Teaching The Tyrant Manners Novels & Stories

“Yo, is this a joke?” My hand shot out, fisted Tyler’s shirt, yanked him so close I could feel his breath hitch. “You mocked me. Laughed at my body. Talked about my dick like it was a punchline. Now you’re here, and I’m done playing professor. You want an A? Get on your knees and worship the Black cock you couldn’t shut up about.” I let my voice drop to a growl. “All four of you. Or fail and tell your Daddy why you flunked out. Choose.”

He looked at me like a man starved, like I was the only source of life in the entire world. And then, he did something I never expected. He dropped to his knees. The most powerful man in the world. The Golden Tyrant. The man who commanded armies and economies. He sank to his knees on the cold marble floor right in front of me, his hands gripping my hips, his face level with my stomach. I froze. My breath hitched in my throat. “Call me a tyrant all you want,” he said, his voice rough and raw, his thumbs rubbing circles into the skin just above my waistband. “But remember this… a tyrant rules his people. A king rules his kingdom. But me? I kneel only for you.”

He shook her off and must have said something to her because she again started waving her hands and motioning toward the apartment that Bree had gone into. Her teacher drove off in what seemed to be a hurry. Bree almost felt sorry for him. The woman was so arrogant that she hoped the man saw the woman’s true colors before it was too late. Bree didn’t like her, but that didn’t matter. Men often made the mistake of feeling something for the wrong women. Her mother had been one of those women, and so was her step-mother. They both hurt her in so many ways. Bree wondered why neither of them liked her. She sighed and turned back in to put everything away.

I was a wolfless daughter, unwanted by my pack and ignored by my father. On my eighteenth birthday, he finally gave me a gift: a death sentence. I was chosen to become the eleventh bride of Tyrant Conri, the Alpha King feared by the entire realm. Ten wives had entered his palace before me. Ten had died, torn apart by the tyrant’s own hands. But before I could be sent to his bed, I was attacked in a dark alley—and saved by a stranger with burning green eyes. He touched me. Kissed me. Marked me. Then vanished before the bond could be completed. Now I am trapped in the palace of the monster king, wearing the title of his bride, while my body still remembers the man from the alley. I don’t know

he said in a lethal voice. I gritted my teeth. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Thorne?!” His smirk deepened. “Teaching you a lesson. One you’ve been begging for.” “Lesson?! I’m freezing, you psycho!” “Trust me, you're going to enjoy every bit of this. And maybe you'll think twice before letting Caleb touch you. I'm seconds away from amputating every part of his limbs."

Damian stared deeply at Enola, this time without a cynical smile. Enola got up from the sofa and walked gracefully towards Damian. Her gaze was sharp, but her smile was sweet. “And you like dangerous women, don’t you, Mr. Tyrant?” Enola arrived in front of Damian, and he pulled her waist closer until the distance between them disappeared. “Be careful, Enola. The fire you light could burn you.” Damian chuckled, but his eyes sharpened. Enola leaned her face forward as if to kiss Damian, but she quickly moved to Damian’s ear.

I wonder how they cope with their studies after keeping up with all these humiliations and fights of power as students. “What punishment would be best for you? Maybe sacking you from your duty since you chose to protect and defend who I hate…” The Prince remarked, and Tyrion fell to his knees. It's obvious he was holding back because he knew he offended the Prince. Tyrion, right from childhood, isn't the type that tolerates trash from anyone. “What is it? Scared to lose your job but not scared of me?” Tyrion shook his head. “Pardon my foolishness and give me a second chance to redeem myself.” he heaved deeply and lifted his face. “I started everything, so allow me to end it.”

She heaved a sigh and finally screamed. “I am not here to teach you the rules, Viola; you teach your girls these rules, yet you are disobeying me.” I slowly and carefully laid stripes around her ribs and abdomen until she was slithering in her limitations and sobbing. She screamed in an inarticulate manner as red stripes appeared almost instantaneously on her skin, which forced her to use her code word. “Lycan, Master!” I laughed it off. Master my foot! She can’t even stand the pain.

She wondered why looked so different and felt different as well. Darian had the same pattern of thoughts as he stared at her. There was something fierce about her simple look. Was it the way she stared at him? Or the way she spoke? Her stance? He couldn't figure it out. Royalties and people of noble blood were taught to be refined in all the things they do and while the embodied some of these qualities, she also seemed rough. Like a fresh piece of diamond waiting to be carved. Must be the commoners blood running through her, he thought to himself.

"Take off your shirt, Taylor." Her head cocked back. In an instant, the sneer vanished. "What? No. No way I'm--" "Take. Off. Your. Shirt. Now." I kept my voice low not because I worried it would spill out into the hall, but because I'd learned early on in teaching that shouting bred arguments. Soft voices commanded silence. Taylor fidgeted with the hem of her shirt. "You... you shouldn't..." She looked up, scanning my face for traces of mercy. I gave her none. "I was only kidding, you know."