Claimed By The Tyrant King

Alaric watched the expression on Rosalind’s face with clear amusement, she looked terrified for her life now and he revelled in that fear.

It made him feel a kind of superiority, knowing she was frightened of what he could do to her, and despite everything she felt, the way her stomach twisted with anxiety, the fear in her eyes as her body went rigid, the chill that ran down her spine, the faint sheen of sweat that broke across her skin, Alaric suddenly laughed, causing her expression to flicker into confusion.

"I was just joking, little one," he said, before stepping away from her.

But that did nothing to ease Rosalind. He was mad, truly mad, and he could still throw her in whether it was a joke or not.

She knew she couldn’t risk offending this man, and the fear that settled in her chest wasn’t just fear anymore, it was the certainty that her life now rested entirely in the hands of someone who could end it for amusement.

As he descended the stone stairs, his magnificent robe catching the light, the embroidered gems glinting as the fabric trailed behind him, Rosalind found herself wondering if she could simply push him and send him tumbling to his death.

It was a foolish thought, one that slipped into her mind without permission.

But she wouldn’t live to tell the tale if she failed, Alaric looked like a strong man beneath those layers of robes and she doubted a single push would even be enough.

He would survive, maybe sustain an injury, and then decree her public execution, and just the thought sent a shiver rolling down her spine.

"Those people you see down there are traitors, Rosalind," he began as they descended the stairs. "Bloody criminals, and they deserve a worse death than this battle of no win, as I like to call it," he added casually.

"Battle of no win?" Rosalind found herself asking.

"Yes," he chuckled, "there is no winner. The only winner there can be is me," he added, and her stomach twisted at that.

Whether or not they were traitors, the way she had seen them fighting for their lives, especially the weaker ones who tried to flee only to be mercilessly cut down. It was a bloody sight and she was certain it would haunt her sleep tonight.

Rosalind was not someone who could stomach such things, and she could feel her skin crawl at the memory.

They didn’t deserve it.

"Don’t you think there could be innocent ones among them?" she asked as they reached the final step and the guards bowed, pulling the doors open for them.

Rosalind felt a small sense of relief that it was over, that she could finally return to her room.

Alaric turned to her. "There is no innocent one among them," he said.

Rosalind didn’t believe that.

Some of them could have been accused wrongly and dragged there without proof but their lives ended before they even had a chance to defend themselves. She had seen it in their eyes, especially those who didn’t even look capable of committing crimes that would land them there.

"As long as they find themselves in the dungeon, they are no longer innocent," he added.

"How is that even..." she began, her thoughts racing.

Wasn’t it meant to be that they would wait until they were proven guilty?

But no, Alaric would kill them for his own amusement without a second thought.

He suddenly placed a finger against her lips, sending a shiver down her spine and silencing her instantly. "I have important things to attend to. Kingly duties..." his lips curled into a smile as he cupped her cheeks, his thumb brushing over her skin, "try not to miss me, my sweet rose," he said.

As if. Rosalind huffed inwardly, saying nothing as her fists tightened at her sides.

"Now run along to your quarters until I call for you," he said. "You know the way back, don’t you?" he asked, and Rosalind nodded.

She watched as he turned away without another word, leaving after flashing her that same charming smile.

The truth was, Rosalind was quick to forget things, she couldn’t quite remember the way back, but she would do anything to not remain anywhere near Alaric.

Whatever, she would find her way, or ask someone.

After walking for a while, taking turns here and there, Rosalind realized she was returning to the same spot, as though the place itself was a maze, and she was beginning to grow tired. It didn’t help that the guards lined along the walls stood like statues, none of them shifting their gaze toward her or offering assistance.

She had even approached one to ask for help, she had seen him breathe, so she knew he wasn’t a statue meant to deceive, but he neither looked at her nor answered, and Rosalind quickly understood that their duty was simply to stand there. They weren’t allowed to move or respond.

She gritted her teeth in frustration, still unable to find anyone useful, and she was growing weary with each passing moment.

After a few more turns and a walk down another corridor, Rosalind was just about to pass beneath an archway when she collided with someone. She stumbled back as the tray in the person’s hands was knocked down. The sound of ceramics crashing against the floor reached her ears as she was about to crash to the ground.

But before she could hit the ground, strong arms caught her.

Rosalind prayed silently that it wasn’t Alaric.

But he wouldn’t be carrying a tray.

So, who...

She opened her eyes, her breath uneven, her chest rising and falling as her gaze met a pair of dark eyes. She narrowed her eyes at him, taking in his lean build, his short hair, the beard that framed his face without hiding how striking he looked.

