When Rosalind woke up, it wasn't to anything familiar.
The ceiling above her was high, polished and seemed very expensive. It was staring back at her like a reminder of where she was. She blinked again, then it all came rushing back. Her fingers tightened around the duvet.
Last night, the king had said something along the lines of "...all her needs would be provided for, that she would lack nothing, as long as she stayed where she belonged"
To him, she already belonged here. But Rosalind knew she didn't. She didn't belong in this castle or under him. She wanted to go home.
But which home?
To the father who had handed her over? He must be overjoyed by now, she thought with a grimace.
And at the Calder's manor, Viscount Calder was celebrating, drowning himself in the gold coins sent by the king. He was tossing coins into the air like a child, his eyes gleaming with nothing but greed. He knew Rosalind would one day be useful to him. He definitely didn't make a mistake by letting her cross paths with the king.
In the corner of the room, his wife was still and silent in her chair, her body unmoving and she was forced to watch it all without being able to say a word.
Rosalind pushed the thought away sharply and threw the duvet aside, only for a knock to sound on the door.
She didn't even get the chance to respond before it opened and people began filing in. They moved with precision, lining up on either side of the room while a woman who was clearly the head maid stepped forward.
"Greetings, my lady," she said. "His Majesty has summoned you, and it is our duty to prepare you to meet with the king."
Already?
Rosalind frowned, the thought barely forming before the woman added, "Please cooperate with us."
There wasn't even room to refuse.
Before she knew it, she was being handled. She was bathed, oiled and scented. Her hair was combed neatly, her body dressed in a gown that fit her perfectly, shoes placed on her feet like she was something to be arranged rather than a person.
He hadn't lied when he said everything would be provided for her.
She just hadn't realized it would feel like this.
Soon enough, she was being led out of the room by the senior maid.
Rosalind followed, not because she wanted to, but because she understood what refusing meant. This was the king... She had already insulted him once. Pushing further would cost her more than her pride. And she very much preferred her head where it was.
As they descended the staircase, her gaze shifted, and that was when she noticed something.
The place that had been empty the night before was no longer quiet. There were people now. The king's other mistress. They stood at different points, some by their doors, some leaning slightly forward and they were watching her.
She had arrived late last night and they must have already gone to sleep, which explained the silence then. But now… now they were were watching her. So they already knew that she was another mistress that had come to join them.
One of them smiled at her, but it didn't reach her eyes, it lingered just enough to feel wrong. Rosalind quickly looked away.
Another turned her back entirely, dismissing her presence like she wasn't worth the effort.
One frowned openly, while another stared, her eyes dragging over Rosalind in a way that made her skin itch.
Rosalind didn't need anyone to explain it, they already saw her as their competition. And just like that, the air felt heavier.
There was no time to engage with them as she was led out of the mistress quarters and into the main palace where the king awaited.
And he was already there, standing with his arms behind his back, his lips curved into a knowing smile, as though he had been expecting her all along.
He looked just as he had the night before, no, even more so.
As she approached, keeping her expression blank despite the weight of his gaze on her, he looked at her like something that had caught his interest in a way nothing else had.
"Rosalind," He called.
She stopped before him and gave a brief curtsy. "Your Majesty."
The moment she straightened, he reached out, his fingers moving toward her hair as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Rosalind reacted instantly, her hand coming up to stop him before he could touch her. She wasn't yet comfortable with that. And for a second, there was a pause on his side.
Then Alaric simply brushed her hand aside, gently but dismissively. "How was your night?" he asked, continuing anyway, his fingers brushing her hair despite her earlier protest.
"It wasn't good," Rosalind said before she could stop herself. "I'm struggling with the change in environment."
"That's good."
Her brows pulled together as she looked up at him, confusion flashing across her face.
"You'll get used to it," he added calmly, as though that settled everything.
"Come," he said after a moment. "Let's have breakfast." And just like that, he turned and began walking, not bothering to check if she would follow.
The servants they passed lowered their heads immediately, their voices soft as they greeted him. And she walked behind him.
Once they neared the dining area, the rich scent of food reached Rosalind, making her stomach growl and her mouth watered despite herself.
The tables were laden with an array of dishes she had only heard of, their aromas mixing with the faint perfume of the room, filling the space with warmth and luxury.
