Claimed By The Tyrant King

Rosalind returned to her chamber safely that night without any hurdles, which was a relief because she had spent the entire journey back imagining all the ways things could go wrong.

As she dropped down from the cupboard and into her room as quietly as possible so she wouldn’t alert the guards outside, she let out a long breath of relief and slowly made her way back to the bed.

Seeing Rowan had made her feel better. At least he wasn’t hurt, and he was still alive and well. She sighed deeply, frustrated by how much she still cared for him.

Heaven knew she hadn’t wanted to leave like that, but she didn’t want to seem desperate and, most of all, she didn’t want to look foolish again.

She could still remember her fists tightening against her dress and her heart pounding wildly when he had told her to be careful.

Rosalind had wanted to hug him again and to touch him, but she had to restrain herself.

Still, seeing Rowan try to express himself that way, even though it was clearly difficult for him, made her chest tighten. She could tell there was so much more he wanted to say. He wanted to reassure her, apologize properly, and somehow make her feel safe with him again, but he simply didn’t know how to do it.

Knowing Rowan, he wasn’t the type of person who openly confessed his feelings or shared what was weighing on his mind. He bottled everything up and carried it alone, even when he had someone willing to share that burden with him.

Rosalind had wanted him to trust her enough to let her stand beside him instead of shutting her out.

Yet when she thought about it honestly, he had been trying to protect her in his own way.

As her thoughts drifted to the past, she realized he had always cared about her and never once tried to use her. He had always been there when she needed him, and he had always been the first person to protect her whenever trouble arose. Those were the things that had made her fall for him in the first place. He made her feel safe, he made her feel understood, and he made her feel things she had never felt with anyone else. She couldn’t bring herself to pretend otherwise.

Then there was the moment he had accidentally revealed more than he intended, when he spoke of the woman he loved. The memory alone made her heart flutter all over again, as though a thousand sparks had burst across the night sky.

She already knew how he felt about her.

The problem wasn’t his feelings.

The problem was the way he handled things.

Rosalind sighed and lay back against the bed. Rowan already carried so much on his shoulders, and perhaps she could try to cut him some slack. That didn’t mean she would trust him the way she once had, but maybe, with time, she could learn to trust him again and somehow mend what had been broken between them.

That was, of course, if there would even be a relationship left to mend.

Now that she knew Alaric planned to execute him, Rowan had still chosen to remain in the dungeon. Rosalind didn’t understand why, but she couldn’t shake the terrible feeling that something awful was coming.

Meanwhile, Rowan found himself sitting alone in the darkness of his cell, replaying every moment of Rosalind’s visit.

She had risked everything just to come and see him, and after he had finally opened up to her, she had simply turned and left.

But then what had he expected?

That she would throw herself into his arms?

What he had done was enormous. No one could love, trust, and invest themselves so completely in another person only to discover that so much of what they knew had been hidden from them. Rowan understood that better than most, and now Rosalind was suffering because of his choices.

He had never imagined there would come a day when she would look him directly in the eye without warmth, without softness, and without that familiar light that always seemed to surround her. He hated that he had caused it.

The Rosalind he knew was bright, cheerful, and endlessly kind. She had a way of making every room feel warmer simply by entering it, and even he had found himself affected by that light long before he ever realized what she had become to him. He had never wanted her to look at him the way she had tonight.

Only now was he beginning to realize that he was losing her.

And somehow, that hurt far more than the chains, the dungeon, or the threat hanging over his head.

Rosalind was his hope, his peace, and the person he would willingly sacrifice everything for. She was the one person capable of destroying him completely, not because she wished him harm, but because she mattered that much to him.

Which was why he would never allow Alaric to marry her.

No matter what happened, he would find a way to save her. Alaric would pay for everything he had done because Rowan had finally stopped caring that they shared the same blood. If his brother wanted him dead so badly, then perhaps he had never truly been his brother at all.

And if one of them had to die, it would not be Rowan.

Because dying would mean leaving Rosalind alone with a man capable of destroying her in every possible way.

His hand slipped beneath his clothing and retrieved a folded document marked with Harold’s royal seal. He carried it with him whenever he could because leaving it unattended was dangerous.

It was the true succession document.

The document that declared Harold had passed the crown to him and not to Alaric.

Even if Alaric possessed a forged version, Rowan knew exactly what his brother had done. He had manipulated everything he could in order to seize the throne.

But no matter how many lies Alaric created, he could never erase the truth.

The document alone might not be enough to convince everyone, but it would be enough to unsettle Alaric. And when Alaric became unsettled, Rowan knew his brother’s greatest weakness would emerge.

Because an angry Alaric made mistakes.

And when the time came, Rowan intended to strike precisely when those mistakes began to destroy him.

****

The third day of the rites had arrived, the final day, and Rosalind now found herself dressed once again in a plain white dress with no colors or jewelry adorning her body, while her hair was left to fall freely in smooth waves behind her. Even her shoes had been taken from her, leaving her barefoot on the cold floor.

"For this final rite, my lady, you are to walk to the throne hall where everyone is waiting so they can finally see you have been properly cleansed," Lady Ophelia said.

"I need my shoes at least," Rosalind replied immediately, irritation bubbling beneath her calm exterior.

"This is important," Lady Catherine insisted.

Rosalind’s eyes snapped toward her. "And you think my shoes are not? I could step on a nail or something. I could get hurt," she said sharply, as though she was asking them to use their heads because it was clear to her that they were not thinking properly.

The third woman, Lady Eva, leaned in and whispered into Lady Ophelia’s ear, "It will be bad if she gets hurt. You know she will be the king’s bride, and you do not want to answer to him."

A visible shiver ran through Lady Ophelia at the mention of the king.