𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 | 𝟏𝟖+

𝟖. Locked

Ikshita's POV

I pulled out my phone, opened Google, and typed: word for arrogant people.

And the Result showed: Akdu.

Yes. Perfect. He wasn't just arrogant—he was the definition, the living, breathing poster boy.

Mr. Akdu.

A proper arrogant asshole wrapped in tattoos and whiskey breath.

I rolled my eyes, slid my phone away, and stood. Slipping into my dress, I tugged the zipper up with the kind of sharpness that could slice his ego. Then came my makeup—quick, deliberate strokes, like I was painting armor on my face. By the time I stepped out of the washroom, I looked less like a girl who woke up in a man's bed and more like a queen ready to burn his palace down.

"Where do you go, princess?" his voice echoed, smooth, taunting, heavy with ownership.

I turned, smiled sheepishly—fake, sharp, a dagger dressed like sugar.

"To hell. Care to join?"

He chuckled, low and dark, sipping his whiskey like the devil he believed himself to be.

"People say I'm the lord of hell. Probably means you're with the right man to walk you straight through its gates."

I clenched my jaw, teeth grinding against the smirk plastered on his face.
Of course. Only he could turn a casual insult into a damn throne.

"Perfect," I muttered under my breath, my smile growing wider, sharper. "At least I'll know whose crown I'll be stealing when I get there."

And in response he just shudder his shoulders like my comment didnt even affected him a bit. He was so Fcking arrogant.

"So full of yourself... has anyone ever told you that your ego is ridiculously big?" I asked, tilting my head, letting my gaze sharpen like a blade.

He laughed, that low, amused sound that made my teeth grit without my permission.

"Maybe I have something even bigger than your mouth can handle," he replied, eyes glinting with pure audacity.

I blinked, widening my eyes at the sheer nerve of him. The audacity. The arrogance. The sheer ballsy confidence.

"I'll chop it down in one second if it even dares to come into view," I deadpanned, my voice ice-cold but laced with fire, ending the conversation before it even began.

He chuckled darkly, that smug, dangerous grin curling over his lips like he had already won a battle I hadn't even fought yet.

"Princess," he said suddenly, nudging my shoulder with casual intent, "do you have any limbs, or are they broken from all that big talk? The way you bark insults its only voice no actions."

And suddenly, I felt the impulse to punch him—hard, satisfying, and perfectly justified—but I stopped myself, smirking instead. My hand hovered just close enough to make him flinch at the threat, even without contact.

"You really like testing me, don't you?" I whispered, sharp and wicked. "Do you know how dangerous that is?"

He leaned closer, chest bare and threatening, eyes like molten mischief. "Dangerous? Me? Never. That's all you, princess."

I was done with the Akdu-hellsthrones-prince.

"Drop me at my house," I commanded, spine straight, voice sharp, as if issuing a royal decree.

He arched a brow, that smirk already forming like a dare. "Last I checked, you were my property to keep, not to give orders."

My eyes squinted in frustration, nostrils flaring. Of course. Of course he'd say that. The arrogance, the audacity, why was it always him?