, and her gaze shifted back to him.

Rosalind nodded weakly.

"You should take off your outer garment and wear the shirt. It’s still warm," he advised, his eyes fixed on the fire instead of her.

Take off her outer garment... and wear his shirt? Rosalind paused at his words, the suggestion settling in her mind all at once. Heat crept up her cheeks before she could stop it and she became aware of how damp her clothes still were, clinging uncomfortably to her skin in places and only half-dry in others. It was unpleasant, and she knew if she stayed like this, she could fall sick.

Rowan, on the other hand, crouched by the fire, dressed only in a loose shirt and trousers, his outer garment already removed. His hair fell slightly across his face, and the glow of the fire caught along the edges of it.

Rosalind slowly rose to her feet and walked toward a darker corner of the cave, where the firelight barely reached. Rowan was aware of where she went, even without looking. He poked hard at the fire, and it crackled sharply, sparks jumping upward, though none touched him.

Then he heard the soft sound of fabric slipping and falling to the ground.

His grip tightened around the wood in his hand, his gaze locked on the flames as if looking anywhere else would undo him.

When Rosalind returned, she wore only her undergarments beneath Rowan’s shirt. The fabric hung loosely on her frame, the hem brushing against her thighs, and she felt lighter, freed from the weight of the soaked gown.

She crouched beside him, close enough to the fire, and stretched her hands toward the warmth.

Rowan shifted his gaze just slightly, enough to catch the side of her face. Damp strands of hair clung to her skin, her lashes lowered as they fluttered faintly, and there was the smallest curve to her lips as the warmth reached her. His jaw tightened. Then, without a word, he stood up and walked toward the entrance of the cave.

Rosalind’s brows drew together slowly as she watched him face the curtain of rain and darkness beyond. "What are you doing?" she asked, though the rain was loud enough to swallow her voice.

"Keeping watch," he replied after a moment.

Rosalind scoffed quietly. Of course. Duty. That was all he ever seemed to think about.

"Now is not the time to stand guard," she said, her tone edged with mild irritation. "If you stay out there, the cold will get to you. You can’t guard anything if you fall sick."

He didn’t move. "Fever is not something to take lightly," she added. "It humbles you very quickly."

"I haven’t had a fever in a long time," Rowan answered.

Rosalind tilted her head slightly. "Well, you could have one now, with how you’re standing out there," she said. "Unless you’re trying to prove something."

He stared into the night, his gaze unreadable. She had a way of pressing at people until they gave in, and reluctantly, he turned back toward the fire as the cold was biting. Rosalind shifted slightly to make space for him, and Rowan sat down, leaving a small distance between them.

"Do you have any idea who those people were?" she asked.

Rowan’s gaze settled on the fire, something in his expression hardening slightly. "Bandits," he said. "They’ve been causing trouble across Eryndor. They target mostly travelers, take whatever they can, and leave nothing behind. They’ve made the road unsafe. At night, it’s worse"

Rosalind was slightly surprised. It was the first time she had heard him speak at length like this. He spoke with certainty and experience and she found herself watching the shift in his eyes.

She turned back to the fire, stretching her hand to it. The warmth had begun to settle into her body, easing the cold that had clung to her skin earlier. She felt it slowly spread through her, and with it came a sense of safety she hadn’t expected.

After a moment, she spoke again. "Do you think the rain will stop soon?"

"It doesn’t look like it will," he said, then glanced at her. "Are you eager to return to the palace?"

Rosalind let out a small laugh. "Not at all." If anything, she would rather stay here, for as long as she could.

Rowan also didn’t want to return to the palace, not when staying here meant staying with Rosalind and far from Alaric’s scrutiny. For a fleeting moment, he wished the rain would never stop, so it could keep them trapped here, a little longer where she was close and safe.

Rowan watched her across the fire and the truth cut through him. If he didn’t take this moment, he would keep swallowing the truth until it choked him.

Rosalind turned abruptly, "Rowa-" Her voice died mid-sentence.

He didn’t look away. His gaze pinned her in place, dark and hungry.

Rosalind’s breath caught. She tried to glance aside but it was too late. His finger brushed her cheek, warm and careful, tilting her face toward him. Rosalind’s eyes widened, shock freezing her for one breath...two. Then he leaned in.

His mouth met hers, firm and hungry like he had been holding himself back for far too long. His lower lip slid against hers and his tongue traced the seam of her mouth, coaxing, claiming. He caught her bottom lip between his, sucking softly before deepening the kiss as if he couldn’t stop once he’d started.

Rosalind’s chest sparked, sharp and sudden, and the fire beside them felt like nothing compared to what his kiss set loose in her.