Claimed By The Tyrant King

The fighting continued as they laboured desperately to get the pouch of coins King Alaric had thrown into the pit.

Rosalind noticed how two stronger men among them had begun turning on the rest, cutting them down one after the other just to have the pouch for themselves. "Please... please, it’s all yours, you don’t have to kill me," one man who looked too weak to continue dropped to his knees.

She saw the attacker raise his sword, and for a brief moment, she held her breath, hoping he would show mercy. Even though she couldn’t hear the man’s words, the way he crouched and trembled told her everything she needed to know, that he was begging the one standing before him.

A small sigh of relief escaped her when the attacker turned away to engage someone else, but it didn’t last. The man suddenly changed his mind. He came back and drove his sword straight into the kneeling man’s chest. He dragged the kneeling man up against the wall with the blade as blood pouring freely, then twisted the sword harshly before pulling it out, and the man collapsed lifelessly to the ground.

Rosalind’s fists tightened. She had thought he would be spared. He had clearly shown no interest in the money.

"Is it fun?" Alaric asked, his pale blue eyes shifting to her as his lips curled into a smirk.

How could this ever be fun? Rosalind thought with anger burning in her chest, but she held her tongue. If she angered him, he might throw her into that pit and expect her to fight, and she knew she wouldn’t last a moment.

"I... don’t know," she finally said when his gaze lingered too long.

"Wrong," Alaric replied, his brows drawing together slightly as his eyes darkened. "Is it fun, Rosalind?" he asked again.

Her breath hitched.

Why was he forcing her to say it?

That killing people wasn’t fun. It was obvious. She was human and she had feelings, unlike him. She couldn’t say no, that was clearly a wrong answer, and even the answer she thought was safe had already failed her. What exactly did he want from her?

"Your Majesty... please, I’m not feeling well. I’d like to leave," she said, bowing her head as she turned to go.

Rosalind didn’t get far. Alaric’s hand shot out and gripped her arm harshly before slamming her back against the wall. Her eyes widened as she met his darkened gaze. The amusement was far gone and was replaced with something far more dangerous. "Who asked you to leave?" he demanded, his voice low and cutting.

Rosalind could only breathe, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

His hand came up and his fingers pressed hard into her cheeks, forcing her face upward.

It hurt.

It hurt far more than she expected.

"Is it fun?" he asked again.

What was wrong with him!?

She didn’t want to answer, but he was forcing it out of her.

His grip tightened, fingers digging into her skin like he was trying to puncture a hole there. Her eyes began to water. "Don’t make this difficult, Rosalind. All you have to do is nod," he said, his voice softer now, but his eyes gleamed with something wicked and his smile turned unsettling.

She couldn’t keep resisting.

The pain burned across her face, sharp and unrelenting, and she knew she couldn’t hold out any longer.

Slowly, she nodded.

His lips spread into a satisfied smile as he released her, and Rosalind sucked in a deep breath, her hands immediately flying to her cheeks, which throbbed under her touch.

"I’m sorry, little one. Forgive me," Alaric said suddenly, reaching out to stroke her face.

She flinched instinctively, but he ignored it, his thumb brushing over her skin as though he hadn’t been the one to hurt her.

A tear slipped down her cheek before she could stop it.

"You don’t have to cry, my sweet rose. I won’t do that again," he murmured.

Rosalind didn’t believe him. That had felt like the mildest punishment he could give, and she knew that deep down, worse was waiting.

"Now, let’s enjoy the show, shall we?" he said lightly, turning her body back toward the pit. His hand rested on her waist gently and it made her stomach twist. Anyone would think he hadn’t just hurt her moments ago.

When Rosalind looked back down, the two men had already killed the others as their bodies piled on top of one another. For a moment, she thought it was over, that they would simply share the money and be done with it.

But it wasn’t over.

"Come, let us share it," one of them said, eyeing the pouch in the other man’s hand.

"Why should I? I fought harder for this," the other spat.

"I thought we were working together," the first man replied.

"I do not work with anyone," the second man repeated, pointing his sword at the first, and within seconds, they charged at each other.

Their blades clashed violently as they fell into a fierce battle with neither willing to yield. They were both equally skilled. Their movements were sharp and relentless as the fight stretched on longer than the others had.

Alaric watched with a smile playing on his lips, his gaze shifting lazily between them. He was clearly entertained. Meanwhile, Rosalind stood frozen beside him, her heart pounding hard against her chest, fear settling deep in her eyes as she followed every movement.

Eventually, the man who had first taken the pouch gained the upper hand and drove his blade into the other, ending the fight.

Rosalind swallowed thickly as she watched him straighten, a smirk forming on his face as he reached for the pouch, clearly believing himself to be victorious. He opened it and poured its contents into his palm, and in an instant, his expression changed, his eyes darkened with disbelief.

Slowly, he lifted his head, his gaze locking onto Alaric, who still stood leaning casually against the railing above.

Rosalind saw it. "Stones?" she whispered, a chill crawling down her spine.

"Yes, Rosalind," Alaric replied smoothly, pushing himself upright. "Did you truly think I would waste my money on fools like them?"

Her stomach dropped. They had fought, killed and begged, for stones? Just stones!?

Her gaze shifted back to the lone man standing in the pit, his expression now twisted with rage and realization, but before he could even react, a guard approached silently from behind.

The man didn’t notice, not until it was too late. The guard’s blade flashed, and in one swift motion, the man’s head was severed from his body.

Rosalind turned away immediately, her breath catching as the head rolled across the ground.

Alaric laughed and he clapped his hands. "A fine show," he said.

The guard bowed before retreating without a word.

Rosalind struggled to steady her breathing as her mind tried to make sense of what she had just witnessed. None of it made sense.

Wasn’t survival the point? Weren’t they meant to live if they won? But even the last man had been killed. None of them were ever meant to leave that pit alive.

"So, Rosalind," Alaric said, and she turned to him, her gaze hard despite the fear still lingering within it, "you may very well end up like them if you fail to keep me interested."

He smiled.

Rosalind felt her stomach drop.