Claimed By The Tyrant King

It was during one night while Drystan was asleep that smoke slowly infiltrated his nose and then coughs erupted from his throat, disturbing his sleep.

When he opened his eyes, he realized that the room was already filled with thick smoke while flames had begun spreading across his chamber.

Confusion struck him immediately as he pushed himself up from the bed, but his eyes started burning.

"Hel..." He could not even finish the word before another violent cough tore through him.

The fire spread rapidly, swallowing everything in its path and slowly approaching the bed where he stood.

"Help!" he shouted again, but his voice was drowned out.

The heat became unbearable and he struggled to breathe properly as smoke filled his lungs. "Somebody!" he called out once more before another fit of coughing bent him over. The smoke became too much for him and soon his vision blurred as weakness overtook his body before he finally collapsed onto the ground.

The palace remained unaware of the fire... until one guard passing through the corridor noticed flames spreading from the prince’s chamber.

"Fire!" he shouted immediately before running for help.

"Fire! Fire in Prince Drystan’s chamber! Come quickly!"

Panic spread through the palace almost instantly as servants and guards rushed towards the scene while the entire palace slowly began waking up from the noise and confusion.

Even the king had been alerted. "Your Majesty, a fire has broken out in Prince Drystan’s chamber!" the royal attendant reported breathlessly.

Harold barely waited to hear the full sentence before rising from his bed at once. He hastily wrapped a robe around himself and hurried out immediately.

"Put out the fire!" voices shouted outside the chamber.

The doors had been locked, so the guards forced them open and the heavy wooden doors crashed to the ground.

Smoke poured out of the room, causing several people nearby to cough violently.

"How did this happen?" some of them asked in shock.

"Save His Highness first and ask questions later!" another voice yelled sharply.

Without hesitation, several servants rushed into the burning chamber. They coughed heavily while searching through the chamber.

One of them suddenly pointed towards the edge of the bed.

Immediately, they rushed towards Drystan and one servant lifted the unconscious prince into his arms before hurrying towards the exit.

Unfortunately, part of the wooden ceiling suddenly cracked above them and came crashing down.

The servant carrying Drystan stumbled forward just in time to avoid the worst of the flames, although part of his clothing caught fire in the process.

He managed to escape the chamber with Drystan unharmed, but when he turned back, he saw the other servants trapped beneath the burning debris. The flames consumed the room entirely before they could be saved and screams echoed through the corridor.

The flames on the servant’s clothes were quickly put out although he still suffered burns because he had refused to let go of Drystan while escaping.

The king arrived shortly after. "Where is Drystan? Where is my son?" he demanded immediately.

The servants quickly showed him the unconscious prince lying in another servant’s arms, his face darkened by smoke and ash.

"Call the royal physician at once!" Harold ordered furiously and the royal attendant immediately rushed off to obey.

"Your Majesty..." the servant who had rescued Drystan spoke through tears. "They died in the fire."

He was crying because the servants who had rushed in beside him were people he knew well and now they had lost their lives saving the prince.

Harold finally said to the grieving servant, "Their sacrifice will not be forgotten. I will see to it that their families are taken care of."

Harold’s gaze slowly shifted towards the burning chamber and his expression darkened instantly. Fires inside the palace were rare because precautions were always taken carefully. This one had spread too quickly and violently.

If the fire had been accidental, then how had it spread this quickly?

Something about it felt wrong.

****

Standing nearby was Alaric, his gaze fixed silently on his unconscious brother lying motionless on the bed.

Alaric himself had caused the fire, yet now that he stood there looking at his younger brother’s unconscious face, an unfamiliar feeling twisted inside his chest.

He searched for the hatred that had consumed him earlier, yet all he felt now was something far worse.

He was not supposed to feel this way.

Drystan was supposed to die and afterward, the crown was meant to belong to Alaric, yet somehow his brother had escaped death as though fate itself was protecting him.

And Instead of Drystan dying, two innocent servants had lost their lives in the fire.

"He is stable now, although he may remain unconscious for some time," the physician reported calmly.

Alaric only nodded stiffly while the physician gathered his things after finishing his examination of Drystan. Just then, King Harold appeared at the doorway with a grim expression darkening his face.

"Your Majesty, His Highness should recover soon," the physician said respectfully while bowing his head.

"Thank you for your service," Harold replied and the physician immediately excused himself alongside the attendants.

The moment the room emptied, Harold stormed forward.

"Father..." Alaric began.

But the words never finished leaving his mouth before a harsh slap sent him crashing to the ground. The sting burned across his face instantly while the imprint of Harold’s fingers remained visible against his skin.

Harold crouched down immediately and grabbed Alaric by the collar, fury blazing in his eyes. "Did you truly think I would never find out?"

