Chapter 6: Lapdog

Chapter 6: Lapdog

As the carriage doors swung open, sunlight streamed into the small space, and Amaris instinctively flinched, blinking against the sudden brightness. But then, the sight outside made her stomach churn. On the left, a line of lady servants stood in perfect formation, their heads bowed in deference, with their head handmaiden poised at the front. On the right, soldiers were lined up with their chins held high, their swords grounded but ready, as if silently affirming their king's presence.

Alaric stepped out first, every movement fluid and controlled. The sun caught his striking blue eye, making it gleam like polished steel. He commanded attention effortlessly, and Amaris could already see how Rosalind's eyes widened in awe at his figure, her breath caught at the sight of him.

No... Amaris thought as her heart began sinking. He's the reason you're going to die. Don't fall in love with him, Rosalind.  I won't let it happen. I will do everything—anything—to stop your bitter end. She clenched her fists and put on a brave face at the mission she had just put herself in.

Before she could make further plans, Rosalind stepped out after Alaric while her gaze remained fixed on him. Amaris followed quickly after the two with her eyes lingering on Alaric in a determined and stern way. The moment her feet touched the ground, she caught the uneasy stares of the servants and soldiers alike. The weight of their judgment bore down on her, but she couldn't afford to care.

Ugh, even in this world I'm already bullied?

The two women trailed behind Alaric in the midst of the tense atmosphere. The servants and soldiers formed ranks behind them, falling into a synchronized march as they moved deeper into the palace grounds, every step echoing a future Amaris was determined to rewrite.

Amaris had been so consumed by her thoughts—plotting, scheming, and imagining every possible way to keep Rosalind and Alaric from growing attached—that she hadn't noticed they'd already reached the inner palace. The grand elegance of the palace's entrance doors stood tall before them, but her mind was elsewhere. The soldiers and servants who had marched behind them came to a halt at the command, waiting obediently by the massive, ornately carved doors.

Alaric suddenly stopped in his tracks, as did Rosalind. But Amaris, too lost in her thoughts, kept walking and unintentionally bumped into Rosalind, who stumbled and bumped into Alaric. The king turned with a sharp glare, his irritation evident. Amaris's eyes widened in horror as she gasped, immediately stepping in front of Rosalind in a protective stance, her chin lifted in defiance.

"It's my fault! Sorry! Not hers!" Amaris declared, her voice surprisingly bold as she shifted to shield Rosalind behind her.

Alaric's brow twitched in annoyance, his gaze narrowing as he studied the scene before him. Then, with an icy calm, he spoke, "Lady Beaumont, from today onwards, you will no longer be treated as a noblewoman but as a servant." His voice was cold, and his eyes held none of the warmth Rosalind had hoped for.

Amaris blinked, taken aback by his statement. He continued, addressing Rosalind with an air of indifference Amaris hadn't anticipated, "You will serve in this palace and be under the instruction of the palace's head servant."

With that, Alaric turned to walk away, leaving Amaris standing in stunned silence. But something in her snapped.

"Wait. That's it? What about me?" Amaris blurted out, confused. She hadn't expected to be ignored entirely. Alaric paused, his back still to her, his shoulders rising as he took a deep, almost exasperated breath. Then, abruptly, he turned around, his gaze sharp and deadly as he took several swift steps towards her.

Startled, Amaris instinctively recoiled as Alaric's face drew close to hers. She could see the flicker of irritation in his mismatched eyes and to her surprise, it amused her in some strange way.

"You..." he began, his voice dangerously low. "You will be my lapdog."

Amaris froze as the absurdity of his declaration finally began sinking in. Did he just say lapdog? Her mind, still clinging to her modern sensibilities, couldn't quite process it. And then, without thinking, the words burst out of her.

"What the fuck?!"

The sudden expletive echoed through the grand hall, startling both Rosalind and Alaric. Rosalind's eyes went wide in shock, her hand flying to her mouth as if to stifle a gasp. Alaric's brow furrowed, his entire expression shifting from stern authority to bewilderment.

