Chapter 4: Alaric, The Tyrant

Chapter 4: Alaric, The Tyrant

As they reached a quiet hill overlooking the town, the fresh mountain breeze carried the scent of earth and wildflowers, gently brushing against Selene's face. She closed her eyes, letting the cool air fill her lungs, and in that brief moment, her mind raced back to the life she had known—the buzzing city, her cramped apartment, her job at the design firm. Memories flickered like fading photographs, and the realization hit her with full force: she really wasn't in her world anymore.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she opened her eyes, wide with panic.

Rosalind, noticing the shift in Selene's expression, placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Amaris... What ails you?" she asked softly, her voice filled with genuine concern. "You've been distant, unlike yourself. Please, tell me what troubles your heart."

Selene glanced at Rosalind, her heart pounding as she tried to form words. How could she explain the truth—that she wasn't Amaris at all, but a woman from another world entirely?

Her instinct was to blurt out the truth, to confess that she wasn't who Rosalind thought she was. But something held her back. Maybe it was fear, maybe disbelief, or maybe—just maybe—she was clinging to the hope that this was all a bizarre dream, and soon she'd wake up in her own bed.

But she chose to stay silent while her lips pressed together as she waited, hoping for a sign that this was temporary. Any moment now, she'd snap back to reality.

But before she could gather her thoughts, a voice shattered the calm.

"Lady Rosalind! Lady Rosalind! Your father!" A man, panting heavily and dressed in a servant's attire, came sprinting up the hill. His face was pale while panic was etched into his features as he stumbled toward them.

Rosalind's face immediately drained of color. "What of my father?" she asked, her voice trembling out of  fear.

The man struggled to catch his breath. "He... he's collapsed, my lady. The physician has been called, but... you must come at once!"

Rosalind's eyes widened in shock, her hand flying to her mouth. "Collapsed? How? Where is he?" Her voice wavered, panic creeping into her usually composed tone.

The servant shifted on his feet, glancing nervously between Rosalind and Selene—no, Amaris—before stammering, "In his chambers, my lady. He was fine this morning, but suddenly... his health turned. They fear... it may be grave."

Without a moment's hesitation, Rosalind gathered her skirts and started running down the hill, her face pale with worry. "Come, Amaris, quickly!" she called back, her voice a mix of fear and urgency.

Selene hesitated for only a second before following, her heart thudding in her chest. This world, these people, it was all too real. There was no waking up from this.

As they arrived at the grand manor house, the overwhelming scent of lavender and burning firewood filled the air. Amaris' heart raced as she followed Rosalind through the halls, her footsteps light but hurried, and every step sent an echo down the dimly lit corridor.

When they reached Duke Beaumont's chambers, the atmosphere grew heavy with tension. The room was filled with the faint sound of labored breathing, and the once proud Duke lay frail in his massive bed, his face pale and sweat beading on his forehead.

"Father!" Rosalind rushed to his bedside, kneeling beside him. Her fingers trembled as she gently took his hand. "What happened?" Her voice cracked with desperation as she looked up, eyes searching for answers.

Butler Edwards who was standing just behind them, stepped forward. He was an elderly man, his expression grim, with deep lines etched on his face from years of service. He lowered his gaze with hands clasped in front of him, and spoke in a voice heavy with regret.

"My Lady," Edwards began softly, "the king—King Alaric Devereux—has discovered that your father's hidden wealth, a portion of it, came from the royal treasury."

Rosalind's face blanched, her breath hitching in disbelief. "What... what are you saying? My father would never do that! He is a kind, honest, respectable man! Someone must have framed him!" Her voice cracked as she spoke, desperation lacing every word.

Butler Edwards shifted uncomfortably, his gaze falling to the floor. "I understand, my lady. Your father has always been a man of honor, but the evidence... it was found within the estate. The King himself declared it undeniable."

Rosalind shook her head, tears forming in her eyes. "There must be some mistake. This cannot be true." She turned to Amaris, as if hoping for some reassurance, but Amaris could only stare back, feeling utterly helpless in the situation.

"No!" Rosalind cried, standing up suddenly. "I will not believe it! Someone is trying to destroy my father's name, and I will not let it happen!"

"The King did not hesitate," Edwards continued, his eyes dark with sorrow. "He stripped your father of his title, his lands, and all he possesses. The Duke is no longer considered nobility in the eyes of the court. His bloodline... disregarded."

Rosalind staggered back, as if struck by the weight of the news. Her voice was barely a whisper, "Disregarded...?"

Edwards nodded. "And worse still, His Majesty has declared that your family be taken into custody and forced into servitude to repay the crown." He paused, eyes flickering with hesitation before he added, "Your father... you are his only living family, my lady. Knowing this—knowing your fate—it caused his heart to give way."

Rosalind's hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide with disbelief and grief. "No..." she breathed, her voice trembling. "This... this can't be."

Amaris stood frozen, watching the scene unfold as Rosalind crumbled beneath the burden of the news. She could feel the room spinning, her own emotions tangled with the reality that now bound her. This wasn't just a story anymore—this was Rosalind's life, and somehow, she was caught in it.

Rosalind's tear-filled eyes flicked back to Edwards, searching for a lifeline. "Is there no way to undo this? To plead with the King?"

Edwards looked down solemnly. "I fear not, my lady. The King's word is law, and he is not known for his mercy."

Before Rosalind could react further, the rumble of carriages echoed from outside. Amaris flinched at the sudden noise, her heart pounding in her chest. Without thinking, she rushed to the large windows and peeked outside. Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes locked onto the figure approaching the manor.

It was him.

King Alaric, the tyrant described in such vivid detail in the book, now stood before her in the flesh. He rode with a chilling confidence, his expression cold and unreadable. Soldiers marched behind him, their faces stern and unyielding, as though they were ready to arrest a criminal who had dared offend even the gods.

Amaris began to subtly panic as her mind raced. 

This can't be happening, she thought. Not here, not now. 

She looked at Rosalind, who was still in shock, and then back at the imposing figure of the King who finally entered striding with a fierce look on his face. Every word she'd read about him flashed through her mind—the cruelty, the lack of remorse, and the tragedy that had befallen Rosalind because of him.

It really is happening...