Claimed By The Tyrant King

Silence followed afterward, then Drystan slowly pushed himself upright despite the weakness in his body. "She has to be found," he said immediately.

Cedric stared at him quietly.

Because for the first time in years, he sounded like himself again.

"If Merovia falls completely," Drystan continued while pressing a hand weakly against his head, "other kingdoms will take advantage of it..." His voice trailed off.

Cedric could still see traces of the king Eryndor once loved still surviving beneath everything Alaric had done to him. "I will try to gather more information," Cedric promised quietly.

Drystan nodded faintly before lowering his gaze again.

Unfortunately, neither of them noticed the guard silently watching from the shadows.

****

Alaric had long grown paranoid toward betrayal and trusted almost nobody anymore. Every movement inside the palace was monitored and eventually word reached him about the soldier secretly contacting Drystan.

Cedric was dragged before Alaric the very next night.

"You disappoint me," Alaric said coldly while staring down at him from the throne. 𝕗𝗿𝕖𝐞𝐰𝗲𝕓𝐧𝕠𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝐨𝚖

Cedric struggled against the soldiers restraining him. "You betrayed your own brother!"

The entire throne chamber became silent instantly.

Alaric descended the steps slowly until he stood directly before him. "My brother?" he repeated quietly.

"Yes," Cedric spat bitterly. "The rightful king."

At that, Alaric’s expression darkened completely. "I’ll make sure you regret this... Take him away."

Cedric struggled against the guards’ hold.

"Remove his tongue before executing him," Alaric ordered without emotion. "Let the others understand exactly what betrayal earns."

And after Cedric’s dissapearance for a while, Drystan realized that Alaric had gotten a hold of him too.

Years continued passing and the man who had once been known as Drystan slowly began fading away beneath the endless confinement, the laudanum and the crushing isolation surrounding him. His hair grew longer, rough stubble eventually becoming a full beard while his once softer features sharpened beneath years of bitterness and silence.

Even his eyes changed.

The warmth within them disappeared gradually until they became colder, emptier and more dangerous than before.

And somewhere through those years, Drystan stopped feeling like Drystan at all.

After ten years...

The dungeon doors opened again and the guards dragged him out from the darkness slowly.

His legs felt weak beneath him from staying too long inside the cold cell while the sudden brightness from the palace corridors stung his eyes.

He could barely understand where they were taking him anymore and even the environment around him seemed unfamiliar and blurred inside his mind.

The laudanum had done its work well over the years as his memories no longer felt complete while others had disappeared entirely.

Soon the large doors ahead opened and he was dragged into the throne chamber where at the very front sat Alaric upon the throne of Eryndor, his expression calm as his eyes settled upon the broken man standing before him.

For a long moment, silence filled the chamber.

Then Alaric finally spoke. "Who are you?"

The question reached him strangely.

His brows pulled together faintly as he tried to answer it but nothing came to him. His head ached from trying to remember and the harder he searched his mind, the more empty it felt. "I..." his voice came out rough from disuse, "I do not know."

Something unreadable crossed Alaric’s face at that answer before he slowly rose from the throne and descended the steps.

"From now onward," he said as he stopped before him, "your name is Rowan."

The man stared blankly.

"And you shall serve me" Alaric added.

One of the guards suddenly stepped forward. "Kneel before His Majesty."

But he remained standing.

Not because he meant disrespect but something inside him simply resisted it naturally even when he did not understand why.

The guards immediately grabbed him harshly before forcing him downward until his knees hit the cold floor.

Alaric watched quietly with satisfaction.

Then he turned toward the royal housemaster standing nearby. "Take him to the servant quarters," Alaric ordered calmly. "Teach him the ways of a servant properly so he may serve better."

The housemaster lowered his head immediately. "Yes, your Majesty."

And with that, Rowan was pulled back onto his feet and led away from the throne chamber without another word.

He was taken from the throne room straight into the servant quarters where the air was warmer but no less suffocating than the cells he had left behind, and for the first time in years he was placed among people. They moved quickly, spoke little, and avoided eye contact as if even looking too long at another person could become dangerous.

The royal housemaster was the one overseeing them, with guards stationed nearby to enforce discipline when needed.

"Rowan," one of the attendants had called one time.

But there was no response from him.

"He does not answer," another muttered.

"He will learn," the housemaster replied flatly.

On the first day, they cut his hair to match the others, removing what remained of his time in the dungeon. His face was cleaned properly as well, the rough beard shaved down until only a faint stubble remained, and he was dressed in plain servant cloth that marked him as lower than even the guards who watched over the quarters.

Then they tried to teach him.

"Bow your head," the housemaster ordered.

Rowan stood still.

"I said bow."

He did not move.

The guards stepped in immediately and forced him down until his head lowered against his will.

"Again," the housemaster said.

They made him repeat it.

Kneeling. Bowing. Standing when told. Remaining silent when spoken to.

Each refusal was met with punishment and each punishment was sharper than the last until hesitation became something his body could no longer maintain for long.

Still, he did not obey willingly and he didn’t even know the reason why he couldn’t.

Even after days passed, he remained stiff when commanded, slow to respond, and silent when called, and every failure was corrected immediately.

Until slowly, he was forced to endure it and his body began learning what they demanded of him.