The third man pulled the knife from the sheikh's breast, wiped the bloodied blade on his own robes, then held it out to Philemon. "Your blade, Honoured Sheikh."
It was a pledge of fealty, however informal, and Philemon had accepted enough in his time as Prince of Tasnim to know not to refuse. Gingerly, he took the knife and nodded.
It was a small blade to have taken the life of such a large man. Small and delicately curved, yet the blade was wickedly sharp. The hilt was worn from use, any sharp edges softened by the grip of how many hands? A dagger passed down through generations of desert people, until being buried in the guts of some insignificant sheikh. A dagger whose owner would surely return for such a valuable weapon.
Philemon looked up. The men were gone, leaving him alone with Anahita. He dropped the dagger where the bloodied carpet had once lay. It sliced into the sand and stood, hilt deep, as though it would murder the whole desert next.
Philemon shivered. He had to do something before the dagger's owner returned and tried to use it on Anahita, too.
"You're a fool, Philemon the frog," Anahita said, rising to her feet. "You should have stayed out of this."
Philemon seized her shoulders. "How could I? The whole camp could talk of nothing but how they would kill you and your husband on your wedding night. He could have killed you! And he'll be back, once he realises he left his knife behind. What in heaven's name made you blame his death on me? The real killer is out there, and it's only a matter of time before he claims leadership over this squalid camp for killing the last leader. What do you think he'll do to me for trying to claim his kill? Or you?"
Anahita tossed her head and met his eyes. "What else was I to do? They should have taken you into custody, and the moment you left this excuse for a boudoir – " she kicked one of the cushions that the men had missed " – the moment you left, you'd turn back into a frog, and escape. In the chaos that ensued, my men and I would be able to escape unseen. By the time they remembered us, we would be well on our way!" Her eyes narrowed. "Now, take your hands off me, or I will turn you into a eunuch like Haidar and Asad."
The shiver of steel touched his groin.
"Do your bits grow back when you turn back into a frog?" she asked.
Philemon released her, stumbling back. His eyes went to the knife, but it had vanished from the sand, as if it had never been.
She twisted the silky belt slung across her hips, and sheathed the knife. Another twist and the belt was back in place, an innocuous-seeming string of bells that hid a deadly secret.
"You killed him," Philemon whispered, not wanting to believe it. "What did he ever do to you?"
Anahita shrugged, a smile twisting her lips. "Nothing. I saw to that. That disgusting old man will never steal another woman from her husband again, or attack my father's people. On the morrow, or the next day, my men will find an excuse to slip away with me, and we will return home. I am a woman of my word – you may come home with us. But no one can ever know what I did here tonight. Or I will use one of my blades on you."
Philemon choked. "One of your blades? You have more?" He stared at her. She wore little more than the belt, and smaller versions of it at her wrists and ankles. Why, she was practically naked! Philemon averted his eyes. "How many more?" he asked, trying not the think of her smooth, curved flesh.
"Seven," she said. "Seven more."
He stared at her in horror. Her face, not the rest of her. "Seven?" His mouth was suddenly dry. For all he'd travelled with her, he barely knew this barbarian princess. He should have listened to her. Should have stayed in the waterskin, just like she'd said. Then he wouldn't know any of this, and he'd be blissfully ignorant that the woman he'd fallen in love with was some sort of demon. "Of course. Forgive me for worrying about your safety. You can take care of yourself, I see now." He turned on his heel and headed for the exit.
"Please don't go."
His foot hovered above the sand – sand that should be saturated with her bridegroom's blood – but Philemon hesitated to put it down on what was, to him, another man's grave. A man he had wished gone only hours before.
"I'm only doing what you asked me to. Returning to where I belong, to wait until we leave."
"Wait until morning. Please. It's my wedding night. I should not be alone." There was an edge of desperation in her voice – or did he imagine it?
"Then perhaps you should not have killed your husband. He could have warmed your bed. I…cannot." Because, heaven help him, he wanted her. Never mind the knives or that she'd killed a man or pinned the crime on him. If he shared her bed tonight, he wouldn't be able to keep his hands off her.
