Claimed By The Tyrant King

Rosalind’s fingers slowly tightened around Alaric’s neck and, just as her thoughts urged her on, she began to increase the pressure... but she never expected Alaric’s hand to suddenly find hers and clamp firmly around it.

His eyes fluttered open, and he turned to look directly into hers, which widened instantly with fear. A slow smirk curled at his lips as he took in the sight of her pale face.

She sucked in a deep breath and forced herself to remain still.

She was truly finished now. He would have her executed for treason, she thought inwardly.

But instead of anger, he slowly lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss against it, leaving her confused as her brows drew together, while the unexpected warmth of his lips against her skin sent a strange flutter through her stomach and made her toes curl.

"Wrong place, Rosalind," Alaric muttered softly. "I asked you to stroke my hair."

Rosalind swallowed hard as he guided her hand back into his hair, and slowly she began to run her fingers through it just as he had asked.

It gradually dawned on her that he had not truly been asleep at all, or perhaps he was simply far too aware of his surroundings to be caught off guard so easily.

Rosalind tried to steady her breathing and calm the panic rising in her chest because losing control would only make things worse, but what troubled her most was the fact that instead of accusing her, he had kissed her hand as though nothing had happened.

He truly was not sane, she thought inwardly.

By the time morning came, Rosalind woke with her neck bent painfully to one side and her hand still resting on Alaric’s head.

She hissed softly as she tried to straighten herself, but it seemed her neck had cramped from sleeping in such an awkward position, and that alone was enough to sour her mood for the day.

Her eyes slowly took in the surroundings, and only then did she realize she was still in his chamber. She had to leave.

Her gaze returned to Alaric, and uncertainty settled over her. Was she supposed to wake him, or should she carefully move him aside? She did not know which choice was less likely to cost her her head... disturbing the king or pushing him.

Very gently Rosalind shifted her hand and carefully eased Alaric’s head from her lap until it rested against the pillow. Only then did she breathe out in relief and begin to turn away.

But suddenly, his hand caught hers again, and at once the memory of the previous night came rushing back.

"Rosalind." His eyes were open.

She turned to look at him. "Good morning, Your Majesty... I would like to return to my..."

He stared at her with a blank expression. "Have breakfast with me."

It did not sound like a request. It was a command and Rosalind swallowed.

****

The scent of quail eggs, fresh bread, and warm milk filled the air as the servants placed one dish after another upon the table. Rosalind’s mouth watered at the sight of the fish, seasoned with carrots, vegetables, and slices of lemon carefully arranged around it, and then the beef that followed.

"Eat, Rosalind," Alaric said once he had begun serving himself.

Rosalind sat a little straighter before doing the same, and soon they both began to eat. Yet every now and then, she could feel Alaric’s eyes on her, and she could not help but wonder if something was on her face. She had already bathed and prepared herself, so what exactly was he staring at?

Then Alaric spoke. "Last night," he began, "I had a dream that you were going to kill me."

Rosalind had barely swallowed a bite of fish when she choked on it.

Thankfully, Rowan who was standing behind her, quickly moved a glass of water within reach, and she hurriedly grabbed it with both hands before taking several quick gulps.

After wiping her lips, her gaze slowly lifted to Alaric, who was watching her with narrowed eyes.

Rosalind forced out a light chuckle. "It was only a nightmare, Your Majesty. I wouldn’t dare." A smile touched her lips, though it did not quite reach her eyes.

"Is that so?" Alaric asked, tilting his head.

She nodded.

He returned his attention to the food before him, though his thoughts had already drifted elsewhere. He was certain Rosalind had tried to kill him, yet he could not decide whether it had truly happened or if his mind had merely twisted it into a dream. In the end, he pushed the thought aside.

There was no way his little Rosalind would truly kill him.

Surely she might be angry with him, but not enough to hate him that deeply.

As Rosalind returned to eating in silence, his gaze drifted down to her neck, where the faint marks from where he had gripped her still remained.

Alaric had not meant to hurt her.

It was simply that she was too stubborn, and he was trying to shape her into a woman who would obey him. And now, seeing the pearl necklace once again resting around her neck, he was certain she had understood the lesson. The pearls somehow looked even lovelier against her skin than before.

Out of what he considered generosity, Alaric reached into his pocket, pulled something out, and set it on the table before sliding it toward her.

Rosalind looked up slowly to see a small balm before lifting her gaze to him. "Use it on your neck," he said. "It will heal faster and leave no marks."

