Claimed By The Tyrant King

As the king turned to leave, a man stepped forward from the side of the hall. He had been standing there all along, unnoticed, his posture straight and his expression unreadable. "While His Majesty is away," he said, his voice calm but firm, "all matters of the palace will pass through me."

His gaze moved across the room, sharp and assessing. "I am Lord Cassian, Regent of the palace until the king returns."

"No one moves without permission. The palace will remain under strict order," he added, his voice steady and loud enough for everyone to hear.

After that, he dismissed them, and the hall slowly broke apart as everyone began returning to their quarters. Just as Rosalind turned to leave, the Regent’s voice stopped her."You," he said.

Rosalind paused. "You’ve been granted freedom. Do not mistake that for carelessness," he said, his tone cold and sharp.

Rosalind gave a slight bow, meeting his narrowed gaze briefly before she continued on her way.

****

Sabine closed the door to her room slowly. The anger and irritation that had been sitting in her eyes earlier had shifted into something quieter. Claire had followed her as usual, but Sabine shut the door in her face. "Are you alright?" Claire asked from outside.

"Go away," Sabine said, her voice weak, lacking its usual sharpness.

Claire lingered for a moment, then left. Sabine walked to her bed and sat down, pulling her legs close to her. After a moment, one tear slipped down her face before she could stop it.

Marriage. That word kept repeating in her mind.

Alaric was discussing marriage plans with Rosalind. And instead of fury or rage, instead of wanting to tear the palace apart, Sabine found herself sitting still, wiping her tears as if she had no strength left for anything else.

Sabine’s thoughts slipped into the past without warning. There had once been a palace that belonged to her, where her footsteps carried weight and people bowed because they meant it, not because they were ordered to.

She remembered the halls filled with music during her engagement feast, her hands steady as she accepted congratulations she had believed would define the rest of her life. She had been chosen, promised to a prince whose kingdom stood beside hers, and for a time it had felt certain that everything she had been raised for was finally within reach.

Then the war came.

It did not arrive with a warning that she could prepare for. It came through broken alliances, shifting loyalties, and decisions made in rooms she was not allowed to enter. By the time she understood what had happened, the engagement had already been dissolved, and the words used were polite enough to preserve appearances but sharp enough to leave nothing behind.

She could still hear them telling her she was no longer needed.

Her father tried to protect what was left of their name, but even that collapsed under pressure she had not caused but was forced to carry. Within days, she was no longer a princess in her own right. She was a problem without a solution, and finally a presence that needed to be moved out of sight.

Alaric’s palace was where she was sent.

He received her without ceremony and warmth. He gave her stability without choice. A place to stay. A title that meant nothing. A life that looked comfortable from the outside but belonged entirely to him. His mistress.

She remembered the first time she understood what she had become. It was not spoken aloud. It was the way people addressed her when they thought she was not listening.

And yet she stayed.

Because leaving meant returning to nothing and staying meant being seen.

Because over time, being near him began to feel like the closest thing she had left to importance.

As the memory settled deeper, she had learned quickly how to survive in the palace, how to smile when it was expected, how to turn attention into leverage. She told herself it was enough.

But it was never enough.

Not when Rosalind entered the palace and drew his attention without effort or history, without having to fight for it the way Sabine had. That was the part that stayed with her the most. Sabine wiped her tears away, coming to the conclusion that she wouldn’t be forgotten that easily.

****

Rosalind had washed and changed into dry, comfortable clothing. The earlier chaos had settled into something distant now, and she sat in front of the mirror while Verity gently combed through her hair.

"Does anyone want fruit?" Thalia asked, holding a plate of sliced apples. Rosalind reached for one immediately, realizing she had not eaten since the previous night.

"Thank you," she said, biting into it.

Verity shook her head as she continued helping Rosalind with her hair, and she said, "Last night must have been really scary."

Rosalind couldn’t agree more, and she began explaining how everything happened from when they left her parents’ house, to the sudden ambush on the road, the dead coachman she had seen, and the bandit who had tried to take her before Rowan killed him, and as she spoke a cold feeling ran down her spine because she hadn’t fully processed it then, especially the way Rowan had killed the man without a word as if it wasn’t new to him, which had scared her at first since she hadn’t expected that side of him, but she still ran with him because staying behind wasn’t an option with the bandits around.

She didn’t want to recall everything, except for one moment that stayed in her mind, and she didn’t say it out loud because she knew she shouldn’t, so instead she changed the topic and said, "The rain was really heavy."

"We thought it would stop but it didn’t, all the way till this morning," Thalia said, swallowing the apple she was eating.

"It’s rainy season already, we should be expecting more rainstorms," Verity said, and they all nodded in agreement as she finished combing Rosalind’s hair and said, "Done."

Rosalind touched her hair, now smooth, tangle-free and dry, and she gave a small mocking bow as she said, "Well, thank you Lady Verity," before Verity tapped her nose lightly with the comb and set it aside as the three of them gathered closer and started catching up.

Then Rosalind leaned in and said, "I have a question," and immediately both Thalia and Verity narrowed their eyes and leaned closer because they knew it had to be something whispered.

"How do you know if someone likes you?" she asked.

"A man?" Thalia asked, and Rosalind nodded. "The king?" she added, raising her brows.

Rosalind almost reacted sharply because that wasn’t what she meant at all. Verity already understood it had something to do with Rowan and she said, "It’s not difficult. They care about you, put you first, don’t lie or deceive you, treat you differently...with kindness, respect, they don’t break you, they help you become better..."

"And most of all, you can see it in their eyes. The eyes are like a portal to someone’s heart," Thalia added.

Rosalind fell quiet at that. Eyes. Rowan’s were always unreadable, sometimes annoyed, but never clear enough to understand. How was she supposed to know anything unless she confronted him directly?

"So are you going to tell us about this person?" Thalia asked with a suspicious look.

"It’s a secret," Rosalind said, simply letting it end there.