Claimed By The Tyrant King

Rosalind watched Rowan pull his shirt off, his skin glinting under the light, and though there were rough marks on his back, it did nothing to hide how solid his build was. Just looking at him was enough to send something warm spreading through her body, and her cheeks heated at once.

"Rosalind, are you alright?" Verity asked, leaning closer.

"What?" Rosalind blinked, flushing deeper. "I’m fine," she answered, and Verity gave her a suspicious look before leaning back against her chair.

"Now that the footman is playing, I’m not sure things will be as interesting as before," Thalia muttered under her breath, and Verity, who didn’t understand what she meant, narrowed her eyes at her.

"It’s obvious he’s capable. House White will win," Thalia added with certainty.

"You can’t really be sure about that," Verity mused.

"We’ll see," Thalia said, chewing on the cookies that had just been brought in as refreshments.

Rosalind, however, wasn’t paying them any attention. Her gaze was locked on Rowan, who had now stepped into the water, the surface resting just below his waist. She drew in a quiet breath at the sight of his chest, firm and defined, leading down to a toned stomach and strong arms.

Then he looked at her.

Caught in the act, Rosalind felt the air around her shift, as though the heat had suddenly risen.

Rowan stood at the center, slightly behind the two men positioned at the front, taking his stance as the instructor signaled the start. His gaze found Rosalind and seeing her watching him, he knew he had to do well because she wanted House White to win.

The horn blew, and the ball was thrown across the arena, landing in House Black’s hands. The tension rose immediately, and the crowd’s voices grew louder as they expected another win. Rosalind leaned forward slightly, her heart lifting with hope.

And it paid off. Within the next minute, the ball was driven straight into House Black’s net, and the supporters of House White burst into cheers.

"Told you so," Thalia said, almost rolling her eyes.

Rosalind, on the other hand, was visibly excited, her fingers curling into fists as her eyes stayed fixed on the game while the announcer added five points, bringing the score to an even twenty-twenty.

"Hey, Rowan," one of his teammates called, and Rowan barely spared him a glance over his shoulder, which seemed to irritate the man. "Next time, try passing the ball to the rest of us instead of showing off."

"That doesn’t matter as long as we win," another teammate cut in.

Rowan’s jaw tightened slightly at the first remark, and he glanced briefly at the man. "Since when you have been passing the ball, how many times have you won?" he asked, his tone flat.

"What the hell?" the man snapped, clearly angered.

"Pierre, just let it go and focus on beating House Black. They’ve been running their mouths, and now they look like they’re ready to tear us apart," another teammate said quickly, trying to ease the tension.

Rowan faced forward again, unbothered, while Pierre simmered in silence. "That’s enough! The next round is about to begin. Two more rounds before the end," the instructor called, clapping his hands together.

The horn sounded again, and the ball was thrown. House White caught it quickly and surged forward, but House Black reacted just as fast, their movements sharper now that the score was tied. The struggle intensified as the ball was jerked from one side to another, water splashing high into the air. "Rowan!" one of his teammates shouted as he struggled against a defender. The moment he found an opening, he threw the ball toward him.

Rowan caught it, pivoted sharply around the man in front of him, and sent the ball straight into the net.

The crowd erupted again as another five points were added to House White’s score.

"Yes," Rosalind thought, her excitement almost spilling over.

"You must be really proud now, Rosalind," Thalia said, glancing at her. "You seem to have the most capable footman ever."

"Indeed," Verity added under her breath.

Rosalind said nothing, though the faint blush on her cheeks said enough.

The game resumed once more, and the players took their positions. This time, House Black didn’t hesitate. The moment the ball was in play, they moved straight for Rowan, holding him down, determined to stop the one who had turned the game around.

With the ball in his possession, Rowan glanced ahead and spotted one of his teammates in a clear position to score. It was Pierre who had tried to start an argument with him earlier. The man was open, ready, waiting. Without hesitation, Rowan threw the ball across.

It cut through the air, and every eye followed its path until it landed directly in Pierre’s hands.

The crowd cheered him on as he moved forward to score the winning goal. However, one of House Black appeared out of nowhere, as though they had been waiting for the exact moment to strike. Pierre struggled to get the ball past them, and just when he thought he had a clear shot, he threw it, only for it to miss the net completely and fly out. The horn was blown, signaling the end of the game.

He clenched his fists tightly at his sides as the crowd booed him. "That’s okay," one of House White said. "We’re leading House Black by five points, so it’s not a big deal."

Since the game had ended, they began retreating out of the water, while House Black wore gloomy expressions after being defeated. It had seemed like they were going to win today, but everything had turned around the moment Rowan stepped in and secured victory for House White.

"We could’ve beaten them 30–20. It was all Rowan’s fault," Pierre said.

