33: YOU BELONG TO ME

The doors slammed shut behind them, the heavy lock clicked into place, sealing Lysandra inside the chamber with the man who had taken everything from her.

Alaric stood before her, the firelight casting sharp shadows across his strong, battle-worn features. His golden eyes burned with a possessiveness that made her stomach twist. He was already undoing the clasps of his ceremonial armor, the deep red and black sigils of his new reign slipping from his shoulders like the weight of conquest had never been heavy for him.

Lysandra stood rigid, her breath shallow. The love bind pulsed through her veins, thick and suffocating, an unnatural force compelling her toward him even as her mind screamed in defiance. 

Every time she reminded herself of the blood on his hands, Erythian's blood, her people's blood, an unbearable pressure crushed her chest, making it impossible to move, to resist.

Alaric's lips curled into a knowing smirk. "Why do you tremble, my queen?"