Claimed By The Tyrant King

Three days after...

The sound of a woman’s voice echoed through the king’s tent. Outside, the guards stood stiffly, exchanging uneasy glances as they swallowed hard, already aware of what was happening within as It had been going on for days now.

After capturing the woman who had slipped into his tent to assassinate him, Alaric had turned her into something else entirely. His hand gripped her waist as he moved against her with ruthless force, uncaring of her cries that mixed pain with fear. He had said he would have other use for her, and this was it.

That night, she hadn’t known she had stepped into misfortune.

Alaric thrust without restraint, his mind far removed from the mistress he had left behind in the palace, the one he had promised to marry. Instead, a new thought settled in his mind. Perhaps this one could become his sixth.

With one final thrust, her legs trembled violently. He pulled away at once, grabbing her hair and forcing her down until her lips parted as he shoved his length down her throat.

"Your Majesty" The voice came suddenly from outside.

"What is it?" Alaric snapped, irritation clear in his tone.

"Important news, Your Majesty. It concerns the men you sent to Vaelor."

At that, Alaric withdrew, reaching for his trousers and pulling them on quickly. His gaze dropped back to the woman briefly.

"I’m not done with you," he said coldly before stepping out.

As he emerged, his eyes fell on the servant with clear disdain. "This message had better be worth the interruption," he muttered, already making his way toward the meeting tent.

Inside, the men rose and bowed, but Alaric barely acknowledged them. His attention went straight to the general. "What of the men sent to Vaelor?" he asked.

The general hesitated before answering, his voice tense. "I’m afraid, sire... only one returned."

Alaric’s eyes narrowed dangerously. "Out of six?" His voice sharpened. "Do you realize you’re sending men to die like flies, and the next battle has not even begun?"

"Your Majesty, they were sent to capture the one who controls the beast," the general explained quickly. "But we underestimated them. The man was heavily guarded. When they attempted it, they were caught... and fed to the beast."

The general’s gaze shifted to the lone survivor, who stood trembling, clearly haunted by what he had witnessed. "They were devoured," the man added shakily.

Alaric’s expression darkened. "So what exactly does this mean?"

"We cannot proceed with this plan," the general said firmly. "The beast must be killed."

"No." Alaric’s voice cut through the room. "I want that beast alive. It will serve as my trophy."

The room fell silent. "If we cannot take its handler now," he continued, "then we wait. On the battlefield, when all eyes are on the war, we strike differently. Capture him then. Turn him to our side. Let him command the beast against Vaelor itself."

The general swallowed hard but nodded and here was no arguing further.

Moments later, another announcement came, and a different general stepped into the tent, bowing deeply. "I see your kingdom responded quickly to my summons," Alaric said.

"Indeed, Your Majesty," the man replied. "My king has agreed to send two thousand men, provided you fulfill the promise stated in your letter."

Alaric gave a faint smile. "Of course. When have I ever failed to keep my word? King Louis has nothing to fear."

The discussion resumed as plans unfolded across the table. "The battle begins in three days," Alaric declared. "We must be ready."

The men nodded in agreement and Alaric leaned back slightly, a dark satisfaction settling within him. Soon, he would see it for himself who exactly was stronger between him and the beast. And when he did capture it, he would make it his. To command such a creature... it would be his greatest triumph yet.

****

Far from the chaos of the capital, the palace remained calm. The three ladies lay comfortably as servants attended to them, massaging oils into their skin. Laughter filled the air, light and careless, as if nothing beyond the walls existed.

Rosalind shifted slightly, her gaze turning toward Thalia. "I’ve never really known how you came to be here," she said, her curiosity finally spilling out.

"Oh..." Thalia responded, though her tone faltered slightly, her mood shifting at once.

Everyone seemed to carry something, Rosalind did, Verity did... and now she wondered about Thalia.

The maids were dismissed shortly after, bowing and quietly leaving the room so the conversation could remain private. Silence lingered for a moment once they were alone before Thalia finally spoke. "My father sent me here because of a man. He wanted to marry me, but I refused him."

Her fingers tightened slightly as she recalled the details. "He didn’t take it lightly. After that, people began to talk. Small things at first... then worse. Lies about me, about how I behaved, about things I never did... My father couldn’t challenge him without turning it into a full dispute. And he couldn’t marry me off elsewhere while my name was being dragged through the mud. So he sent me here, to serve in the palace, where things could be contained and watched."

"And it did. The moment I arrived, the whispers stopped." Rosalind and Verity listened in silence, their expressions soft with pity and worry.

Thalia paused briefly before adding more quietly, "But the king noticed me."

"And once that happens, you don’t just leave," she continued. "Not without consequences."

Both Rosalind and Verity understood that too well in their own ways.

Thalia’s gaze lowered. "So I stayed. Because this place may not be what I want... but it’s the only place where my name isn’t being destroyed anymore."

"That’s sad," Rosalind said quietly and Thalia gave a quiet nod.

When Thalia had a taste of the King’s cruelty, she had wanted to get out of the palace. "The first time I tried to leave..." she trailed off.

It wasn’t something she had ever spoken about in detail, but the memory still sat clearly in her mind. She had slipped out quietly that night, convinced she could escape unnoticed. But she had barely reached the gates before she was caught and what followed was not mercy.

The servants who had helped her and those who had simply looked the other way were dragged out before her. They begged for their lives. For forgiveness. For anything that might spare them.

But nothing stopped what came next.

One after another, they were executed while she was forced to watch. Their voices faded until there was nothing left but silence and the sound of her own breathing. And the worst part was not the punishment itself, but how calmly it was carried out, as though their lives meant nothing at all.

After that day, Thalia never tried to leave again.