As they reached the table, Rosalind instinctively moved to sit where she wanted, only for a hand to stop her. "Here," he said, pulling out a seat for her in a place she hadn't chosen, and she had no choice but to accept it. The chair was guided closer to the table, and before she could protest, he had taken the seat next to hers, making his presence feel close and unrelenting.
She felt a tug of tension coil in her stomach, a mix of anger and apprehension, yet she couldn't look away from him entirely.
"You seem quieter today, compared to yesterday on the balcony," he said. "What's wrong?"
"If you were me," Rosalind began, her voice low and steady, "and realized that the person you slandered right to his face was the king, I don't think anyone would be stupid enough to speak freely afterward." Her words made the corner of his lips curl, an amused tilt she couldn't quite decipher.
"That's fair," he said, shrugging lightly, his gaze lingering on her as if weighing her reaction. "But I preferred the Rosalind I met on the balcony. I would like you to speak freely with me."
"I like my head, Your Majesty," she said, and he chuckled, the sound dark and pleasant in her ears.
"I wouldn't do anything to take it from you," he said smoothly, "as long as you keep interesting me, there's nothing to fear."
Rosalind lifted a brow, letting the words sink in. "And what happens when you lose interest?" she asked carefully.
He said nothing, his attention turning to the meat on his plate as he began cutting it with patience, and the silence between them was enough for her to know the answer, though she didn't dare voice it.
Rosalind couldn't understand what he saw in her. She was a blunt, rude, disobedient girl who refused to bend and yet, something about her held him. She wondered if he enjoyed the challenge, or if there was something deeper in her that drew his attention in ways she couldn't see.
"Eat, Rosalind," Alaric finally said, his eyes flicking back to hers and they seemed calm but commanding. "We have a show to watch, to celebrate you being here with me." A smile touched his lips.
Rosalind felt the familiar coil of tension twist in her chest as she picked up her utensils.
Once they finished eating, Alaric didn't give her a moment to recover. He immediately started leading her away from the dining area, and she had no choice but to follow behind him.
Where his back turned, Rosalind shot him a glare. She hadn't even had her fill yet, but he didn't notice. Then, he looked back at her and flashed that impossible, charming smile. She was caught off guard at first but masked her expression with a nervous and tight smile. "I promise you'll love it," he said as he continued walking.
He guided her through the corridors she had never seen before, past servants who bowed their heads so low it seemed they might touch the floor. They walked in silence, until finally, they reached the place he had led her to.
The doors swung open, and sunlight spilled over them. The morning was warm and bright but it did nothing to ease the cold dread creeping through Rosalind's body.
Guards quickly closed the doors behind them, and immediately, the clamor of shouting and clashing steel reached her ears. She didn't fully understand what was happening as Alaric climbed the stone stairs, his robe sweeping the steps behind him,. At the top, he leaned against the railing, and she followed suit, her fingers gripping it tightly.
What she saw made her stomach lurch violently. In the center of the arena below, people were fighting for their lives, screams mingling with the metallic clang of swords. Blood stained the dirt, limbs were torn, and entrails glistened in the morning sun.
A sudden wave of nausea hit her, and she raised her hand to her mouth. "Are you alright?" Alaric asked casually, as if this were nothing more than a morning spectacle.
How could she be alright? She had barely eaten, and already she was watching people die!
Her breath caught when an older woman tried to flee, only for a sword to pierce her back. She collapsed, her blood pooling beneath her, and the attacker pulled the weapon free without a glance, moving on to another victim.
Rosalind's fists clenched so tightly her nails dug into her palms. "Why?" she whispered, voice trembling.
Alaric's lips curved into a faint predatory smile. "Why?" he repeated, his gaze never leaving hers. "Because they deserve it."
Then, as if to escalate her horror, he added, "And now, let me show you something more… interesting."
Rosalind's eyes widened, disbelief and fear coiling in her chest. She didn't think anything could be more terrifying than this.
Alaric put his fingers to his mouth and let out a loud piercing whistle. Every fighter in the arena immediately snapped to attention, their bloodied faces glinting in the sunlight, eyes dark with hunger and desperation.
Alaric reached into his pocket, jingled a small pouch of coins, and tossed it over the railing.
The people below scrambled violently for the prize, trampling one another, tearing at each other with teeth and hands as much as weapons.
Alaric laughed, a sound that was both melodic and utterly cruel, his amusement shining in his pale blue eyes.
Rosalind wanted to look away, to close her eyes and stop the images from embedding themselves into her mind.
He had gone completely mad, she thought.