"Huh?" the man beside him asked, confused.

Pierre’s eyes followed Rowan, who had stepped out of the water along with the others. "You saw how he hesitated before passing the ball to me. If he hadn’t, we could’ve beaten them 30–20."

"Does it really matter? We won," the man beside him said, but Pierre pushed past him as he climbed out of the water, his gaze locked on Rowan, who had already put his shirt back on.

"Rowan," he called abruptly.

Rowan didn’t respond, whether he didn’t hear or simply chose to ignore it wasn’t clear, but it only fueled Pierre’s anger further.

I just hate the way he carries himself, Pierre thought bitterly. Acting like everyone is beneath him when we’re all the same.

"I called you," he said when he finally reached him.

"So?" Rowan turned to him with a bored expression, and Pierre’s fists clenched at his sides.

"We could’ve won more if it wasn’t for you," he accused sharply.

Rowan’s eyes narrowed slightly. "But we won," he replied, just as the instructor’s voice rang out, "For this tournament, House White has won."

Cheers erupted from the crowd.

"Hey, did you hear that? We won!" Several of them rushed toward Rowan and Pierre, though they quickly sensed the tension between them.

"I’m saying we could’ve scored higher if you had passed the ball quicker," Pierre continued, clearly pushing for a fight.

Rowan didn’t bother responding. He turned on his heel, intending to walk away, when Pierre sneered behind him, "You think you’re better than us, don’t you? Carrying yourself with so much pride for someone who’s been reduced to nothing but a footman."

The others looked at him sharply. "What are you saying? If it wasn’t for Rowan, we wouldn’t have won. You should be thanking him."

"A footman serving a woman who’s nothing but the king’s cunt," he added mockingly.

That made Rowan stop.

A sharp tension flickered through his jaw as he turned back slowly. The anger on Pierre’s face had vanished, replaced by a cold smirk.

Before anyone could react, Rowan closed the distance and drove his fist into the man, knocking him down instantly. Gasps rippled through the crowd, many of them still lingering to watch.

Rosalind shot to her feet, shock written across her face as Rowan continued, striking him again and again.

"Someone stop him!" a voice cried out from the crowd.

"Guards!" the regent called at once, rising to his feet, fury clear in his expression.

The guards rushed forward, pulling Rowan away with effort and holding him back, though he was still seething. Not a single blow had landed on him, while Pierre on the ground struggled to rise, his face already swelling from the force of the punches.

They were both dragged before the regent.

Rosalind’s heart pounded as her eyes followed Rowan, who was forced to his knees along with the injured man.

"How insolent," Lord Cassian barked. "The audacity to behave like this on a day like this. Lock him up."

"You can’t." Rosalind’s voice cut through the tension, and all eyes turned to her in shock.

Lord Cassian’s gaze hardened. "And who are you to stop me?" he demanded.

Rosalind stepped forward, her heart racing. "He is my footman."

"Is that something new?" Lord Cassian shot back, clearly displeased that she was challenging him.

"Which means I know him better, and I know he didn’t do this without reason," Rosalind said firmly.

"Except we all saw him throw the first punch. How is that not intentional?" Sabine asked, folding her arms as her eyes fixed sharply on Rosalind.

"He must have been provoked," Rosalind replied.

"That doesn’t excuse him causing a scene. There should be no violence here unless you’re trying to start a rebellion. Lady Rosalind, are you supporting rebellion while the king is away?" Lady Evelina asked, her tone sharp.

Rosalind swallowed. "Then at least let us hear what happened before deciding his punishment." She turned back to the regent, whose gaze never left her.

"And what will that change?" he asked.

"It will allow a fair judgment," Rosalind said.

A silence followed before the regent ordered the rest of House White forward to give their account. They hesitated, clearly unwilling to repeat exactly what had been said.

"Is there no one willing to speak?" the regent demanded.

Finally, one of them spoke in a rush. "Pierre called the lady a cunt. That’s why Rowan reacted."

A cunt.

Lord Cassian’s gaze shifted to Rosalind, whose face burned with humiliation, though his expression showed no sympathy. To him, it only confirmed what he already believed.

"You see? I told you he was provoked," Rosalind pressed, refusing to back down. "Which means you cannot punish him and ignore the one who pushed him to it." Her gaze turned sharply to the injured man, and for a moment, she almost wished Rowan had done worse.

"And he is still expected to control himself," the regent said coldly, dismissing everything else as though it held no weight.

After a brief pause, he made his decision. "Take both of them away for punishment."

Rosalind’s hands tightened at her sides as she watched Rowan being dragged away. She didn’t know what they would do to him, and that alone made her chest tighten painfully.

"From now on, no tournaments shall be held," the regent announced, his voice cutting through the air. "Everyone is to remain within their assigned places for the sake of peace and stability."