Claimed By The Tyrant King

The moment Drystan’s unconscious body was carried back into the palace, panic spread through the entire royal household like wildfire.

Servants hurried through the corridors while soldiers barked orders at one another. Blood stained the king’s armour as he was rushed toward his chamber.

The royal attendant nearly stumbled over himself trying to keep up while fear had completely drained the colour from his face.

"Move aside!" Alaric thundered as the chamber doors were thrown open immediately. "Call every physician in the palace now!"

Servants scattered at once while Drystan was carefully lowered onto the bed as blood continued staining the sheets beneath him.

The physicians arrived almost immediately and pushed everyone aside to work on the king.

The arrow had pierced deeply into his chest and blood loss had already weakened him terribly. For hours, the chamber remained tense while servants carried bowls of water back and forth and the physicians worked endlessly to keep the king alive.

Outside the chamber, the palace remained restless because news of the king’s injury had already begun spreading across Eryndor. Fear gripped the people and rumours traveled wildly through the streets.

Some believed the king had died already while others feared the enemy kingdom would return before Eryndor could recover from the war.

"The kingdom cannot remain in disorder," one of the ministers said anxiously that same night while gathered outside the king’s chamber. "The people are already frightened."

Alaric stood there silently before lifting his gaze toward them. His armour was still stained with blood while exhaustion rested heavily upon him yet his expression remained calm. "His Majesty is still alive," he said firmly. "And until he recovers, Eryndor will remain stable."

The ministers exchanged uncertain looks among themselves while Alaric continued speaking.

"The borders will remain guarded and the soldiers will continue under my command. No one is to spread rumours about the king’s condition." His eyes darkened slightly.

"Anyone caught disturbing the peace will answer directly to me." The firmness in his voice silenced any further objections.

And so, while Drystan remained unconscious for days, Alaric slowly stepped deeper into authority.

At first, nobody questioned it because the kingdom truly needed stability after the war.

Soldiers obeyed him naturally since he was already Lord Commander and the ministers reluctantly allowed him to oversee court matters temporarily while the king recovered.

Weeks passed before Drystan finally regained consciousness.

When his eyes opened again, pain immediately spread through his chest and he winced weakly while trying to breathe properly.

The room looked quieter than he remembered and for a moment his mind remained clouded before the memories of the battlefield slowly returned to him.

"You should not move yet." Drystan turned slightly at the sound of Alaric’s voice and found him seated nearby.

Relief crossed Drystan’s face almost instantly the moment their eyes met.

"You survived," Alaric said quietly and Drystan gave the faintest smile despite the pain.

"How long was I asleep?" he asked weakly.

"Several weeks."

Drystan’s eyes widened slightly at that. "The kingdom..."

"It is under control," Alaric answered immediately. "You do not need to worry about anything right now."

And Drystan believed him completely.

During the following weeks, Alaric remained constantly by his side while the physicians continued treating his injuries. Whenever Drystan asked about court matters, Alaric always answered calmly and reassured him that everything was being handled properly.

At first, Drystan felt grateful because he believed his brother had carried the burden of Eryndor while he remained bedridden.

But slowly, certain things began unsettling him.

Some of the servants he had known for years were suddenly gone. Certain ministers stopped visiting him entirely and unfamiliar guards now stood outside his chamber every single day. Even the atmosphere inside the palace had changed because people seemed quieter around him, almost cautious whenever he spoke.

One evening, Drystan noticed the royal attendant hesitating strangely while serving him tea.

"What is it?" Drystan finally asked.

The man immediately lowered his head. "Nothing, Your Majesty."

But Drystan could clearly see fear in his eyes before the attendant quickly left the room.

Unease settled heavily within him since that time.

And not long after, the truth slowly began finding its way to him piece by piece.

It started with an elderly servant who had been on duty in the palace the night the fire broke out. He had worked in the corridor close to the prince’s chamber and though he never saw the fire begin directly, he remembered the tension that night clearly.

The man had grown terrified after witnessing servants disappear from the palace one after another under Alaric’s authority. Eventually, fear drove him toward Drystan’s chamber late one night.

