How to rule a king

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AN: I am supposed to put a disclaimer for violence on this chapter. So that's what I am doing. Anyways, now that you've been warned, have fun reading. XOXO, Franzl 

yeah, you guessed right, Sissy put me up to giving you a disclaimer.

Ronja:

Why I hadn't heeded Alexei's warning to stay in our private quarters that night was beyond me. After everything that had happened to me just days ago, one would believe that taking my husband up on his advice to stay safely tugged away was the rational choice to make. Yet, only a few hours after dawn with Vasyli already fast asleep under the covers of his oversized bed in one of the suite's bedrooms, the noise outside our private rooms grew too much to ignore any longer. Male voices shouting, laughter sounding through the hallways dropping to a depth that made it sound almost cruel and then shocked gasps and a few silent seconds before the uproar began again.

At first, I tried to ignore it, focussing on the book in my lap as a classical opera played in the background for the second time this evening. Otello. One of my personal favorites. Only hours before I had sat on this very couch curled up between Alexei's legs as he had stretched them out along the length of it. His left hand had gently moved through my hair, careful of the tangles last night's sleep had left in it while his right hand had moved on top of my stomach, holding me close. We hadn't spoken much after Alexei had carefully watched me having dinner, making sure I had eaten every last piece of food on my plate. Instead, we had curled up on the sofa, more listening than watching to the opera Alexei had chosen from the living room's flatscreens movie collection. He must have had seen the look of surprise on my face at his choice as he and I were both well aware that Alexei had never been and would likely never be an "opera guy".

"Eliza told me you liked this one, Милая мая."

Surprised by his statement and the fact that he apparently had talked to my best friend, who herself wasn't a big fan of classical music, about opera I had nodded in confirmation.

"I do like Otello very much...Although I have never seen it before...you know, I wasn't too keen on leaving the estate with my grandfather after Japan...he did send me a picture of the stage when he watched it in Milan though."

My husband only had mumbled something about not understanding the spell the world's upper class seemed to fall under when it came to Italian opera which normally ended in a massacre of its main characters. Calling him a philistine for not seeing the tragedy of the story hadn't seemed to affect him in the slightest as he had only answered he had created enough massacres of his own and he had never before felt the urge to sing about it, especially not with such a high pitched voice. Therefore, Alexei's amused grunt hadn't come as much of a surprise when Otello realized that he had just killed his lover for nothing. Annoyed with his insensitive self I had hit his chest lightly, asking him if he hadn't anything better to do than to ruin a perfectly fine Italian opera for me. The calm and relaxed look on Alexei's face had suddenly turned dark as he stared out at the already darkened night sky, before kissing the back of my head and slowly getting up from the couch. Irritated I had watched him close our bedroom's door behind him as he had started to talk to himself in a language I didn't quite recognize. Escaping from our bedroom five minutes later he had his hair pulled back in a man bun that would have looked really cute on him had it not been for the weird looking knife he had sharpened sitting on our bedside hours before in his left hand as well as for the gun strapped to his right thigh. Surprisingly, he had changed his usual dark shirt for a pristine white on, with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, showing off the muscles of his forearms under his tanned but scarred skin. The black combat pants and boots he had worn came as much less of a surprise as they had long become a part of what I saw as Alexei's go-to outfit. But it was the look on his face that had shocked me most. His dark eyes seemed vacant of any emotion, his jar set in a grim line as his lips curled into a snarl. I had only seen this look on him once before on the first few days we had been married, when Alexei had tried to force me underneath him, not listening to any reason. Walking straight up to me I had tried to cower away from him as he had reached his right hand out to me, fearing he might try to hurt me again in his delusional state of mind. Instead, I felt his hand gently touch my hair as he picked up a strand, twirling it between his thumb and forefinger before letting go of it with a sign.