Silence followed afterward, then Drystan slowly pushed himself upright despite the weakness in his body. "She has to be found," he said imdiately.
Cedric stared at him quietly.
Because for the first ti in years, he sounded like himself again.
"If rovia falls completely," Drystan continued while pressing a hand weakly against his head, "other kingdoms will take advantage of it..." His voice trailed off.
Cedric could still see traces of the king Eryndor once loved still surviving beneath everything Alaric had done to him. "I will try to gather more information," Cedric promised quietly.
Drystan nodded faintly before lowering his gaze again.
Unfortunately, neither of them noticed the guard silently watching from the shadows.
****
Alaric had long grown paranoid toward betrayal and trusted almost nobody anymore. Every movent inside the palace was monitored and eventually word reached him about the soldier secretly contacting Drystan.
Cedric was dragged before Alaric the very next night.
"You disappoint ," Alaric said coldly while staring down at him from the throne.
Cedric struggled against the soldiers restraining him. "You betrayed your own brother!"
The entire throne chamber beca silent instantly.
Alaric descended the steps slowly until he stood directly before him. "My brother?" he repeated quietly.
"Yes," Cedric spat bitterly. "The rightful king."
At that, Alaric’s expression darkened completely. "I’ll make sure you regret this... Take him away."
Cedric struggled against the guards’ hold.
"Remove his tongue before executing him," Alaric ordered without emotion. "Let the others understand exactly what betrayal earns."
And after Cedric’s dissapearance for a while, Drystan realized that Alaric had gotten a hold of him too.
Years continued passing and the man who had once been known as Drystan slowly began fading away beneath the endless confinent, the laudanum and the crushing isolation surrounding him. His hair grew longer, rough stubble eventually becoming a full beard while his once softer features sharpened beneath years of bitterness and silence.
Even his eyes changed.
The warmth within them disappeared gradually until they beca colder, emptier and more dangerous than before.
And sowhere through those years, Drystan stopped feeling like Drystan at all.
After ten years...
The dungeon doors opened again and the guards dragged him out from the darkness slowly.
His legs felt weak beneath him from staying too long inside the cold cell while the sudden brightness from the palace corridors stung his eyes.
He could barely understand where they were taking him anymore and even the environnt around him seed unfamiliar and blurred inside his mind.
The laudanum had done its work well over the years as his mories no longer felt complete while others had disappeared entirely.
Soon the large doors ahead opened and he was dragged into the throne chamber where at the very front sat Alaric upon the throne of Eryndor, his expression calm as his eyes settled upon the broken man standing before him.
For a long mont, silence filled the chamber.
Then Alaric finally spoke. "Who are you?"
The question reached him strangely.
His brows pulled together faintly as he tried to answer it but nothing ca to him. His head ached from trying to rember and the harder he searched his mind, the more empty it felt. "I..." his voice ca out rough from disuse, "I do not know."
Sothing unreadable crossed Alaric’s face at that answer before he slowly rose from the throne and descended the steps.
"From now onward," he said as he stopped before him, "your na is Rowan."
The man stared blankly.
"And you shall serve " Alaric added.
One of the guards suddenly stepped forward. "Kneel before His Majesty."
But he remained standing.
Not because he ant disrespect but sothing inside him simply resisted it naturally even when he did not understand why.
The guards imdiately grabbed him harshly before forcing him downward until his knees hit the cold floor.
Alaric watched quietly with satisfaction.
Then he turned toward the royal housemaster standing nearby. "Take him to the servant quarters," Alaric ordered calmly. "Teach him the ways of a servant properly so he may serve better."
The housemaster lowered his head imdiately. "Yes, your Majesty."
And with that, Rowan was pulled back onto his feet and led away from the throne chamber without another word.
He was taken from the throne room straight into the servant quarters where the air was warr but no less suffocating than the cells he had left behind, and for the first ti in years he was placed among people. They moved quickly, spoke little, and avoided eye contact as if even looking too long at another person could beco dangerous.
The royal housemaster was the one overseeing them, with guards stationed nearby to enforce discipline when needed.
"Rowan," one of the attendants had called one ti.
But there was no response from him.
"He does not answer," another muttered.
"He will learn," the housemaster replied flatly.
On the first day, they cut his hair to match the others, removing what remained of his ti in the dungeon. His face was cleaned properly as well, the rough beard shaved down until only a faint stubble remained, and he was dressed in plain servant cloth that marked him as lower than even the guards who watched over the quarters.
Then they tried to teach him.
"Bow your head," the housemaster ordered.
Rowan stood still.
"I said bow."
He did not move.
The guards stepped in imdiately and forced him down until his head lowered against his will.
"Again," the housemaster said.
They made him repeat it.
Kneeling. Bowing. Standing when told. Remaining silent when spoken to.
Each refusal was t with punishnt and each punishnt was sharper than the last until hesitation beca sothing his body could no longer maintain for long.
Still, he did not obey willingly and he didn’t even know the reason why he couldn’t.
Even after days passed, he remained stiff when commanded, slow to respond, and silent when called, and every failure was corrected imdiately.
Until slowly, he was forced to endure it and his body began learning what they demanded of him.
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