Rosalind’s fingers slowly tightened around her spoon as her eyes fell back to the balm, but after a moment she swallowed and said, "Thank you, Your Majesty."

He did not miss how forced the words sounded, though instead of questioning it, he simply smiled, taking it as gratitude.

"Eat quickly, Rosalind. We need to go and inspect the dresses for the ball," Alaric said, tilting his head as he studied her before adding more to himself, "They should have arrived by now."

****

Seeing that Alaric was done with his meal, Rosalind quickly finished hers as well so as not to keep him waiting, and soon afterward they made their way to the fitting room, where the merchants who had brought the dresses were already waiting. The moment Alaric stepped into the room, they all bowed their heads and chorused, "Greetings, Your Majesty."

Alaric walked further into the room and settled onto the couch before crossing one leg over the other. "Find me something beautiful for my little rose," he said.

The merchants exchanged glances, clearly unsure of what exactly he meant, until Alaric stretched out his hand toward Rosalind. "Come here, Rosalind."

Slowly, she moved toward him and placed her hand in his just as he had beckoned, only to find herself being pulled down onto his lap.

Her cheeks burned red at once as his hands slid around her waist, and her heart began to beat faster in her chest. Rosalind sat rigidly, afraid to even shift in case he pulled her closer.

"Choose the one you like. They are all beautiful dresses brought from overseas," he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear as her fingers tightened against the fabric of her dress.

One after another, the merchants began to display the gowns, and Rosalind found herself torn. They were indeed stunning, just as he had said, but somehow she did not feel drawn to any of them. Perhaps it was because every dress felt less like clothing and more like something chosen to put her on display. One of them, a blue dress with a low neckline, would surely expose far too much of her bosom, and the thought alone made her cheeks grow even hotter.

After nearly half of their wares had been displayed and Rosalind still had not chosen, Alaric finally spoke.

"Are you having trouble, Rosalind?" he asked as his fingers idly brushed through her hair from behind. "I suppose this must all look overwhelming to you. You didn’t grow up around things like this, so you must be torn. If you want my advice, I am willing to give it, after all, I am quite familiar with expensive things like these."

There was no need to insult her, Rosalind thought bitterly.

She was not poor as he claimed. She had simply been comfortable, and that had been more than enough for her. In fact, she would gladly return to that life rather than remain in this palace where every moment felt like her head might be severed at the slightest wrong move.

"I know what I want, Your Majesty," Rosalind answered, though inwardly she added that they simply had not shown it yet.

She would truly die if Alaric chose for her because he would undoubtedly pick something that pleased his own eyes rather than something she would feel comfortable wearing.

Then, after a while, an emerald green gown immediately drew Rosalind’s eye, its rich colour glowing softly under the light like still water. It was beautiful in the most elegant way.

The gown flowed as the merchant held it up, every slow sway sent the green layers rippling like waves. It was fitted through the waist and hips before loosening into soft flowing layers from mid-thigh downward while the sleeves were trimmed in delicate lace. Most importantly, there was nothing overly revealing about it, and that alone made her like it.

It also reminded her of open fields and freedom, of the life outside these walls. "I like this one," she said at once.

Alaric’s fingers stilled in her hair.

His gaze shifted to the green dress. "Poor taste," he commented, and Rosalind slowly turned to look at him.

He met her eyes with a look that made it seem as though he had expected no better from her.

But Rosalind disagreed. She felt strangely connected to the dress and was certain it would look beautiful on her. Green had never failed her.

"Let me choose something else for you, Rosalind," he said with a smile before turning to the merchant. "Bring me that red dress."

The merchant hurried to fetch the dark red gown Alaric had pointed out, and the moment it was displayed, Rosalind frowned.

She had noticed it earlier but had not given it a second thought because she had no desire to display herself before nobles...or before him...as though she were some ware to be admired and purchased.

The dress was undeniably stunning, but it was made of silk and lace, and she was certain it would cling too closely to her body.

"I like this one, Rosalind," Alaric said.

Then wear it yourself, Rosalind thought inwardly in annoyance.

He had asked her to choose, yet the moment she did, he dismissed it only to force his own choice upon her.

Instead, she said carefully, "Your Majesty, this is not fitting for a ball."

His eyes narrowed at her. "Who said it is for the ball?" he asked, one brow lifting.

At once, her heart quickened in her chest as heat crept up her neck.

His lips slowly curled. "Less fabric means less to remove later, and we can save that for after the ball."

Rosalind’s face turned as red as a tomato as the realization hit her at once, and heat rushed violently to her face as humiliation burned through her.