"Your Majesty...I should not be saying this," the servant admitted quietly, glancing toward the door as if afraid someone might be listening. "But that night... I saw the crown prince in the corridor near your chamber before the fire started."

Drystan brows creased slightly. "Alaric?"

The servant nodded slowly. "And afterward... I heard voices... The late king was speaking with him."

Drystan’s expression tightened slightly. "What did they say?"

"I could not hear everything clearly," the servant replied nervously, "but I heard the king ask him how he could do such a thing to his own brother."

Silence fell instantly in the chamber.

Drystan shook his head as if trying to push the words away. "No... that cannot be right." His voice was firm, but there was uncertainty underneath it. "You must be mistaken."

But the servant swore upon his life that it was.

Even as he dismissed it, the words refused to leave his mind.

Long after the servant had left, Drystan lay awake staring at the ceiling while pieces of memory began to return in fragments. The fire. The smoke. The strange absence of Alaric at that time.

At first, he tried to convince himself it meant nothing. But the more he thought about it, the more the unease deepened.

Could that have been the reason Alaric was banished in the first place?

And then came the battlefield...

The arrow...

He remembered Alaric insisting he join the war. He remembered how quickly the attack had come as if someone had been waiting for the moment.

Drystan slowly sat up in bed, his breathing uneven as realization tried to form but still refused to fully take shape.

"No..." he whispered to himself. "He wouldn’t..."

And once doubt entered Drystan’s mind, they would not leave.

The sudden control Alaric now held over the palace...

The missing servants...

The ministers who no longer spoke freely around him...

For days Drystan wrestled against the thoughts because every part of him refused to believe his own brother could have done such things. Yet the more he watched Alaric afterward, the more he began noticing things he had ignored before.

Eventually, he confronted him. "You caused the fire."

The words fell heavily between them and Alaric had gone completely still where he stood.

Drystan’s breathing had already become uneven from anger and disbelief while pain still lingered through his healing body. "Tell me it is not true," he demanded quietly. "Tell me you did not try to kill me."

Silence lingered for several moments before Alaric finally looked at him.

And then his lips curled into a faint smile.

His smile wasn’t warm or kind.

But like a man who had grown tired of pretending and Drystan felt a shiver run down his spine. "You were never supposed to survive that fire," he admitted calmly.

The words shattered something inside Drystan instantly.

His eyes widened in horror while his chest tightened painfully.

He whispered brokenly. "I trusted you..."

Alaric’s smirk deepened.

Drystan stared at him as though he no longer recognized the man standing before him.

"The arrow... Was that also your doing?" he asked weakly.

Alaric said nothing this time and somehow the silence itself became the answer.

Drystan’s breathing turned heavier as betrayal crashed into him completely. Every memory he had held onto about his brother now felt poisoned.

"You killed innocent people..." his voice cracked. "You tried to kill me..."

"And yet you still trusted me enough to hand me power," Alaric replied coldly.

Drystan stepped back from him in shock, his entire body trembling now. "Why are you doing this?"

Something dark flickered across Alaric’s eyes at those words. ""I am only reclaiming my birthright."

Then his expression hardened completely.

"And I cannot allow you to ruin everything now."

Before Drystan could fully understand what he meant, the chamber doors suddenly opened and armed guards stepped inside immediately.

Drystan looked toward them in shock before turning back toward Alaric. "What are you doing?"

Alaric’s face remained emotionless now despite the storm raging inside Drystan.

"For the stability of Eryndor," he said calmly, "His Majesty requires rest away from the pressures of the throne."

Realisation struck Drystan instantly. "You cannot do this."

But the guards were already approaching him.

"Stand down," Drystan commanded, but none of them listened as they grabbed him forcefully and restrained his arms behind his back.

The ministers and noblemen remained silent while some lowered their heads, unwilling to challenge Alaric openly.

"Take him away," Alaric ordered coldly and the guards immediately began dragging Drystan out of the chamber.

"Alaric... you cannot do this. Release me this instant!" Drystan shouted, struggling against them despite the sharp pain burning through his chest, yet nobody listened to him.

And before long, the heavy sound of iron locks echoed through the dungeon halls as he was thrown into the cell.