She lifted her chin. "I had no choice. Do you think I like killing? My first husband deserved his fate, a dozen times over, but I had no grudge against this one until today. But I swore an oath, and my father heard me do it. So he sends me to be his assassin, in the name of peace. He keeps his hands clean, yet mine are awash in blood. As always, on my wedding night. Such is my fate."
"It is not the fate you deserve. If you were my bride, your wedding night would be glorious, as it should be. I swear it."
She stared at him – it was her turn to be shocked.
Philemon wished he hadn't said it. To admit his weakness in front of her…why, she could stab him in the heart without needing any of her seven blades.
"Normally, my men would take me away – the hysterical bride – to calm me down, and when the nightmares invade my sleep, we are too far from the camp for anyone to hear my screams. But tonight you were here, and you made me stay. Why are you here, Philemon?"
She hadn't called him a frog. He took it as encouragement, however tiny it might be. "Because I couldn't let them kill you with him. Even let you witness what they intended to do to him. You deserve better. A wedding night to remember, for the right reasons, not the wrong ones."
She laughed softly. "I remember all my wedding nights, especially the first. I've survived five husbands, and five wedding nights I would give anything to forget."
"Let me make it up to you. Tonight." The moment the words left his lips, he regretted them. And yet…now they were out, he had nothing left to lose. "Give me one night, I beg you. From now until dawn. I will finish what we started last night with that exquisite kiss. If I cannot deliver what I promise – a wedding night like you deserve, filled with the pleasure such a lovely princess deserves – then do what you will with me. Carve me up and feed me to your falcon." He spread his arms wide and closed his eyes.
Thirty-Three
Faced with Philemon in all his naked glory, completely at her mercy…for the first time, Anahita felt shy.
She unfastened the cuffs at her wrists, letting them tinkle to the floor, followed by her belt, and finally the ankle cuffs. Naked and unarmed, her breathing short and ragged, she crossed the cushions until she stood before him.
Anahita took a deep breath, then took his face in her hands. She stretched up even as he yielded to her, and their lips met. Even before her lips parted, he stole her breath, so tender was his kiss. She could kiss him all night.
And yet…her heels dropped to the floor, so she looked up at him longingly. "I'm afraid," she whispered.
Her traitorous body reminded her what showing fear had done in the past – her body, flying through the air, from the force of her husband's blow. The explosion of pain, the fear of more, her voice silenced, her vision dulled…
Philemon's arms enfolded her. "You have nothing to fear from me. I promise. Tell me what you wish for, and I shall grant it. Your own personal djinn."
She managed a smile. "Then can we kiss a little more? And then…can I sleep in your arms?"
He lifted her in his arms, effortlessly. "As you wish, Princess."
Thirty-Four
"Do you know how to pleasure a woman?"
With Anahita naked in his arms, Philemon struggled vainly to think of anything but what he wanted to do to her. Her words made him lose the battle.
"Oh, yes. In many di
fferent ways," he began, wondering if he dared hope.
"With your fingers?" Anahita asked.
Ah, he'd forgotten she was a new bride on her as-yet unconsummated wedding night. A bride who had never known a man's touch.
He considered for a moment, before he decided to take the risk. "Would you like me to show you?"
"Yes," she said promptly.
In the silence that followed his loss for words, she continued, "When I can't sleep and the dreams return, it's the only way to distract my mind from the memories. If I'm asking too much, Philemon, merely say so, and I will…I will attempt to take care of myself."
His imagination ran riot at the thought of her pleasuring herself in his arms, but the selfish part of him shut down that particular idea. She'd asked him for pleasure, and he intended to give it to her.
"You tell me if it is too much," he whispered, skimming his hand over her hip and between her thighs. She gave a little sigh, parting her legs wider, as his fingers found the right spot.
Philemon wrapped his other arm around her chest and pulled her firmly against him, revelling in the increasing tempo of her heartbeat as his fingers worked the only magic he knew.
