Claimed By The Tyrant King

When Alaric’s fingers reached toward her, Rosalind jolted slightly, but the sharpness in his gaze kept her rooted to the spot as her heart leapt wildly in her chest. The back of his fingers brushed against her cheek before slowly sliding downward, tracing the line of her jaw, and the touch made the hairs on her skin rise.

Under the intensity of his eyes, Rosalind wasn’t sure she could remain standing much longer.

Then his touch drifted lower, moving down the slender line of her neck to her collarbone, where it finally stopped.

His eyes lifted from her neck back to her face, and then he asked, "Where is your necklace?"

To Rosalind, it felt as though the world was about to end because she knew exactly what would happen if she gave him the wrong answer.

"Your Majesty," she began carefully, "I wanted to take my bath, so I removed it and placed it on the table," she replied honestly.

But the answer did not seem to satisfy Alaric because his fingers suddenly curled around her neck, and just as she had feared, he gripped her neck.

Rosalind struggled against his hold. Her face flushed red, eyes wide, claws scrabbling at his fingers. Had he gone mad? She had only wanted to remove it for her bath...wouldn’t it have ruined faster if she’d worn it?

The thought screamed in her mind as she fought against Alaric, whose dark, unwavering gaze remained fixed on her.

His eyes darkened completely, as though Rosalind had committed something unforgivable, and with gritted teeth, his fingers clutched firmly and coldly around her neck despite the distress he was causing her. Rosalind’s lungs burned as she clawed at him, a sharp gasp escaping her lips.

Her breathing became strained, and soon even her feet lifted slightly off the ground as she kicked helplessly at him. He was far stronger than she had imagined.

Was he not going to let her go?

"Rosalind... you do not discard what I gift to you with my own hands," he said, his voice low and dangerous near her ear.

"Who exactly do you think you are?" he continued coldly. "That you have the right to pull it away? You cannot even afford something like that in this life, and when it is given to you, you put it away so that it may rot or be stolen?"

He tightened his hold just enough to warn her, eyes glinting with the satisfaction of someone who expected absolute obedience.

Rosalind felt as though he was about to crush her windpipe, and if he did not stop any moment from now, she knew she would lose consciousness.

He had completely misunderstood her.

She had not wanted the necklace around her neck, but she had never meant for it to lead to this.

Still, she fought desperately to stay alive. She still had to leave this hellhole. Dying here was not an option.

"Your... Majesty..." Rosalind croaked as she looked into his eyes, and then she bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to force tears into her eyes.

Almost immediately, the tears slipped down her face.

His head tilted slightly to the side, and then at last, he released her.

She dropped to the floor, chest heaving, hands clutching her neck. Even as relief washed over her, a shiver ran through her.

Pain throbbed beneath her fingers. But then, she refused to cry before the man who had just caused her harm.

After taking a few shaky breaths, her eyes narrowed slightly as she said, "Your Majesty, you seem really angry, and I do not wish to ruin your mood, so I’ll just leave."

Then she turned and reached for the door.

The moment she pulled it open, his hand slammed against it, shutting it in her face.

Before she could react, his arms wrapped around her from behind.

"Don’t leave, Rosalind. I’m sorry that happened to you," he said.

Rosalind felt him bury his face in the crook of her neck, breathing in her fragrance as though he had not just nearly taken her life moments ago.

There was truly something deeply wrong with him in every possible way, but she had no intention of finding out what it was or helping him through it.

He could go to hell!

She quickly wiped away the tear she had tried so hard not to shed and clenched her fists at her sides.

Alaric’s hand settled on her waist as he turned her around to face him, and she gasped softly at the suddenness of it.

"Rosalind," he drawled, his voice coated once again in that usual deceptive sweetness, as though he had not just spoken to her with cruelty and contempt moments ago.

His earlier words still stung, but Rosalind knew better than to dwell on them. "I called you here to keep me company... not to annoy me," he said while she stared back at him, carefully masking the annoyance and hatred rising inside her.

"You should compensate me for making me angry, and I do not want a sorry from you."

Rosalind stared at him inwardly in disbelief.

Was it somehow her fault that he had gotten angry?

Any normal person would have understood when she explained that she had only removed it to bathe, but Alaric always had to take everything to the extreme.

Rosalind stiffened and swallowed as his lips parted and he kissed her. Her brows drew together, and after a moment, she broke the kiss and turned her face to the side.

Silence stretched between them. "You seem to have a talent for always making me angry," Alaric muttered under his breath, and then his lips curled into a dangerous smirk as he looked at her turned face.

"But I know exactly how to deal with that."

Suddenly, he swept her up into his arms and began carrying her toward the bed. At once, Rosalind’s heart started pounding with panic, and she could not help wondering what exactly he intended to do this time.

A gasp escaped her lips the moment he threw her onto the bed, and she bounced on the mattress. Rosalind’s eyes widened as Alaric moved toward her, climbing onto the bed.

She tried to move backward, but before she could get far, he caught hold of her ankle and pulled her back beneath him. He positioned himself over her and cupped her cheeks in his hands before pressing his lips against hers once again.