Claimed By The Tyrant King

Rosalind parted her lips just as Rowan’s tongue slid along the roof of her mouth, savoring her taste as he deepened the kiss, and she found herself clutching his chest while his arms wrapped firmly around her waist.

Just like before, the feel of his tongue in her mouth sent butterflies through her stomach, a warmth spreading through her as he held her like he had no intention of letting go. In that moment, Rosalind thought of nothing else but them.

Damn the king.

And damn everything, she only wanted to stay like this for as long as she could. She followed his lead, copying what he did as best as she could, her senses overwhelmed by the heat of his mouth against hers; when he nibbled on her lower lip, a soft sound escaped her before she could stop it, and she felt his hold tighten, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them as her breathing grew uneven.

Rowan, on the other hand, felt something lift in his chest. The last time, he had convinced himself he had made a mistake, that he had overstepped and made her uncomfortable, but the way Rosalind responded now, the way she held onto him and met him halfway, made it clear she felt the same, and that realization alone made it harder to hold himself back. It took all of his control to go easy on her. She was soft in his arms, sweet on his tongue, her scent light and floral as it lingered around him.

When he finally pulled away, giving her space to breathe, his teeth caught her bottom lip gently, dragging just enough before he let go completely.

Rosalind swallowed hard, her chest rising and falling as she looked at him, and he held her gaze just the same before his tongue passed over his lips, as though unwilling to lose the taste of her. Her toes curled slightly at the sight.

"That felt... good," Rosalind said after a moment, the silence between them stretching just long enough to make her aware of everything again.

"Hm," he agreed quietly, and her cheeks warmed.

"Uhmm..." Rosalind began, turning back toward the pottery as if to gather herself, but Rowan stopped her, "Wait, there’s something on your face." She turned back to him, lips parting slightly as he lifted her handkerchief and reached toward her, gently wiping the clay from her cheek. "I’m sorry about that," he said immediately.

Rosalind’s lips curved into a small, shy smile. "Well, same," she replied, glancing down at his shirt where her hands had left marks as well.

After he finished, she reached out and brushed the clay from his shirt in return, though some of it remained. Still, it was better than before, and she kept her eyes down as she worked quickly. As Rowan watched her, it struck him how easily she shifted, because no one would believe this was the same Rosalind who had boldly told him to treat her like his woman moments ago. Now, she seemed almost shy, and he found it endearing.

They returned to the bowl together, Rowan carefully cutting it from the spinning wheel and handing it over as Rosalind placed it on a flat surface before taking it to join the others.

Tilting her head slightly, she muttered under her breath, "Thankfully it turned out well."

"We should go now, my..." Rowan started, but stopped when Rosalind looked at him with narrowed eyes, the words dying before they could leave his mouth. He adjusted quickly, still not fully used to it.

"You can call me by my name when we’re alone," she said.

Silence followed, then he obeyed. "Yes, Rosalind."

****

Alaric’s troops arrived at their campsite by evening, and the soldiers stationed at the front bowed immediately at the sight of their king approaching in his armor, stepping aside to clear a path.

His horse moved forward with steady grace while the rest followed behind. As he rode through, his gaze swept from one side to the other, taking in the state of his men, some badly wounded, attended to by women tending their injuries, others sharpening their weapons in preparation. They paused as he passed, bowing their heads in respect, while he carried himself with authority.

He reached the command tent at last, dismounting as a boy hurried forward to take his horse, and without pause, he stepped inside with his guards close behind him. The men within were already waiting. They rose at once and bowed. "Your Majesty."

Alaric moved straight to his seat and sat down without delay. "How many casualties have we got?" he asked immediately.

The general answered firmly, "Almost three hundred."

"Three hundred?" Alaric’s brows drew together, disbelief sharpening his tone as the general nodded again. How had he underestimated Vaelor this badly? Since when had they become this capable? His gaze hardened as he leaned forward slightly. "And how many casualties have they got?" he asked.

The general lowered his head. "I’m afraid, sire, we suffered more than they did," he reported.

"And how so, General Killian?" Alaric asked sharply through clenched teeth, unwilling to believe that a kingdom far less powerful than his own was beginning to pose a real threat. It wasn’t as though his soldiers lacked skill as they had been trained thoroughly for battle, so there was no reason for such a result.

"They have the advantage of a beast, Your Majesty. A tiger," the general answered, a chill running down his spine as the memory of the creature’s ruthless attacks returned to him.

That explained the deep claw marks Alaric had noticed earlier on some of the wounded soldiers.

Even so, he found it difficult to accept that Vaelor had managed to bring such a creature into a battlefield. "Is it not just one tiger? We can take it down or better yet, bring it to our side."

One of the men stepped forward, his voice uneasy. "Your Majesty, this tiger fights with the strength of a hundred men. I fear it will not be easy to overcome."

"If I say it is possible, then it is," Alaric replied coldly. "Show me the plan for the next battle. We will decide how to turn this in our favor."

The general nodded and brought forward the sketch they had prepared, laying it out as he began to explain each step carefully.

"For this plan to succeed, we will need more allies, more equipment, and additional supplies," he concluded.

Alaric turned to the general, giving his order. "I don’t want that beast dead. I want it captured. Find whoever controls it and bring them to me alive."

****

When night fell, Alaric retired to his tent, where a spacious and comfortable arrangement had been prepared for him. He lay down, turning onto his side as he closed his eyes, the candles already extinguished.

Not long after, the faint sound of someone slipping inside reached his ears, and his eyes opened slightly as his hand moved toward the sword beside him.

A figure approached, masked and silent, the blade in their hand pressed to his neck.

"If you move, I’ll cut your throat," the person said, and from the voice, it was clearly a woman.

Alaric raised his hands slowly as if surrendering, then rose to his feet while she stepped back to keep her distance. She had not guarded herself well enough. In one swift motion, he spun around, seized her by the throat, and turned the blade against her instead.

"Here I thought I would be facing a real opponent," he murmured near her ear.

She kicked back at him, but he did not budge. Instead, he knocked the sword from her hand, forced her arms behind her back, and tied them quickly before pushing her down onto her knees.

"If Vaelor intended to send an assassin, they should have sent someone worthy, not a woman," he said as he pulled back her hood and mask, revealing dark hair and sharp green eyes. His lips curled slightly. "The world will end before any woman kills me."

"Untie me and I’ll show you what I’m capable of," she shot back, her gaze steady with defiance.

"A stubborn one," he muttered, his eyes moving over her with interest. "Vaelor has sent you on a death mission, because you won’t be leaving here. I have other uses for you."

She lifted her chin and spat directly at his face. For a moment, he froze in shock before anger overtook him.

"A tyrant like you does not deserve to live. You deserve to die," she said.

His hand closed around her throat at once, cutting off her breath as he wiped his face with the other. "Last I checked, it was your kingdom that started this war."

"It was to rid the world of you. You’ve caused enough corruption," she fired back.

His grip tightened further. "Not if I rid you first. By the time I’m done with you, there will be nothing left of you," he said, his voice low and cold.

She met his gaze without fear, her expression unchanged, because this was exactly what she had intended. To get close enough to draw his attention, not to kill him outright. Now that he had taken the bait, she hid the faint smirk that threatened to show.