Anahita began to moan softly, squirming in his grasp to drive his fingers deeper inside her. She ground her soft little arse against his groin, turning him hard as a rock. He'd give anything to slip more than his fingers inside her. Just one thrust…
She bucked, arching her back away from him as she cried out, not once but twice, trapping his hand between her tightly clenched thighs.
When the moment ended and she lay limp and panting in his arms, Anahita whispered, "I've never…it's never felt that good before. Not even when Haidar – "
"I'm a man, not a eunuch," Philemon snapped, fighting the jealousy curling up at the mention of the eunuch's name. How could she think of any other man when she lay, sated, in his arms?
"I know." She reached down and cupped him, and he was proud to realise it took both of her hands to do it.
It took all of his self-control not to thrust into her warm hands, and demand that she reciprocate. The bliss of those soft hands stroking him, or those wicked lips wrapped around him…
"Do you know how to pleasure a woman with this?"
Philemon grinned. Oh, she was a maiden, all right. No woman who'd ever been loved by a man would have to ask such a question. "A hundred…nay…a thousand times better than with my hands," he assured her. He wanted to beg her to let him show her, but he knew that was too much to ask.
She squirmed around so that she faced him, her oasis eyes fathomless pools in the darkness. "If you can, I give you my word that you may share my bed every night until I return home."
His breath caught in his throat. Was she really asking…?
Anahita took his hesitation for reluctance. "And when we reach home, I will press my sister into finding the enchantress who cursed you, and making her break the curse. If you show me the pleasure you would show your bride on her wedding night." She moistened her lips. "Please."
He reached up to cup her face in his hands. "On a wedding night, the pleasure must be shared," he said, then kissed her.
She stiffened at first – kissing was still too new to her – before Anahita melted into his touch, kissing him back with far more passion than he'd hoped for.
Thirty-Five
Philemon entered her slowly, as though terrified he would break her if he thrust too hard or fast.
"We only have until dawn," Anahita said, feeling it would be churlish to tell him to hurry up.
He swallowed. "I don't want to hurt you, and as this is your first time…"
She couldn't help it. She laughed. "My first time? Truly, you thought that? My first time, the bastard beat me so badly my eyes were nearly swelled shut, then cracked my head against the tent pole so I could not see him nor fight back when he raped me. I deserved the pain, for tempting him so wickedly with my body, or so he said. I learned later his man parts wouldn't work unless the woman he wanted was cowering in fear. I only wish he'd died more slowly than he did, for I know he deserved more pain than he ever put me through." She sobered. "I was widowed for the fifth time tonight, but I will never let a man hurt me again."
"And if I fail to please you, you'll make me the sixth man to die at your feet?"
"Hardly. You are not my husband. My father does not want you dead, and neither do I. You are a most agreeable travelling companion. Perhaps even more than that if you show me the pleasure you promised tonight." More pleasure than he had already.
He nodded. "Very well." And in one smooth motion, he filled her completely.
She took a deep breath, relishing the heat of him inside her, touching exactly where his fingers had stroked her to ecstasy not long before. Truly, she wanted this. Wanted him.
She didn't even need to say it. He looked into her eyes, and saw it all, from that very first thrust until he pushed her all the way to an incredible peak where they cried out for joy together.
And as he folded her into his arms afterwards, she pressed her ear to his chest, to hear his still-racing heart, beating in rhythm with hers. "Will you love me like that again tomorrow night?" she asked sleepily.
"Every night. I'll love you like that every night you desire," Philemon said.
"Mmmm. You should not say such things, you know, for after tonight, I will desire you every night, as long as I live." She smiled. "My prince."
"It will be my pleasure, Princess."
Thirty-Six
Philemon awoke to the sweet smell of the soft girl in his arms, and for a moment, he wondered whether he had died in his sleep and flown direct to heaven. But Anahita was no houri. She was a living, breathing woman he would do anything to keep.