Rosalind cleared her throat inwardly. He was dressed in a servant’s uniform. Why was he still holding her?

And why was he looking directly into her eyes?

Wasn’t that improper for a servant?

"Let go of me," Rosalind said once she steadied herself.

That seemed to bring him back, and he released her immediately.

Rosalind dropped to the ground.

She quickly gathered her shame, glancing around to see if anyone had witnessed it, but it was only the guards lining the walls. They didn’t count, she decided, they had already proven themselves to be as good as lifeless.

She cleared her throat again, lifting her gaze to the servant, who had lowered his head slightly now. That was more like it. A servant shouldn’t hold her gaze or touch her so freely.

Rosalind drew in a breath, gathering her skirt as she moved to pass him, while he crouched to retrieve the items scattered from the tray.

She paused, then turned back to him. "Do you know the way to the ladies’ quarters?" she asked.

As he picked up the items and arranged them neatly on the tray, Rosalind noticed he hadn’t answered, and her brows drew together. What was wrong with him?

Servants were meant to respond quickly, even nervously, but this one remained composed.

"I’m talking to you," Rosalind said.

He then rose to his feet with the tray in his hand, and that was when she heard it. "Follow me," he said.

Rosalind’s brows lifted slightly in surprise. Follow him?

His voice wasn’t hesitant or lowered the way a servant’s should be, it came out in a way that confused her... almost like he was used to being obeyed.

But she said nothing and moved after him anyway, she had somewhere to be, somewhere she could finally shut herself away.

This time, Rosalind paid attention to every turn they took and she quickly realized that she had made more turns than necessary before, which explained why she had been circling the same path. They continued straight down a longer corridor instead, and Rosalind gave a small nod to herself, committing it all to memory.

Then they reached the hall she was beginning to recognize, "The left wing is where you’re heading, excuse me," he said, giving her a small bow before already turning away and he left before Rosalind could even respond.

She huffed and didn’t bother calling him back, fine, the left wing it was, she thought, glancing in that direction, and when she turned again to where the servant had been, he was already gone.

Strange servant, she thought to herself as she walked off on her own.

Something about the way he had looked at her lingered in her mind, his gaze wasn’t improper or quite audacious, it just felt... wrong. Rosalind frowned slightly before brushing it off, she didn’t have the luxury to dwell on strange servants.

Fortunately, she found the building and recognized it immediately, the guards greeted her as she stepped into the grand hall.

Rosalind’s gaze fell on the other mistresses seated in the hall, they had been speaking amongst themselves, but the moment she entered, silence fell over them. The silence didn’t feel natural, it pressed around her like she had walked into something she wasn’t meant to hear.

She caught a fragment of their words before it died completely. "The king seems fond of her" one of them said.

"She’s just the new plaything, he’ll grow bored soon," another replied, and Rosalind knew exactly which one had spoken, it was the same woman watching her as she made her way upstairs. Rosalind didn’t need anyone to explain that look. That particular mistress was already jealous of her. She had already noticed it earlier when the mistress had smiled at her without warmth, a smile that hadn’t reached her eyes, and it had unsettled her then just as much as it did now.

Their eyes followed her movements. It didn’t seem like they were welcoming her, rather they were already wondering what to make of her.

[These damn bitches! She didn’t even want their man!!]

By the time she reached her room, Rosalind shut the door quickly behind her and secured it, dragging the cupboard against it as though expecting Alaric to burst in at any moment. The sound echoed louder than it should have, and for the briefest moment, she stood still and listened as she was half-expecting footsteps to follow.

She ran her fingers through her hair as she paced slightly while looked around the room, she had to do something.

This place wasn’t safe, and she needed to leave before she offended the king and found herself thrown into the pit or somewhere worse, because she knew he was capable of it, everything about him screamed danger. It wasn’t just what she had seen, it was the way he had smiled through it, like it meant nothing, like people bleeding before him was nothing more than an amusement. And she would be stupid to ignore these signs.

She had no reason to stay, she thought, as her heart pounded against her chest.

Even if being his mistress meant wealth, beautiful dresses, and endless luxury, none of it mattered if her life was hanging by a thread the moment she displeased him.

Rosalind moved toward the table where parchment and ink had been left. She wasn’t familiar enough with the castle to attempt escape outright. Running around blindly would get her caught and she already knew that, but staying still would be worse.

So, she had to write.

A letter to her useless father.

The same man who had handed her over without hesitation.

He would have to return the gold and come for her, if there was even a part of him that still saw her as his daughter.