"I do not know such a word," Alaric said, blinking, his voice laced with suspicion and a touch of amusement. "But I can feel it is... offensive?" His brow raised ever so slightly, as if daring Amaris to clarify.

Amaris, still stunned by her own outburst, blinked rapidly. Lapdog? Really? She could feel Rosalind's eyes burning into her, silently pleading for her to stop making things worse. But it was too late now.

"Lapdog?" Amaris muttered under her breath putting on a brave face. Even in this world I am still a lapdog? How... infuriating. But she chose to act calmly and sarcastically. "What does that even mean? Am I supposed to... fetch you slippers or something?"

Alaric stared at her for a long moment as his eyes flickered with amusement realizing he had just met such a woman who could talk back and look him in the eyes with such defiance. His soldiers, still lined up outside the chamber, remained stoic, but a few of them exchanged quick glances, as if unsure whether to be alarmed or entertained.

"You speak in strange riddles," Alaric said, leaning in just enough to make Amaris slightly uncomfortable. "Do all handmaidens from your village speak with such... insolence?"

Amaris shifted awkwardly, glancing toward Rosalind, who now looked mortified. "Uh... no, it's just me. Special talent," she muttered, trying to keep a straight face, but a small grin tugged at the corners of her mouth.

Alaric's lips twitched ever so slightly, and for a split second, she thought he might actually smile. Instead, he stepped back and gave her a once-over, his eyes narrowing in mock scrutiny.

"Well, then," Alaric said dryly, "I suppose we shall see how well you perform your duties as my special handmaiden."

Amaris bit her lip, inwardly cursing herself, but the fire in her refused to extinguish. Her instincts told her that playing this game her way was her best chance to change the story's fate—even if it meant being Alaric's so-called "lapdog" for now.

"You," Alaric suddenly addressed Rosalind, his voice colder. "You may go."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Rosalind replied with a curtsy, her voice soft and obedient, before gracefully walking away. 

Amaris absent-mindedly followed behind Rosalind, her mind swirling with thoughts. But before she could take another step, a firm hand grabbed her arm, pulling her back.

"Stay," Alaric's voice cut through the fog in her head, snapping her out of her reverie. Amaris blinked, her senses rushing back to her as she realized the king himself was holding her by the arm.

For a moment, time seemed to slow. As his grip tightened slightly, a sudden, vivid memory that wasn't hers flooded her mind—disjointed, terrifying, like a shadow from someone else's past. Panic flared inside her, and before she could even think, her body acted on instinct. She smacked his hand away, surprising both of them.

Alaric's eyes widened, a rare expression of shock crossing his usually composed face. He looked at her, his gaze narrowing as he studied her closely. Her usual bravado had disappeared, replaced with wide, terrified eyes and shallow breaths. The fear was palpable.

It wasn't the same brave, defiant woman he had encountered moments ago. This was something deeper, something that rattled her to her core.

Alaric, taken aback by her reaction, instinctively softened his stance. His hand, which had been reaching toward her again, lowered slightly, and his voice, known to strike fear, now held an unexpected calm. "...Your name?" he asked, the edge in his tone gone, replaced by something almost gentle.

Amaris, still trapped in the confusion of her own emotions, blinked, struggling to process his question. "Wh-what?"

"I'm asking for your name," he repeated, his voice steady and deliberate, as if trying to ground her.

Her mind raced, still foggy from the memory that wasn't hers, and she blurted out, "I don't want to tell you my name."

Alaric raised an eyebrow, a small smirk forming on his lips, clearly amused by her stubbornness despite the fear in her eyes. "Then you shall be 'Slave.'"

He turned to leave, but just before he stepped away, he paused, glancing over his shoulder with a commanding look. "And remember, 'Slave,' you are to follow your master." His smirk returned as he strode off, leaving Amaris frozen, her heart pounding in her chest.