A woman who deserved a proper husband, not one who would turn back into a frog when the sun rose. And she did not deserve to wake up beside his slimy self today, after the pleasures of last night. He should leave now, and return to his hiding place among the water skins to await their journey home.
He must have jostled her, for her hand shot out and grabbed his arm. "Don't go." Her oasis eyes reproached him.
"It is nearly dawn, and you know what happens then," he said, pulling away.
"Make love to me once more. There is still time," she said.
Philemon shook his head. "Lovemaking should not be rushed. I will turn back into a frog before we are finished, and you will throw me out of your bed in disgust."
"Never," she declared, creeping closer. He tried not to moan as her hand wrapped around his length. "You were thinking of it, too. Love me like you want to."
Despite his misgivings, he could not refuse her. And once their bodies joined, he was lost to anything but her pleasure, and his own.
Until she lay on the cushions, sated, her breasts heaving as she recovered from the exertion. Oh, how he loved her.
"Honoured Sheikh, I bring food and water, so that you may wash and break your fast. The women are waiting to tend to your wife, too, when you are finished with her." Philemon recognised the man who'd handed him the knife last night, before he bowed deeply and hid his face.
Philemon tugged a cloth up over Anahita's breasts, chagrined at the need to hide them from view. "I will never be finished with her," he said honestly.
Anahita gasped, but the man didn't seem to hear, for he ducked his head and said, "I understand, Honoured Sheikh, but the men of the camp need your leadership. With Basit gone, they look to you, and it is nearly noon. The women…they, too, need to know your orders. Basit beat them if they did not deliver the dinner he desired, and they do not wish to displease you."
Noon. How was he still human, if it was noon?
His met Anahita's wide eyes – she recognised the significance, even if she understood it no better than he did.
"My wife will instruct them," he said, his eyes begging her to agree.
A secretive smile twisted Anahita's lips before she ducked her head to hide it. "As my prince commands."
>
Then the tent was full of women, helping Anahita wash and dress.
Philemon rose, clutching a sheet to cover his modesty.
One of the women bowed deeply. "For you, Honoured Sheikh." She held out what appeared to be fresh robes.
Oh, heavens be praised. He snatched them from her. He'd never dressed so quickly in his life. Yet as he reached the entrance of his tent, he hesitated. He had not stood in the sun in his own form for too long. Would the curse turn him green again once the sunlight touched him?
Only one way to find out. Philemon stepped out into the sunlight, glad of his sandals as the very air seemed to want to sear his skin off.
"Honoured Sheikh?" The knife man stood uncertainly at his side.
Enough of this sheikh business. "It's Highness, actually. I'm Prince Philemon of Tasnim." Oh, it felt good to say it. Not as good as he'd felt twined around Anahita in the throes of passion, but it was a distant second.
The man fell to his knees and touched his forehead to the burning sand. "Oh, please forgive me, Your Highness. I did not know!"
He'd burn his face off if he stayed down there, Philemon knew. He seized the man's shoulder and hauled him to his feet. "Of course you didn't, because I didn't tell you until now. What is your name?"
"Tariq, Highness," the man said, not daring to raise his eyes to Philemon's face.
"So, yesterday, who would you have expected to succeed Basit as sheikh?" Philemon asked.
"I don't understand, Your Highness," Tariq said cautiously.
"Yesterday, your people couldn't wait to get rid of him. Who did you think would take his place?" Philemon asked, watching Tariq's face carefully.
Tariq hesitated, them said, "Why, the strongest among us, the best leader, like yourself, Your Highness."
Now Philemon wished he had been the one to kill Basit. A right fearmongering bastard.
"I'm not staying, Tariq. I must return to Tasnim. I didn't leave the richest city in the world to come and lead a desert tribe. I'm not your new sheikh. Your people must choose their own leader." Philemon heard the man splutter behind him, but he no longer needed a guide – the tent where they'd held the wedding feast the previous day hummed with the sound of men's voices. Waiting for him.
Kiss- Frog Prince Retold Page 10