A shiver ran through Alaric’s spine and his eyes widened slightly.

"How could you do this to your own brother?" Harold demanded in a low voice that still shook with rage. "How could you wish for him to die?"

Alaric clenched his jaw tightly. "You caused this," he shot back bitterly. "If it were not for you, I would never have thought this way."

Harold’s eyes flared and another slap landed across Alaric’s face.

"You bastard," Harold cursed as he rose to his feet while Alaric touched his bleeding lip. "It was for the crown that you nearly murdered your own brother. If those servants had not saved him, Drystan would be dead right now."

Harold stared at his son as though he no longer recognized him.

"Yet instead of remorse, all that fills you is hatred over a throne?" he demanded furiously.

Alaric slowly rose to his feet.

He gave a hollow chuckle and Harold instinctively stepped back slightly when he saw the madness burning inside his son’s eyes.

"What did you think would happen when you brought two sons into this world?" Alaric asked coldly. "One was always going to destroy the other for the crown. I was only helping Drystan reach mother faster."

The king’s face twisted with fury. "You fool," he spat. "Now I know exactly what must be done and this time I will not hesitate. Drystan will become the next king of Eryndor, while you..." Harold’s voice darkened. "You clearly need your mind examined because no sane man would do this to his own blood. Do you think this is what your mother would have wanted?"

"She would have understood me!" Alaric snapped angrily. "She was the only one who ever cared about me. You..." His voice trembled with resentment. "You stopped being my father the moment Drystan was born. Now you intend to throw me aside and give him everything that belongs to me!"

Harold gritted his teeth so tightly his jaw ached. "You do not deserve to remain in this palace pretending to be honorable after what you have done. And for the innocent lives lost because of your actions..." His voice turned cold. "I banish you from Eryndor."

Alaric froze completely.

"I will not tell Drystan the truth," Harold continued. "No one will. That is the last mercy I will ever grant you because your brother does not deserve to know what you have done to him."

Harold pointed toward the doors. "Now leave Eryndor and never return again."

"Father..." Alaric’s voice came out weak with disbelief.

"I am not your father anymore," Harold replied without hesitation. "From this day onward, I sever all ties with you."

The rejection pierced through Alaric more than any wound ever had. All his life he had believed he was destined for greatness, destined to sit upon the throne and rule over Eryndor, yet now he was being cast out of his own home like he meant nothing at all.

A travel bag was thrown towards him and he caught it stiffly while the reality slowly settled over him.

Alaric lifted his gaze one last time towards Harold, who stood near the terrace watching him with an expression that never softened even once.

Slowly, Alaric clenched his jaw and turned away from the palace before disappearing out of sight.

****

After two days, Drystan finally regained consciousness.

His eyes opened slowly and hazily as he stared at the ceiling before his gaze shifted slightly to the side where Harold sat beside him.

"Father?" he called weakly.

Harold immediately moved closer and relief softened his features now that his son was awake.

"What happened?" Drystan asked faintly.

"You do not remember?" Harold questioned.

Drystan shook his head weakly although he still looked disoriented.

"It is better that you do not remember any of it," Harold replied gently. "What matters is that you survived."

The physician, who had remained nearby, confirmed that Drystan was recovering well and after some time, the haze in his mind slowly began clearing.

Then suddenly, Drystan looked around the chamber again.

"Where is Alaric?" he asked innocently. "I thought we were supposed to attend the festival together."

The king’s eyes darkened slightly at the mention of Alaric. "He went away for a while," Harold answered carefully, keeping his voice calm so suspicion would not rise in Drystan’s mind.

"Away?" Drystan repeated quietly as he stared at him. "Why would he leave without telling me?"

Harold sighed and looked at his youngest son for a long moment before speaking. "There are some things your brother needs to understand on his own. This journey is meant to help him."

Drystan frowned slightly. "Why does he never get to spend time with me?" he asked softly, and for a moment Harold’s chest tightened at the hurt in his son’s voice.

The king said after a pause, "You may not understand now, but this is something he must do for himself."

Drystan lowered his gaze, though doubt still lingered in his eyes. "So he will come back?" he asked quietly.

Harold only gave a faint smile, because deep down he already knew Alaric would never return to Eryndor again.

But Drystan held onto hope. He believed his elder brother would one day walk through those palace gates again and things would return to how they once were. Days passed and turned into weeks, while weeks became months, yet Alaric never returned. Then one year passed, and after that came another.

King Harold eventually fell gravely ill and died, leaving only his youngest son beside him in his final moments.

There was nobody left to comfort Drystan after the king’s death, and before he could even properly grieve, the weight of the crown was already being placed upon his shoulders and suddenly the responsibility of Eryndor belonged to him alone.